Roundabout

By: Ellie (Chshalogrl)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. That is all.

A/N: This one is…different. I guess that's the best way to put it. There's not a whole lot of traditional S/V action, but it's an important chapter. Hope the new perspective works for you, but it should be back to normal next chapter. Thanks for reading!

I don't usually respond to feedback, but I really appreciated some of the insight you guys offered on this fic. So here goes…

Nattie700- You're welcome! I'm glad that this fic has found its way into your little Alias-lovin heart. Thanks for the wonderful feedback! And yes, Strictly Ballroom is a great movie. :)

Tracy- Thank you so much for the wonderful comments. I'm glad that you're enjoying this fic and that you enjoy my writing style. I hope I can continue to entertain you!

Sara-Thank you! And don't worry too much about Vaughn. He'll be coming around at some point…I think.

Tricia- Yes. Poor Sydney. But poor Vaughn too. They've both been through a lot. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Glad you enjoyed.

Xanya-forever- Aaah yes. One of my most faithful reviewers. I can't even tell you how many times your wonderfully enthusiastic reviews have made me smile. I'm not sure I'm really deserving of such a wonderful reader…but I'll take you anyway. Thanks for all of your support. Happy Reading!

Eridani-Thank you for reading and for leaving some insightful feedback. Yes, the characterization is a little off-beat…actually this whole fic is a little bit off-beat. Especially for me. But I'm glad that you feel that it's working as a whole. I hope you continue to enjoy. Thanks!

Fair Cate- I'm glad that you're reading and enjoying. As far of the POV goes…technically the fic is all 3rd person POV. And as far as switching focus from character to character, it's meant to be ambiguous. It's supposed to be a little bit confusing…that's a conscious decision on my part. If it helps, the marks that look like this: indicate a switch in characters. But I don't like to spoonfeed my fics…so I won't be dividing the chapters any different. Thanks for the suggestion though. That's the kind of feedback I love. :)

Valley-Girl2-Another of my most loyal readers. I always look forward to your reviews because I love to see which quotes you have selected as your favorites. I appreciate your loyalty to my fics over the past year or so and I hope that I can continue to keep you entertained. Thanks so much for the amazing comments!

Ren201-LOL, I can't give away what's going to happen…but I will say that I'm an S/V shipper. Just look at my fluff fics! I'm big on happy endings. Thanks for the comments!

Part 3--Pursuit

It's been a slow night for Deputy Officer Tom Fields. When he had agreed to work the graveyard shift for the Mendocino County Sheriff's Department, he had anticipated a constant string of late-night crimes and after-hour drunks. What he's discovered instead is the layer of tranquility that seems to hover over the area in the hours of darkness. So now, with just two hours left in his shift, Tom is parked alongside State Highway 20 in an effort to catch a wayward speeder in the act.

He isn't disappointed.

The first car to pass in nearly an hour is traveling the speed limit of 55 miles per hour. Not five minutes behind, however, comes a large, black, pick-up going more than thirty miles over the speed limit and weaving recklessly across the center lines. With a shake of his head and muttered curses, he has his lights spinning and siren squealing as he goes in hot pursuit of the cocky driver. With his foot to the floor, he continues to release a string of disbelieving curses as the road enters and winds through a dense patch of the giant redwoods. The curves are quick and blind, but neither factor seems to be of particular concern to the pursued driver.

Trying to keep his own vehicle at a safe speed while attempting to keep up with the speeding car is no easy task and Tom slams a frustrated hand against the steering wheel when the car careens around a treacherous turn. He's just slowing his own car into the sharp bend when the red glow of taillights disappears around the corner.

The painful screech of skidding tires is the first thing he hears before it bleeds messily into the sounds of two impacts. The first a metallic crunch, like a can under a stomping foot, then the groan of bent steel and shattering of glass, all of which are drowned out by the drone of the police siren. Tom hears it before he sees it and assumes that the speeding truck has hit the guard rail and gone off the road. But as he finally rolls slowly around the curve, the true situation is laid out in front of him and he is frozen in his seat. He blindly fumbles over his knobs and switches before finally silencing his siren, but he leaves his lights flashing, the red and blue strobes flickering brightly against the thick trunks of the forest's massive trees. A quick moment of disbelief has Tom wondering how it could have happened so quickly. Where did the other car come from? Why would someone else be on the road at this hour? As quickly as he can ask himself such questions, he remembers his role and finds himself reaching for his radio to put in a call for back-up.

Vaughn feels a strange combination of stark relief and mind-numbing fear as he walks through the terminal at LAX. He wouldn't call it a "revelation" or a moment of "enlightenment". After all, he's still not entirely sure how he feels. The sense of hurt at her inability to cope with his issues still hovers nearby, but a quick inventory of their last several months together is telling. He's frightened by certain memories. Memories of indifference towards her, of letting her eat alone, of abandoned birthday celebrations. The times that seemed so insignificant when compared to Lauren's apprehension are now the memories that are painful to recall. Even scarier perhaps are the things he can't recall.

He can't remember the last time they made love.

It's taken two days in Nice, an international flight, and a twenty-minute cab ride. But the dark curtain of revenge and hatred is finally being pulled from over his eyes and he is blinded by a light that can come from nowhere, nothing, and no one but Sydney.

"Nah." Vaughn shook his head. "I don't buy it."

Sydney narrowed her eyes and glanced back toward the rolling credits of the romantic movie they'd just finished watching. "You don't buy what exactly?"

Glancing at her, he thought for a moment before turning his whole body to face hers. "They were supposed to be so in love. I mean they spend the first half of the movie convincing us that they're soulmates and destined to be together. But then they just fall outof love? I don't buy it. If they're in love, they're in love."

"Ah, yes. But in all of history's great romances, there comes a test. And sometimes that test separates the two for awhile. It's when they find their way back to one another that they know. It's truly true love." Sydney smiled and crossed her arms over her chest. "I think it's romantic."

"Well, if you really want me to, I could leave for a few months. Maybe a few years…"

Sydney shook her head with a laugh. "No, thank you. We've had our fair share of separation. Two and a half years was quite enough."

Vaughn shrugged teasingly before slipping a hand into his pocket and fingering the soft velvet of the ring box. "If you say so." But one word was consuming his thoughts.

Soon.

He's at his desk and has scrawled a hackneyed letter of sentiment and apology before it occurs to him that he has nowhere to send it. It's not as though she left him a note on where to reach her in case of emergency. He lifts both hands and rubs at the tension in his face. It's three o' clock in the morning and while his sudden revelation has lifted a heavy burden from his shoulders, it has also allowed an overdue sense of exhaustion to settle deep into his bones.

He suddenly aches for sleep almost as much as he aches for Sydney, so he forces himself to their bedroom where her ring still rests on the nightstand and her clothes still hang in the closet. For the first time in three months, he picks up the ring to place it back into its velvet box and he inhales the scent of vanilla from a bottle of body mist that still sits on the dresser. With the box clutched tightly in his hand and the scent still fresh on his mind, he falls to the bed without bothering to change his clothes, and he sleeps soundly.

With the end of summer has come the early breath of cool autumn evenings and as Tom steps out of his squad care, he shivers. The massive redwoods block any silver strands of moonlight and the utter silence that has fallen over the forest is terrifying. A pair of headlights pierce the heavy darkness with their intense wattage, but the bright beams are pointing upward instead of ahead. Turned over, the vehicle rocks on its flattened roof and four tires poke awkwardly into the air. The speeding truck has plunged headfirst into the trunk of a tree and lolls drunkenly as its back end hovers over a trench at the road's shoulder. All proper actions and steps are forgotten as Tom strides quickly towards the truck to apprehend the vehicle's driver. A large man, likely in his forties, rolls clumsily out of the pick-up with a groan and a hand pressed to his head.

"Jesus, call an ambulance. I think I've got a concussion or some damn thing." Staggering forward, the man's face is awash in red and then blue as the lights roll over his inebriated features and his breath tells Tom everything he needs to know.

Tom stares in disgust, but says nothing as he quickly catches the man's wrists and roughly steers him over the layer of debris to the backseat of the squad car.

"What the hell! What do you think you're doing? You bastard!" The man is still yelling obscenities as Tom slams the car door and hurries toward the overturned vehicle. Shards of glass crunch beneath his shoes as he approaches the driver's side and drops to his knees. The car's roof has been all but flattened and the glass of the windshield is now scattered across the highway. The cracks in the driver's window are web-like and smeared with sticky redness. With the flashlight from his belt, Tom sees the long, dark hair of the driver as she hangs awkwardly from the straps of her seatbelt.

"Ma'am! Miss?! Can you hear me?" Tom immediately begins calling for her attention and is relieved to hear the distant wail of an approaching ambulance. Frustrated by the lack of response, Tom curses for the umpteenth time. "Damnit! Why would you be out here at this time of night anyway? You should be safe at home with your kids or your husband or whoever!"

"Officer Fields?"

Tom turns around to see a young paramedic standing just behind him. He speaks softly as he steps aside. "Just the driver. Female. Maybe thirty or so. No sign of consciousness. No other passengers." He sighs. "High speed collision with…" He nods back towards his car. "DUI."

He's on Weiss' doorstep at exactly 8:42 the next morning. With a good night's sleep and a cup of strong coffee to back him up, Vaughn will now attempt to enlist his best friend's help in what can be construed as the search for the missing half of his soul. Everything has been jagged and broken and wrong since she's been gone. It's just taken three months for him to figure out that she is everything that is sane and right. And though he knows that she deserves better, he wants nothing more than to become exactly that.

His knock is a little bit overeager and Weiss seems to agree when he appears at the front door in a t-shirt, boxers, and a very sleepy scowl. Vaughn is well-aware of the fact that he has been less than wonderful to his best friend in recent months. But the fact that Weiss seems to agree with Sydney's silent departure has been more than he could handle. Faced with the knowledge that he's probably the last person Eric Weiss wants to see on a weekend morning, Vaughn does all he can. He looks him in the eye and tells the whole truth in a matter of three words.

"I miss her."

And those three words open a forum for an entire day of conversation. Conversation about the CIA, about hockey, about their friendship, and about Sydney. But even after endless hours of talking, they find themselves back on the one problem they can't seem to solve or avoid. Weiss takes a sip of beer and traces the neck of the bottle as he questions Vaughn. "What are you going to do about it, man?"

Vaughn sighs. "I don't know. I'm just…I'm relieved that I think I've finally got my head—"

"Out of your ass." Weiss supplies neutrally.

"Right." Vaughn nods. "But at the same time, my relief is probably totally unfounded. I'm probably never going to see her again. If anyone knows how to disappear, it's Syd. Besides," he continues softly, "she might have moved on already."

Weiss watches him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, man. She might have. But does that mean it's not worth a shot? On the miniscule chance that things work out…" Weiss trails off.

"We'd know."

The room is silent for a moment before Weiss stands up suddenly. "Alan has been in the house all day. I should take him out back. Give him some food and water. I'll be back in a few." Noticing Vaughn's forlorn expression, he adds. "We'll figure something out, man."

Vaughn nods with a grateful smile as Weiss excuses himself. Moving into the kitchen, he helps himself to another beer as his thoughts settle, once again, on Sydney. As he pries the cap from the mouth of the bottle, a sudden and obnoxious buzz causes him to nearly drop the bottle in his hand. Weiss' personal cell phone is skittering urgently across the countertop and moves in Vaughn's general direction. With a quick glance toward the patio doors, Vaughn is satisfied that Weiss won't be back in time to answer and takes it upon himself to play secretary. With a quick push of the button, he ends the phone's fit.

"This is Weiss' phone."

His shift was over hours ago.

After watching the ambulance rush the young woman to the hospital, Tom was rather satisfied to see forty-two year old Jerry Sewell be arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol. He knows he's not supposed to be emotionally-involved in such cases, but it is the first life or death incident that has occurred on young Tom Fields' watch. And he's certain now that he won't mind if it's the last.

The hospital waiting room is rather quiet and Tom shifts within the confines of the hard, plastic chair. An infomercial has been playing on a loop for the last two hours and he's exhausted his supply of dated National Geographic magazines. With an exhausted sigh, he reaches into his pocket with the hope of discovering some change for the vending machine. He's surprised, however, to find the small, forgotten, Nokia cell phone that he discovered in the glovebox of the young woman's car after the initial clean-up of her personal items.

Megan Andrews' car.

Her name had been a simple discovery. A small hobo-style bag had been recovered from the backseat of her car and her driver's license had been nestled safely behind the clear, plastic window in her wallet. Unfortunately, it seems that Megan Andrews has no family, friends, or next of kin. And while doctors and nurses can dismiss the fact with a sympathetic click of the tongue, as far as Officer Tom Fields is concerned, someone needs to be by Miss Andrews' side. Whether it's a friend, family, or Tom himself.

He considers the cell phone in his hand. He brought it with the thought that she might like to have it among her things after regaining consciousness. Standing quickly, he moves towards the nurses' station to have it placed with the rest of her personal items. But a thought occurs to him. Pressing the power button, he waits for the small screen to light up before scrolling to the phone book. Everyone keeps the most important numbers stored in their cell phones, right? He's somewhat surprised to discovered that there's just one number saved in the small Nokia phone. There's no name or form of identification. Just a number. And while it's really not his place, nor is it procedure, he hits the 'Send' button with a decisive press of his thumb.

Eric Weiss can't help but feel somewhat relieved at the reappearance of the Vaughn he once knew and loved. It really does seem as though his best friend has returned to his senses and, while he is happy to have his friend back, he's also somewhat hopeful that another of Vaughn's loved ones might be persuaded to give him another chance. He knows it's a long shot. Hell, he doesn't even know where Sydney is. But with the determination Vaughn has always demonstrated with regards to matters of the heart, he wonders if the couple might still have a chance. Stepping back into the house, he heads towards the kitchen just in time to hear Vaughn speaking in a confused tone.

"Hang on a second, Officer Fields." Turning around, Vaughn sees his friend and tosses the cell phone his way before giving him a wink. "Hey, man. Do you know a Megan Andrews?"

Weiss stares for a moment as shock washes over him. Could she be ready to come back? Without a thought, he answers the phone before concern furrows his brow. "Hello? Yes, I'm her emergency contact. What seems to be the problem?"

Vaughn watches as Weiss nods slowly and grows paler by the second. When he hangs up the phone, he turns to Vaughn and motions to the couch. "You'd better have a seat."

"What's going on, man? Who's Megan Andrews?" Vaughn's eyebrows are knit in confusion as Weiss takes a breath and prepares to deliver the news.

"Megan Andrews is Sydney, man. And she's gotten herself into quite a mess."

TBC…

Thanks so much for reading! :)