Between the Memory & the Moment
Author: UConnFan (Michele
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com
~*Chapter 6*~
Sydney had learned the painful way that there was more to establishing a life than buying furniture and clothes and getting a decent apartment. Francie and Will were together now, and the last thing she wanted to do was disturb them. Danny had offered her his shoulder, but she doubted Lucy, no matter how nice, would enjoy her husband getting out of bed at two in the morning to go see his ex-girlfriend. With a sense of dejection, she realized the same went for Vaughn, although he had even less of a reason to talk to her than Danny did. Yes, there were her parents, perhaps even Weiss, but none of them could fully appreciate where she was coming from, and there was certainly no one she trusted well enough to tell the absolute truth to.
They'd been back from Munich for a handful of days, and while Marshall was eagerly working on a rare Rambaldi artifact. While he was deciphering the clock in person, no one could be certain why the Covenant had to buy it back in the first place. Nor did anyone seem any closer to deciphering the mystery of Rambaldi. The matter seemed trivial to Sydney, compared to the confirmation to her instinct that Sloane was indeed behind the Covenant. His words had echoed in her head since she'd left Rome, but now they kept her awake, her mind struggling to make up for anything he might have missed so she could finally end up a step ahead of him in his own game.
She sat among her coworkers in the conference room late Friday afternoon, waiting for an unusually late Kendall to arrive. Marshall, Carrie, and Weiss sat across from her, and the tech wizard bumbling over with what he'd managed to learn about the clock and Rambaldi while confessing to the multitude of questions he still had. His babble ended the moment the director strode in, walking directly to the front of the room.
"Good news," he explained as they all looked at him. "We've managed to get in contact with a former CIA operative, a man well versed in all things Rambaldi," Kendall spoke. Meanwhile his assistant had entered the room and handed out dossiers to each agent before quickly exiting.
"Arvin Sloane," Sydney spoke softly, having open the dossier and staring back at the black and white picture in front of her. She felt her stomach drop, only vaguely aware that Vaughn's eyes had instantly turned to her.
"What do we know about this guy?" Weiss inquired.
"For a number of years he's lived in Zurich, CEO of an international company that deals with appraising artifacts and antiques. Sloane worked with Jack on a number of older cases that tied back to Rambaldi, before we were aware of the full scope of Rambaldi's work," Kendall explained.
"Rambaldi always fascinated Sloane, from the time we first encountered him. If there is anyone we can turn to who can anticipate the Covenant's next strategy, it's Sloane," Jack added.
"Why have we had such difficulty reaching him? Where has he been?" Vaughn asked, an edge almost obvious in his voice.
"Sloane was out of the country on business. Formerly, he had ties with various operatives who are now high level in the Covenant. He's arriving Monday morning. Marshall, you'll speak to him about the clock, try to gain an insight into how it fits into the puzzle, and why the hell the Covenant had to buy back their own device -"
Sydney cut Kendall off, unable to stay completely silent despite knowing she no longer had the leeway she once did. "Do we know that the Covenant was actually buying back the clock? Is there any way to confirm that it wasn't all a set up, that the Covenant wasn't trying to lure us or any number of other organizations, that maybe they *wanted* us to have the clock?" she inquired, barely reeling herself in before she could assert her distrust of Sloane.
"Nothings out of the question Sydney, but right now we proceed forward with the intel we have," Jack spoke.
"That's all people. Sloane will be joining us for our briefing Monday morning," Kendall reminded them before he left the room. Slowly she stood, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught her father's shadow as he approached her. "Sydney -"
"I'm fine dad," she dismissed him. Vaughn stood just a few feet away, collecting his own files as Marshall, Carrie and Weiss were easily wrapped up in their own conversation.
"Your mother asked me to invite you to Sunday dinner," he explained, a slight irritation underlying his tone. Sydney turned to face him and nodded.
"I'll be there. Six?" she questioned as Jack nodded.
"We'll see you then," her father agreed before he walked away. As he left her there, she looked over and caught Vaughn's concerned eyes. The look in his eyes was one she'd seen plenty of times before, but knowing the man was barely more than a stranger didn't bring his kind glance once had. With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, she nodded in his direction and went through the doors, her mind already back to deciphering Sloane's end game.
Saturday morning Sydney invited Will and Francie over for breakfast. The couple had arrived in pajamas and the three of them settled into the living room, watching cartoons while eating cereal. They laughed and talked, and she found herself realizing how much she'd missed their simple friendship. When reflecting on it, it was obvious things had shifted when Allison stepped in to their lives as Francie. At the time she'd credited it to Francie's new romantic relationship with Will, but she now realized her error. Will and Francie were obviously on the cusp of something wonderful, and very little had changed among their small group. As she closed the door behind them early in the afternoon and prepared to spend the rest of the day alone, Sydney couldn't help but wish Vaughn were there to share it with her.
A few afternoon hours passed, watching television and doing various apartment chores. Sydney was just sinking down onto the sofa with a good book in her lap and a pint of Ben & Jerry's in her hand, when a strange noise echoed through the room. After a moment, she recognized it to be her pager, having been set on vibrate, as it bounced against her kitchen table. Unable to hide her annoyance, she put the ice cream back in the freezer and snapped the offensive object from the table. She glanced at the page, her anger instantly draining. Instead Sydney grabbed a sweater and headed out the door, uncertain of what was ahead of her.
For a weekend afternoon in the latter days of fall, the ice rink was nearly empty as she stepped in. Sydney's eyes scanned the rink, wondering why he'd summoned her there. Their last clandestine meeting was literally a lifetime ago, and she waited with apprehension and a bit of a nostalgia. Clandestine meetings hadn't held the appeal that being together freely had, but it was the earliest meetings that cemented who they were. A time before she knew of her mother's betrayal, the earliest days when she truly believed she could take down SD-6 in a matter of weeks, all progressing to the meetings where it was clear that the only thing keeping them apart was the Alliance. She pushed back her memories and continued to look for him.
After searching for a few moments, she realized he had yet to arrive, instead only a small group of young men were playing on the vast sheet of ice.
She stood, watching the men play their laid back, friendly game of ice hockey as she waited. Five minutes dripped into fifteen and she was beginning to contemplate calling his cell phone when she felt him. There was little comfort in feeling his presence now. This was a man she hardly knew, not the man who's warm arms had always been her solace. In another world, with the Vaughn she'd known and loved, it had been acceptable and comforting to be able to sense his presence. Now it only served as a reminder to what was no longer hers, and how very empty this new life could be.
"Sorry," he sighed, running his hand through his hair. Out of the corner of her eye Sydney glanced at him, looking more rumpled than he usually did in his casual attire. "Were you waiting long?"
"A few minutes," she answered, allowing a half smile to slide briefly onto her face. "What did you want to talk about?"
Vaughn looked at her for a few seconds, clearly confused before he shook his head. Then he brought his hand back up, massaging his temples as he began to talk. "The other day, in the debriefing. When Kendall said that Arvin Sloane was coming to consult about Rambaldi . . . You looked surprised. Upset, even. You looked like there was more you wanted to say to Kendall."
"I was surprised," Sydney admitted.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She met his eyes, wondering how it was possible to love him even more for his simple concern for a new coworker. For taking the time to notice, to seek her out from beyond the workplace walls to help her. Then her eyes glanced back at the rink as she commented, "I don't trust him."
"Sydney -"
"I know I'm new Vaughn," she agreed, turning back to look in his direction. For a moment she considered how unwise it was to admit her doubts to him, to the man who's allegiances were clearly with the CIA as opposed to her. Except Sydney had to tell someone, had to confess just a bit of her burdens. Considering all the seemingly new personalities she had encountered since she woke up in Hong Kong, Vaughn was still her best option, still the man she trusted implicitly. "I've read some of the files Vaughn, and my father's told me about what he's done . . . I just can't trust him. My instincts won't let me."
"I'm not entirely convinced that it's just a coincidence that he's helped us acquire several Rambaldi artifacts and information on the Covenant and various other terror organizations," he quietly returned.
"He's playing both sides of the table," Sydney whispered, more to herself than to him.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Vaughn muttered as she glanced quickly at him. His head was tipped down and his eyes slid shut, the expression on his face unreadable.
"Vaughn -"
"You should say something to Kendall," he continued, running his fingers through his hair.
"What? That I have an instinct? I also have a career at the CIA that's about a week old Vaughn, that doesn't help my credibility."
"I don't know," he groaned, shutting his eyes and once again massaging his temples. "Just . . . Something needs to be done before Sloane is allowed to do something that can't be fixed."
Sydney grimaced and looked back to the ice, clearly recalling a lifetime's worth of damage that an eternity of reparations couldn't cancel out. "I don't know what to do," she admitted. Yet another reason to disdain Sloane. Not only for the doubts and fears he'd always put in her mind, but how he'd compromised her position in the CIA. By starting back at the bottom, with barely a recollection of what people were talking about the majority of the time, she had to proceed with the utmost caution. One shred of evidence that something wasn't entirely right and the agency wouldn't hesitate to remove her from her own case, preventing her from any hope of finding the truth.
"I'm sorry to have called you out here on a weekend only to make you wait," Vaughn spoke.
"I was starting to worry I'd somehow gone to the wrong place," she added. Except she hadn't, not really. Sydney remembered how he'd loved it there. He would tell her how it was the rink where his father taught him the fundamentals of hockey, the place where his mother would drop him off a few times a week to practice as kid, even when it was the off season.
The two of them had been there only once, usually going to another, larger rink in different part of town. They'd gone to that particular rink in the early hours of the morning after Diane Dixon's death. After filling out the necessary paperwork and doing what they could at the CIA and to help Dixon, they had gotten into the car and begun to drive. With no destination and neither able to sleep, they just drove. Eventually they'd arrived there. Sydney had been surprised it was open, and more surprised when they walked in to find kids, barely teenagers, practicing hockey and skating a few hours before the school day began.
They'd stood in nearly that same spot, cradling styrofoam cups of caffeine. Somehow watching the children on the ice, so innocent and excited about what they were doing, caused conversation to turn to Robyn and Steven. Having both lost a parent at a young age, they spoke for awhile about what the youngest Dixons would be going through, how they would cope without Diane. It was also the one and only time they mentioned children. Vaughn was the first one to bring it up, quietly stating that he couldn't imagine how he'd raise *their* children if she wasn't there with him. She'd echoed the sentiment, holding his hand in hers. At the time it had been an implication of a once certain future, words she had clung to.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Vaughn again began to massage his temples, his shoulders tense and his eyebrows a clear sign he was aggravated. "Did you have a fight with your wife?"
The instant the words were out, she hated herself for it. Sydney hated how the words popped out while she thought of *their* children. Beautiful, blonde, brown eyed children with dimples, who were skating by three, came home from the hospital as newborns in Los Angeles Kings onesies and went on vacation to Santa Barbara every summer. Most especially, however, she was struck by the familiarity of the situation. Except that was another world ago, a meeting at a car wash between a clandestine agent and her handler, and Alice had certainly never been his wife. Although Sydney had certainly wondered if she was in the days since she woke up in Hong Kong.
"What?" he turned to fully face her, his expression etched with lines of confusion.
"Your wife," she repeated, loathing the term and how it held no ties to her. "Did you have a fight? Is that why you were late? Because really Vaughn, you could have just called and told me not to -"
"No," he stopped her, shaking his head. "I didn't have a fight with my wife," he sighed and looked back at the ice. This time he slid his hands into his pockets and continued. Vaughn's voice was low and raspy, leaving her to struggle to make out his words over the sound of the men playing hockey. "I haven't had a fight with my wife in a long time," he realized as he looked back at her. "I'm a widower."
"Vaughn," she felt her eyes slid shut. Instead now she hated herself as she looked back at him, wondering what to do to amend her mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't know -"
"There's no way you could have," he assured her. "I've only been back a few weeks, which is why Weiss and my father constantly seem to be looking over my shoulder," he explained. "Their behavior Sydney, I don't want you to think that it's because they don't trust you as an agent. It has absolutely nothing to do with you - it's me they're concerned about."
"I understand," Sydney managed to speak, fighting back the instinctive urge to cry. To imagine what Vaughn had suffered, to plan on a forever and lose someone was something she had experience with. Especially if he'd loved his wife like she'd loved her Vaughn. The pain was so all consuming, driving her to the point of near numbness at times, that she wouldn't wish it upon her worse enemy. Except perhaps Sloane.
Still, it gave her hope. In a place that she thought would remain dead since she woke up in this world, there was hope. This man was not her Vaughn, and there were no guarantees and she refused to have too many expectations. The seed of hope had been planted though, the possibility that he was as alone as she was and perhaps didn't want to be alone anymore.
"I guess you can relate, in a way," he mused. She looked at him and wondered if it was possible that he'd found the ability to read her mind or just had an uncanny knack for reading people. "You were with someone. When you were . . . Abducted," he carefully chose his words. There was no one word to tactfully sum up how she'd experienced the last two years, and Sydney decided that abducted was as kind of a term as any. "It was in your file," he explained. "You can talk about it, if you'd like -"
"Vaughn," she shook her head, feeling the tears start as she looked back. Letting her emotions show in front of him was so easy now, although she kept reminding herself that she hadn't established the foundation of trust that she'd had when she'd first allowed herself to be real in front of Vaughn. Except he stood in front of her, perhaps just as broken as she was, and it was a near impossibility to look into his eyes and say no. "I couldn't -"
"They want me to talk to Dr. Barnett. She's a therapist at the agency. They like to send people to see her . . . I hate having to explain things to people. Sometimes you can't use words to explain an experience and yet she sits there and wants you to talk. Wants you to try to get her to understand so she can analyze you and dissect you, as if there's a right way or a wrong way to feel . . . Sometimes it's just easier to talk to someone who's been there. Someone who doesn't need a million words to really understand what you're trying to say."
"They'll probably want me to talk to her," Sydney realized. The thought of having Barnett try to help her left her cringing, despite what she was sure were good intentions.
Vaughn gestured to the wooden bench a few feet behind them. After a moment of hesitation she nodded and they sat down, a respectable distance from each other on the bench. "They might want you to talk to her. You're going to have to talk to someone Sydney. Whether it's Dr. Barnett or your father or one of your friends . . . or me," he added, the uncertainty obvious in his voice.
She inhaled deeply and felt her shoulders set, her eyes looking straight ahead. Vaughn watched her as her eyes managed to look at the figures skating on the ice without really seeing them. Instead she was obviously elsewhere as she began. "When I woke up in Hong Kong . . . When I realized I'd been missing two years, I lost a lot that night. In one moment you're telling me I'm dead and have been for two years and suddenly everything's gone. My car, my house, my job . . . my clothes . . . pictures and newspaper clippings, all the sentimental things that you take for granted until you realize you can never get them back," she blinked and looked down at her hands, which were tucked neatly in her lap. "Most of my stuff I can get back, but the people," she swallowed back her rising tears. "My two best friends are together, which I don't remember happening. My parents are completely different than the people I remember before I woke up in Hong Kong. My life . . . . my life was always a disaster, but at least before it was my disaster. Now it's someone else's disaster but I'm living it," she sighed.
Sydney paused for a moment to wipe away the remnants of her tears, hoping to reel in her emotions as she forged on. "That's not the worse part though. It's not that Will and Francie are together or that my job is nothing like I remember or that I don't know how to act around my parents, what to think of them . . . I was with the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, but I woke up and found out I'd lost him," she recalled.
"You called me. Why didn't you call him?" Vaughn softly questioned, clearly perplexed.
She paused, wiping the moisture from under her eye before she glanced at him, "You seemed like the right person to call. I don't remember much, I was so confused then," she admitted.
"Have you seen him? Spoken to him?"
Her eyes slid briefly shut as she shook her head, fighting the battle raging inside her to shed her tears. "I'm not in the exact position you are Vaughn. He's not dead, he's just . . . moved on," she shrugged. "I can't blame him for that. What choice did he have? He's still the thing I miss most about the life I had. For the first time I really let someone in, really let something take priority over my job and school . . . Neither one of us is the same people we were," she admitted, only realizing just how true that statement was. "We spent more time together than apart. We had the same friends, shared our interests. Then there were times when we didn't do anything, and we didn't even have to because we were together," Sydney sighed. "There have been days when I wondered if it really happened, days when I wonder if it wasn't just something I imagined. To have someone be the focal point of your world only to have them stolen . . . No one else feels it either. Everyone else is two years ahead of me. He's an entire life ahead of me now," she sadly realized. "There's no one to talk to who really understands . . ." she looked down at her hands.
Vaughn clearly struggled as he looked at the rink and then back down at his hands, his fingers wrapped tightly around the side of the bench. "Sydney, I know I'm not your father or Francie or Will, but I'm here," he spoke the words confidently, if not a bit uncomfortably. Quickly he shuffled his hands into his pockets, dipping his head as her eyes looked at him. "If you ever want to talk, I'll listen."
"I don't remember anything Vaughn," she conceded as she looked at him, hoping somehow he'd understand.
He turned towards him, his eyes round and sympathetic as he nodded, "I understand."
Frustrated, Sydney shook her head and shut her eyes. "No, you don't. No one does."
"I want to try," Vaughn added, his voice soft.
She looked at him and watched as his hand slipped off the edge of the and briefly tucked into hers. For only a moment it remained there, his skin as warm and golden as honey as he squeezed her long, pale fingers before releasing her. "I know you do," she conceded. "I still love him," she admitted. "I don't even know who he is anymore, but I think about my future and I still see him. I know I shouldn't Vaughn, I know I have no right to think or feel that way but it's still there."
"It'll get better," he quietly offered.
"Will it?" she met his eyes before he looked away, back towards the scant figures remaining in the ice.
"You'll never completely get over it. There's no milestone that you reach and you suddenly stop loving or missing the person, wishing they were there to share your victories . . . You let go because you know they would want you to. He wouldn't want you sad Sydney, he wouldn't want your life to stop because he found the courage to go on. One thing you don't lack Sydney, one thing you never seemed to lack from the moment the agency first recruited you is courage or character. There comes a time when someone will catch your eye or you'll have a conversation where their name isn't mentioned or you have a day without crying over them."
"I haven't cried yet," she realized. "I thought I would, I feel like I should, but I've been so confused . . ."
His expression grew nostalgic, his thoughts clearly far away while he spoke to her. "I used to talk to her. Entire conversations about everything . . . sometimes about nothing," Vaughn realized. "I drank too much, I stopped going to work, everything in my life just ended because I could barely imagine getting out of bed in the morning without her on the other side."
"He's still there though Vaughn, your wife . . . I still see him, talk to him," she reminded him.
"Then you're lucky. I can't imagine it feels that way now Sydney, but you are. You have been given a second chance. There was a time when I would have dropped everything, given just about anything for a second chance. You'll get better. You'll move on, and when the time comes you won't regret it because you'll know that moving on was as much for them as it was for you."
Sydney brushed away her tears and looked at him, a hint of a half smile on her face, "Did Barnett tell you that?"
"No," he chuckled. "A lot of life experience."
"Who did you talk to?" she asked. At his puzzled look, she added, "When you lost your wife. Who did you talk to?"
Vaughn looked away and sighed, "No one. Not yet at least."
"I can listen too Vaughn," she quietly reminded him as he tossed her a smile.
"I know," he promised. "Listen, about Sloane," he began while he briefly massaged his temples. "We'll keep an eye on him. Anything looks suspicious, if either of us thinks he knows more than he should or more than he's letting on, we'll go after Sloane together."
"Thank you," Sydney whispered, allowing her hand to slip over his as they remained, watching the children skate.
Author: UConnFan (Michele
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com
~*Chapter 6*~
Sydney had learned the painful way that there was more to establishing a life than buying furniture and clothes and getting a decent apartment. Francie and Will were together now, and the last thing she wanted to do was disturb them. Danny had offered her his shoulder, but she doubted Lucy, no matter how nice, would enjoy her husband getting out of bed at two in the morning to go see his ex-girlfriend. With a sense of dejection, she realized the same went for Vaughn, although he had even less of a reason to talk to her than Danny did. Yes, there were her parents, perhaps even Weiss, but none of them could fully appreciate where she was coming from, and there was certainly no one she trusted well enough to tell the absolute truth to.
They'd been back from Munich for a handful of days, and while Marshall was eagerly working on a rare Rambaldi artifact. While he was deciphering the clock in person, no one could be certain why the Covenant had to buy it back in the first place. Nor did anyone seem any closer to deciphering the mystery of Rambaldi. The matter seemed trivial to Sydney, compared to the confirmation to her instinct that Sloane was indeed behind the Covenant. His words had echoed in her head since she'd left Rome, but now they kept her awake, her mind struggling to make up for anything he might have missed so she could finally end up a step ahead of him in his own game.
She sat among her coworkers in the conference room late Friday afternoon, waiting for an unusually late Kendall to arrive. Marshall, Carrie, and Weiss sat across from her, and the tech wizard bumbling over with what he'd managed to learn about the clock and Rambaldi while confessing to the multitude of questions he still had. His babble ended the moment the director strode in, walking directly to the front of the room.
"Good news," he explained as they all looked at him. "We've managed to get in contact with a former CIA operative, a man well versed in all things Rambaldi," Kendall spoke. Meanwhile his assistant had entered the room and handed out dossiers to each agent before quickly exiting.
"Arvin Sloane," Sydney spoke softly, having open the dossier and staring back at the black and white picture in front of her. She felt her stomach drop, only vaguely aware that Vaughn's eyes had instantly turned to her.
"What do we know about this guy?" Weiss inquired.
"For a number of years he's lived in Zurich, CEO of an international company that deals with appraising artifacts and antiques. Sloane worked with Jack on a number of older cases that tied back to Rambaldi, before we were aware of the full scope of Rambaldi's work," Kendall explained.
"Rambaldi always fascinated Sloane, from the time we first encountered him. If there is anyone we can turn to who can anticipate the Covenant's next strategy, it's Sloane," Jack added.
"Why have we had such difficulty reaching him? Where has he been?" Vaughn asked, an edge almost obvious in his voice.
"Sloane was out of the country on business. Formerly, he had ties with various operatives who are now high level in the Covenant. He's arriving Monday morning. Marshall, you'll speak to him about the clock, try to gain an insight into how it fits into the puzzle, and why the hell the Covenant had to buy back their own device -"
Sydney cut Kendall off, unable to stay completely silent despite knowing she no longer had the leeway she once did. "Do we know that the Covenant was actually buying back the clock? Is there any way to confirm that it wasn't all a set up, that the Covenant wasn't trying to lure us or any number of other organizations, that maybe they *wanted* us to have the clock?" she inquired, barely reeling herself in before she could assert her distrust of Sloane.
"Nothings out of the question Sydney, but right now we proceed forward with the intel we have," Jack spoke.
"That's all people. Sloane will be joining us for our briefing Monday morning," Kendall reminded them before he left the room. Slowly she stood, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught her father's shadow as he approached her. "Sydney -"
"I'm fine dad," she dismissed him. Vaughn stood just a few feet away, collecting his own files as Marshall, Carrie and Weiss were easily wrapped up in their own conversation.
"Your mother asked me to invite you to Sunday dinner," he explained, a slight irritation underlying his tone. Sydney turned to face him and nodded.
"I'll be there. Six?" she questioned as Jack nodded.
"We'll see you then," her father agreed before he walked away. As he left her there, she looked over and caught Vaughn's concerned eyes. The look in his eyes was one she'd seen plenty of times before, but knowing the man was barely more than a stranger didn't bring his kind glance once had. With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, she nodded in his direction and went through the doors, her mind already back to deciphering Sloane's end game.
Saturday morning Sydney invited Will and Francie over for breakfast. The couple had arrived in pajamas and the three of them settled into the living room, watching cartoons while eating cereal. They laughed and talked, and she found herself realizing how much she'd missed their simple friendship. When reflecting on it, it was obvious things had shifted when Allison stepped in to their lives as Francie. At the time she'd credited it to Francie's new romantic relationship with Will, but she now realized her error. Will and Francie were obviously on the cusp of something wonderful, and very little had changed among their small group. As she closed the door behind them early in the afternoon and prepared to spend the rest of the day alone, Sydney couldn't help but wish Vaughn were there to share it with her.
A few afternoon hours passed, watching television and doing various apartment chores. Sydney was just sinking down onto the sofa with a good book in her lap and a pint of Ben & Jerry's in her hand, when a strange noise echoed through the room. After a moment, she recognized it to be her pager, having been set on vibrate, as it bounced against her kitchen table. Unable to hide her annoyance, she put the ice cream back in the freezer and snapped the offensive object from the table. She glanced at the page, her anger instantly draining. Instead Sydney grabbed a sweater and headed out the door, uncertain of what was ahead of her.
For a weekend afternoon in the latter days of fall, the ice rink was nearly empty as she stepped in. Sydney's eyes scanned the rink, wondering why he'd summoned her there. Their last clandestine meeting was literally a lifetime ago, and she waited with apprehension and a bit of a nostalgia. Clandestine meetings hadn't held the appeal that being together freely had, but it was the earliest meetings that cemented who they were. A time before she knew of her mother's betrayal, the earliest days when she truly believed she could take down SD-6 in a matter of weeks, all progressing to the meetings where it was clear that the only thing keeping them apart was the Alliance. She pushed back her memories and continued to look for him.
After searching for a few moments, she realized he had yet to arrive, instead only a small group of young men were playing on the vast sheet of ice.
She stood, watching the men play their laid back, friendly game of ice hockey as she waited. Five minutes dripped into fifteen and she was beginning to contemplate calling his cell phone when she felt him. There was little comfort in feeling his presence now. This was a man she hardly knew, not the man who's warm arms had always been her solace. In another world, with the Vaughn she'd known and loved, it had been acceptable and comforting to be able to sense his presence. Now it only served as a reminder to what was no longer hers, and how very empty this new life could be.
"Sorry," he sighed, running his hand through his hair. Out of the corner of her eye Sydney glanced at him, looking more rumpled than he usually did in his casual attire. "Were you waiting long?"
"A few minutes," she answered, allowing a half smile to slide briefly onto her face. "What did you want to talk about?"
Vaughn looked at her for a few seconds, clearly confused before he shook his head. Then he brought his hand back up, massaging his temples as he began to talk. "The other day, in the debriefing. When Kendall said that Arvin Sloane was coming to consult about Rambaldi . . . You looked surprised. Upset, even. You looked like there was more you wanted to say to Kendall."
"I was surprised," Sydney admitted.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She met his eyes, wondering how it was possible to love him even more for his simple concern for a new coworker. For taking the time to notice, to seek her out from beyond the workplace walls to help her. Then her eyes glanced back at the rink as she commented, "I don't trust him."
"Sydney -"
"I know I'm new Vaughn," she agreed, turning back to look in his direction. For a moment she considered how unwise it was to admit her doubts to him, to the man who's allegiances were clearly with the CIA as opposed to her. Except Sydney had to tell someone, had to confess just a bit of her burdens. Considering all the seemingly new personalities she had encountered since she woke up in Hong Kong, Vaughn was still her best option, still the man she trusted implicitly. "I've read some of the files Vaughn, and my father's told me about what he's done . . . I just can't trust him. My instincts won't let me."
"I'm not entirely convinced that it's just a coincidence that he's helped us acquire several Rambaldi artifacts and information on the Covenant and various other terror organizations," he quietly returned.
"He's playing both sides of the table," Sydney whispered, more to herself than to him.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Vaughn muttered as she glanced quickly at him. His head was tipped down and his eyes slid shut, the expression on his face unreadable.
"Vaughn -"
"You should say something to Kendall," he continued, running his fingers through his hair.
"What? That I have an instinct? I also have a career at the CIA that's about a week old Vaughn, that doesn't help my credibility."
"I don't know," he groaned, shutting his eyes and once again massaging his temples. "Just . . . Something needs to be done before Sloane is allowed to do something that can't be fixed."
Sydney grimaced and looked back to the ice, clearly recalling a lifetime's worth of damage that an eternity of reparations couldn't cancel out. "I don't know what to do," she admitted. Yet another reason to disdain Sloane. Not only for the doubts and fears he'd always put in her mind, but how he'd compromised her position in the CIA. By starting back at the bottom, with barely a recollection of what people were talking about the majority of the time, she had to proceed with the utmost caution. One shred of evidence that something wasn't entirely right and the agency wouldn't hesitate to remove her from her own case, preventing her from any hope of finding the truth.
"I'm sorry to have called you out here on a weekend only to make you wait," Vaughn spoke.
"I was starting to worry I'd somehow gone to the wrong place," she added. Except she hadn't, not really. Sydney remembered how he'd loved it there. He would tell her how it was the rink where his father taught him the fundamentals of hockey, the place where his mother would drop him off a few times a week to practice as kid, even when it was the off season.
The two of them had been there only once, usually going to another, larger rink in different part of town. They'd gone to that particular rink in the early hours of the morning after Diane Dixon's death. After filling out the necessary paperwork and doing what they could at the CIA and to help Dixon, they had gotten into the car and begun to drive. With no destination and neither able to sleep, they just drove. Eventually they'd arrived there. Sydney had been surprised it was open, and more surprised when they walked in to find kids, barely teenagers, practicing hockey and skating a few hours before the school day began.
They'd stood in nearly that same spot, cradling styrofoam cups of caffeine. Somehow watching the children on the ice, so innocent and excited about what they were doing, caused conversation to turn to Robyn and Steven. Having both lost a parent at a young age, they spoke for awhile about what the youngest Dixons would be going through, how they would cope without Diane. It was also the one and only time they mentioned children. Vaughn was the first one to bring it up, quietly stating that he couldn't imagine how he'd raise *their* children if she wasn't there with him. She'd echoed the sentiment, holding his hand in hers. At the time it had been an implication of a once certain future, words she had clung to.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Vaughn again began to massage his temples, his shoulders tense and his eyebrows a clear sign he was aggravated. "Did you have a fight with your wife?"
The instant the words were out, she hated herself for it. Sydney hated how the words popped out while she thought of *their* children. Beautiful, blonde, brown eyed children with dimples, who were skating by three, came home from the hospital as newborns in Los Angeles Kings onesies and went on vacation to Santa Barbara every summer. Most especially, however, she was struck by the familiarity of the situation. Except that was another world ago, a meeting at a car wash between a clandestine agent and her handler, and Alice had certainly never been his wife. Although Sydney had certainly wondered if she was in the days since she woke up in Hong Kong.
"What?" he turned to fully face her, his expression etched with lines of confusion.
"Your wife," she repeated, loathing the term and how it held no ties to her. "Did you have a fight? Is that why you were late? Because really Vaughn, you could have just called and told me not to -"
"No," he stopped her, shaking his head. "I didn't have a fight with my wife," he sighed and looked back at the ice. This time he slid his hands into his pockets and continued. Vaughn's voice was low and raspy, leaving her to struggle to make out his words over the sound of the men playing hockey. "I haven't had a fight with my wife in a long time," he realized as he looked back at her. "I'm a widower."
"Vaughn," she felt her eyes slid shut. Instead now she hated herself as she looked back at him, wondering what to do to amend her mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't know -"
"There's no way you could have," he assured her. "I've only been back a few weeks, which is why Weiss and my father constantly seem to be looking over my shoulder," he explained. "Their behavior Sydney, I don't want you to think that it's because they don't trust you as an agent. It has absolutely nothing to do with you - it's me they're concerned about."
"I understand," Sydney managed to speak, fighting back the instinctive urge to cry. To imagine what Vaughn had suffered, to plan on a forever and lose someone was something she had experience with. Especially if he'd loved his wife like she'd loved her Vaughn. The pain was so all consuming, driving her to the point of near numbness at times, that she wouldn't wish it upon her worse enemy. Except perhaps Sloane.
Still, it gave her hope. In a place that she thought would remain dead since she woke up in this world, there was hope. This man was not her Vaughn, and there were no guarantees and she refused to have too many expectations. The seed of hope had been planted though, the possibility that he was as alone as she was and perhaps didn't want to be alone anymore.
"I guess you can relate, in a way," he mused. She looked at him and wondered if it was possible that he'd found the ability to read her mind or just had an uncanny knack for reading people. "You were with someone. When you were . . . Abducted," he carefully chose his words. There was no one word to tactfully sum up how she'd experienced the last two years, and Sydney decided that abducted was as kind of a term as any. "It was in your file," he explained. "You can talk about it, if you'd like -"
"Vaughn," she shook her head, feeling the tears start as she looked back. Letting her emotions show in front of him was so easy now, although she kept reminding herself that she hadn't established the foundation of trust that she'd had when she'd first allowed herself to be real in front of Vaughn. Except he stood in front of her, perhaps just as broken as she was, and it was a near impossibility to look into his eyes and say no. "I couldn't -"
"They want me to talk to Dr. Barnett. She's a therapist at the agency. They like to send people to see her . . . I hate having to explain things to people. Sometimes you can't use words to explain an experience and yet she sits there and wants you to talk. Wants you to try to get her to understand so she can analyze you and dissect you, as if there's a right way or a wrong way to feel . . . Sometimes it's just easier to talk to someone who's been there. Someone who doesn't need a million words to really understand what you're trying to say."
"They'll probably want me to talk to her," Sydney realized. The thought of having Barnett try to help her left her cringing, despite what she was sure were good intentions.
Vaughn gestured to the wooden bench a few feet behind them. After a moment of hesitation she nodded and they sat down, a respectable distance from each other on the bench. "They might want you to talk to her. You're going to have to talk to someone Sydney. Whether it's Dr. Barnett or your father or one of your friends . . . or me," he added, the uncertainty obvious in his voice.
She inhaled deeply and felt her shoulders set, her eyes looking straight ahead. Vaughn watched her as her eyes managed to look at the figures skating on the ice without really seeing them. Instead she was obviously elsewhere as she began. "When I woke up in Hong Kong . . . When I realized I'd been missing two years, I lost a lot that night. In one moment you're telling me I'm dead and have been for two years and suddenly everything's gone. My car, my house, my job . . . my clothes . . . pictures and newspaper clippings, all the sentimental things that you take for granted until you realize you can never get them back," she blinked and looked down at her hands, which were tucked neatly in her lap. "Most of my stuff I can get back, but the people," she swallowed back her rising tears. "My two best friends are together, which I don't remember happening. My parents are completely different than the people I remember before I woke up in Hong Kong. My life . . . . my life was always a disaster, but at least before it was my disaster. Now it's someone else's disaster but I'm living it," she sighed.
Sydney paused for a moment to wipe away the remnants of her tears, hoping to reel in her emotions as she forged on. "That's not the worse part though. It's not that Will and Francie are together or that my job is nothing like I remember or that I don't know how to act around my parents, what to think of them . . . I was with the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, but I woke up and found out I'd lost him," she recalled.
"You called me. Why didn't you call him?" Vaughn softly questioned, clearly perplexed.
She paused, wiping the moisture from under her eye before she glanced at him, "You seemed like the right person to call. I don't remember much, I was so confused then," she admitted.
"Have you seen him? Spoken to him?"
Her eyes slid briefly shut as she shook her head, fighting the battle raging inside her to shed her tears. "I'm not in the exact position you are Vaughn. He's not dead, he's just . . . moved on," she shrugged. "I can't blame him for that. What choice did he have? He's still the thing I miss most about the life I had. For the first time I really let someone in, really let something take priority over my job and school . . . Neither one of us is the same people we were," she admitted, only realizing just how true that statement was. "We spent more time together than apart. We had the same friends, shared our interests. Then there were times when we didn't do anything, and we didn't even have to because we were together," Sydney sighed. "There have been days when I wondered if it really happened, days when I wonder if it wasn't just something I imagined. To have someone be the focal point of your world only to have them stolen . . . No one else feels it either. Everyone else is two years ahead of me. He's an entire life ahead of me now," she sadly realized. "There's no one to talk to who really understands . . ." she looked down at her hands.
Vaughn clearly struggled as he looked at the rink and then back down at his hands, his fingers wrapped tightly around the side of the bench. "Sydney, I know I'm not your father or Francie or Will, but I'm here," he spoke the words confidently, if not a bit uncomfortably. Quickly he shuffled his hands into his pockets, dipping his head as her eyes looked at him. "If you ever want to talk, I'll listen."
"I don't remember anything Vaughn," she conceded as she looked at him, hoping somehow he'd understand.
He turned towards him, his eyes round and sympathetic as he nodded, "I understand."
Frustrated, Sydney shook her head and shut her eyes. "No, you don't. No one does."
"I want to try," Vaughn added, his voice soft.
She looked at him and watched as his hand slipped off the edge of the and briefly tucked into hers. For only a moment it remained there, his skin as warm and golden as honey as he squeezed her long, pale fingers before releasing her. "I know you do," she conceded. "I still love him," she admitted. "I don't even know who he is anymore, but I think about my future and I still see him. I know I shouldn't Vaughn, I know I have no right to think or feel that way but it's still there."
"It'll get better," he quietly offered.
"Will it?" she met his eyes before he looked away, back towards the scant figures remaining in the ice.
"You'll never completely get over it. There's no milestone that you reach and you suddenly stop loving or missing the person, wishing they were there to share your victories . . . You let go because you know they would want you to. He wouldn't want you sad Sydney, he wouldn't want your life to stop because he found the courage to go on. One thing you don't lack Sydney, one thing you never seemed to lack from the moment the agency first recruited you is courage or character. There comes a time when someone will catch your eye or you'll have a conversation where their name isn't mentioned or you have a day without crying over them."
"I haven't cried yet," she realized. "I thought I would, I feel like I should, but I've been so confused . . ."
His expression grew nostalgic, his thoughts clearly far away while he spoke to her. "I used to talk to her. Entire conversations about everything . . . sometimes about nothing," Vaughn realized. "I drank too much, I stopped going to work, everything in my life just ended because I could barely imagine getting out of bed in the morning without her on the other side."
"He's still there though Vaughn, your wife . . . I still see him, talk to him," she reminded him.
"Then you're lucky. I can't imagine it feels that way now Sydney, but you are. You have been given a second chance. There was a time when I would have dropped everything, given just about anything for a second chance. You'll get better. You'll move on, and when the time comes you won't regret it because you'll know that moving on was as much for them as it was for you."
Sydney brushed away her tears and looked at him, a hint of a half smile on her face, "Did Barnett tell you that?"
"No," he chuckled. "A lot of life experience."
"Who did you talk to?" she asked. At his puzzled look, she added, "When you lost your wife. Who did you talk to?"
Vaughn looked away and sighed, "No one. Not yet at least."
"I can listen too Vaughn," she quietly reminded him as he tossed her a smile.
"I know," he promised. "Listen, about Sloane," he began while he briefly massaged his temples. "We'll keep an eye on him. Anything looks suspicious, if either of us thinks he knows more than he should or more than he's letting on, we'll go after Sloane together."
"Thank you," Sydney whispered, allowing her hand to slip over his as they remained, watching the children skate.