Part 6—Reprieve
The cab's interior smells like trees, which isn't altogether inappropriate in a town bordered by California Redwoods.
Following a long and detailed conversation with her doctor, 'Megan Andrews' has been officially released from the hospital and is an anxious passenger in one of the three cabs that make up Fort Bragg's fleet. Clad in a cheap, terry sweatsuit provided by one of the friendlier nurses, she clutches a plastic bag of personal belongings while staring fixedly as the small, gray town passes through her window. The jarring of a pothole finds her hissing suddenly at the ache near her jawline and she lifts a hand to the bruises that still cloud her skin. Although the swelling has gone down in the past twenty-four hours, she is well-aware that she's not looking her best. She's not feeling her best either.
To say that she is confused is a comical understatement. Vaughn's saddened departure has raised all kinds of questions about the decisions she is making for herself. And her phone conversation with Weiss, though it lifted her spirits, has raised even more doubts. But every time she starts to feel guilty for dismissing Vaughn, she just needs to remember what life was like just a few months before. The memories never fail to bring the pain bubbling to the surface.
Why should she care if he was hurting? Hadn't he hurt her? She doesn't owe him anything. Not compassion and certainly not any sympathy. She nods in confirmation of her belief that she was justified in forcing him to leave.
But why doesn't she feel any better? Why is she focusing on those vague memories of taking comfort in Vaughn's presence at her bedside? That was before regaining full-awareness of her surroundings, she reasons. That was before she regained her clarity of mind. But nothing could erase or alter the fact that, at first sight of him, she had wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms where she could safely rest. After all of the pain he has caused her, after all of the tears, how could he still make her feel so protected?
It doesn't matter now. She had taken care of things quite effectively when she had truly stirred from her state of sedation. Brushing her fingertips over his face and hair had been nothing more than an instinctive reaction to seeing him asleep at her side. It hadn't meant anything. And neither had his words. All of the apologies and explanations in the world couldn't make up for the neglect she had suffered. He owed her more than words.
Right?
Dropping her head against the back of her seat in defeat, her careful breaths are disrupted when the cab comes to a sudden jerking stop. Sydney is thrown forward only to flinch when her seatbelt locks her in place and the sudden pressure on her bandaged ribcage leaves her breathless. Irritated, she throws an angry glare toward the driver through his rearview mirror and meets his questioning gaze as he confirms, "This way, right?"
Sydney considers his question for a moment and eyes the hemp bracelets stacked up his tanned wrists. What would this long-haired man say if she directed him to a certain address in the middle of Los Angeles? The temptation, however foolish, is great.
Another moment and Sydney nods at him.
"That's the way."
The high-pitched squeak of the cab's brakes jerks Sydney from her thoughts of Vaughn. With a small smile she tucks some bills in the driver's rough palm, watches the cab pull away from the curb, and then stands as if rooted to the sidewalk.
Thanks to the unsolicited appearance of Michael Vaughn, everything she has known for the past three months has been hurled into a tailspin and the life that she's created feels as manufactured as she knows it is. A breeze gently stirs the air and causes Sydney to shiver beneath the fine spray of ocean mist. It's only been about 36 hours since she left for that ill-fated evening drive, but it feels as though she's experienced a lifetime's worth of second-guesses and indecision since then.
Pushing her way through the rusty front gate, she cringes when it groans on its hinges once again. Not for the first time, she vows to have it fixed and, eager to get Quentin fed and watered, she picks up the pace towards the front door with her keys dangling from her hand. In a true gesture of inconvenience, her key is reluctant to fit into the lock and is even less willing to come back out once she has opened the door. After several insistent pulls on the stubborn object and a frustrated groan, she gives up and leaves the door hanging open with the key still in the lock. The stuffy house could use the crisp ocean air anyway.
The living room and kitchen are in a familiar state of disarray. Her bulky knit blanket hangs over the arm of the couch while Faulkner is opened to the title page on her coffee table. Dirty dishes are stacked haphazardly near the sink and Sydney sighs when she sees that Quentin's food and water bowls have been licked clean. These few steps carry her from one end of the house to the other and it doesn't take more than a few seconds for her to notice the absence of jingling dog-tags and trotting paws.
"Quentin? I'm home, sweetie!"
The low hum of a passing car is her only response and she can't hold back a frustrated groan.
Making her way back toward the front of the house, Sydney sinks into the overstuffed haven of her couch and sighs tiredly. The hospital must have called one of her neighbors to take care of Quentin. As much as she appreciates the generous spirit of her small neighborhood, traipsing down the street in search of her dog is the last thing she wants to do.
"Damnit," she whispers as she lets her head fall back against the back of the couch. After allowing herself a much-needed deep breath, she stands to dig her phone book out of a long-forgotten drawer, and begins thumbing through the pages.
She's dialing the number of her nearest neighbor when a series of excited barks causes her to freeze. She hears the distinct squawk of the gate and is moving to greet her visitor when a blur of golden fur comes hurtling through the still-open front door. The dog is immediately on her hind legs, jumping all over Sydney, and nearly knocking her off of her feet in all of the excitement. Although Sydney catches herself, she is thrown off-balance and finds herself awkwardly sidestepping before a pair of hands manages to steady her. Turning her attention away from the excited Retriever, she looks up, expecting to see one of her neighbors.
She's sorely mistaken.
From the floor up, her eyes meet brown leather, blue denim, and the caramel-colored suede that she used to love so much. With a frown, she watches with irritation as Michael Vaughn steps back and easily jimmies the stubborn key from the lock before handing it to her with a soft murmur, "Looks like the swelling has gone down."
Sydney can feel her face burning beneath the intimate scrutiny of his gaze and she grows uncomfortable at the familiarity with which he studies her. Snatching the key from his outstretched hand, she blurts, "What are you doing here?"
"One of the nurses mentioned to me that you were concerned about 'the dog'," he shrugs. "I said I'd take care of it."
"You didn't need to do that. It wasn't your place," she presses her lips together. "It's not your job anymore."
Vaughn lets his frustration slip through the cracks for just a moment, "You know a simple thank-you would suffice."
She stares at him incredulously, "Tell me you aren't going to stand there and imply that I'm indebted to you now. Because I know you're not that dense." She gestures toward Quentin, "I didn't ask you to do this! I don't owe you anything, Vaughn."
It never takes long for her fury to simmer. Or for the tears to fall.
"Sydney," he starts.
"In fact," she cuts him off, "I think you owe me. Those were six perfectly good months that I wasted pining over a fiancé who would rather chase his traitorous ex-wife than spend time with me," she grates out before choking back a sob. "Can you do that, Vaughn? Can you give those months back?"
Vaughn is stunned as he listens to her outburst and his mouth opens as though he wants to respond, but instead he just shakes his head.
"I didn't think so," Sydney says softly as she tries in vain to keep her emotions in check.
Vaughn tries again,"That's not—I mean, you can't really believe that. You can't honestly think that I wasn't wishing for you whenever I was on one of those trips."
"I can, Vaughn. And I do." As quickly as they appeared, her tears have subsided and she stares at him for several steady moments. "Thank you." Her words are slow and deliberate. "You can show yourself out."
He doesn't budge and his eyes are wide with this disbelief, "God, Sydney. You really think that I stopped loving you? That I could ever even be capable of not loving you?" His eyes are shining with sadness and tears as he continues to shake his head in shock.
The sight is almost enough to break Sydney down, but she squares her shoulders and bravely stands her ground, "I think you should leave, Vaughn."
He glances up in surprise before answering firmly, "No."
Her rigid posture falters and she watches him with frightened eyes, "Excuse me?"
"I said no," he repeats before pausing. "Look, you're right. You don't owe me a thing. There's no excuse for the way I treated you for all of those months. There's no possible way I can make up for that lost time. But I came for you. And I can't leave until I've had the chance to talk to you. There are things I need to say. After I've said them, if you feel the same way, I'll leave you to your life as Megan Andrews—or whoever you want to be. I just have to get some things off my chest and I have a feeling that you need to do the same."
The tinkling sounds of the wind chimes fill the air of silence that stands between them. Sydney faces him with a guarded expression and studies his hopeful countenance as he awaits her response. It's the same face she left behind in Los Angeles; the face of the man who so easily relegated her to the backburner. But there's a subtle change in him; in the way he's looking at her now. She squints slightly and looks more closely at the earnestness in his eyes. His stare speaks volumes and she knows that heated words are useless. She suddenly feels something warm and wet on her fingers, and she glances down to see Quentin licking her hand in a plea for attention.
Without a sound, Sydney reaches for the leash still attached to the dog's collar and brushes by Vaughn as he stands in the doorway. She knows that Quentin has just been on a walk, but she has an inkling that she's going to need a buffer of some sort, and one of the canine variety is better than none at all. With a quick glance backward, Sydney nods in the direction of the coastline, "Quentin and I always head to the beach in the evenings. We can walk and talk."
The rustic beaches of Northern California look nothing like the manicured sands of the Southern California coast, but Sydney has always considered this a good thing; yet another change from the life she knew in Los Angeles. The dark and jagged coastline of Fort Bragg can be haunting and ominous, but it is also picturesque and perfect for someone who needs to escape.
Sydney knows these shores well.
Vaughn watches silently and follows Sydney's lead as she removes her shoes when they reach the loose spread of sand. He smiles slightly when she allows Quentin to romp loudly after a flock of seagulls, but he quickly sobers when he notices that her expectant gaze is suddenly fixed on him. The beach, littered with rough hunks of driftwood and slippery stalks of kelp, stretches for nearly a mile from this point and they begin walking near the edge of the water with the wet sand squeaking beneath their feet and the waves lapping playfully at their numbed toes. With Quentin scampering in the lead, Vaughn takes a moment steady his emotions, and concentrates on the constant wash and retreat of the rolling surf before gathering the courage to make the first move. He's surprised however when he hears Sydney take a breath and beat him to it.
"Can I ask you a question?"
He nods, "Of course."
She slows her stride and turns toward him, lifting a hand to shield her eyes against the sinking sun, "Where's Lauren?"
Vaughn pauses before responding truthfully, "I don't know." He shrugs, "Does it matter?"
Sydney drops her hand and starts walking once again. "I don't know, Vaughn. Does it?"
He shakes his head, "Not anymore."
Sydney watches as he bends down to pull a smooth stick from the sand. With a slight grunt of effort, he heaves it down the beach and chuckles as Quentin goes sprinting after it. She can't help but smile.
He dusts off his hands before turning back towards her. "I never stopped loving you, Sydney. All those months," he shakes his head guiltily. "That's what I regret most. That I actually made you believe I stopped loving you." He takes a breath and releases it slowly. Lifting his sorrowful eyes to hers, he shrugs, "I can't change the mistakes I made. God, I wish I could. I can't even tell you how much I wish I could take it all back. But all I can do is attempt to explain. And even that will never be enough, but it's all I can offer."
"It might not be enough," Sydney starts, "but I think I need to hear it."
Vaughn nods, "There really isn't any complex reasoning for my actions. But the first thing you need to know is that I've always looked at my life as a kind of novel or book."
"A bestseller, no doubt." Sydney cuts in lightly.
Vaughn glances at her in amusement, "Different parts of my life are the different chapters. Life with my dad, when my dad died, starting with the CIA." He shrugs, "You get the picture. And because of this, I felt that I couldn't move beyond Lauren until I had closed that particular chapter of my life. I needed to be completely free of her." He glances back towards her, "So that I could be good enough for you."
The air is cooling as the sun drops nearer to the horizon and Sydney crosses her arms over her chest. "I've heard this before," she states wryly. "You thought you were doing us a favor." She shakes her head and bites her lip, "But you left me."
The hurt is evident in her voice and he prays she won't start to cry again. Clenching his fists in anger, he continues, "I hate that woman, Sydney. Not just because she deceived me, but also because she made me feel guilty for loving you. She made me feel bad about the best thing I've had in my life. And I wanted her to pay for that. Because I wasn't going to be good enough for you until I did."
Sydney has stopped once again and she is facing him with tears in her eyes and a trembling jaw. "You left me on my birthday," she reminds in a strained whisper. "You promised me that you would take me to dinner and that we could start talking about the wedding plans. But you went after her."
Vaughn stands stunned as he absorbs the crestfallen expression on her face. "That was it, wasn't it?"
"What?" She quickly swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"That was when you decided to leave."
She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. She starts walking and he has his answer.
He decides to turn the tables.
"Can I ask you a question?"
She pauses and waits for him to catch up before she nods.
"Why'd you change your name? Were you really that afraid that I would find you?"
He's watching her closely to gauge her reaction, but he's caught off guard when she turns and suddenly sinks heavily to the ground. She pulls her knees toward her chest and squints up at him. "At first it seemed like it was just habit. I didn't even realize that it was pointless to hide behind an alias until it was too late." With a quick glance back down at her feet in the sand, she mumbles, "And I think a small part of me was wishing that there was a need for it. I wanted to believe that you would come looking for me, but I didn't want you to find me. Because I knew that if you did, I would cave."
She pauses and he takes the opportunity to lower himself to the dry patch of sand at her side. A sharp series of barks suddenly erupt through the air and they both shoot startled looks toward Quentin as she leaps through the waves. Sydney smiles and shakes her head when she witnesses her dog's antics.
"You know, the longer I lived as Megan Andrews, the more I realized why it was so easy to become her." She is quiet for a moment as she collects her thoughts. He watches as she trails her hands through the sand and allows the grains to sift between her fingertips. She sighs, "Growing up, I didn't have a clear idea of who I was. I don't think anyone does when they're young. But with my mom and my dad," she trails off, "I was especially lost. I thought that I had discovered my calling when I started with SD-6. We both know how that turned out," she remarks wryly. "And leading the double-life with all of the outfits and aliases wasn't so conducive to a clear sense of self. Being with you was really one of the few times that I felt that I was my own person. When I left, I realized that I didn't know how to be me without you. That's a pretty terrifying revelation."
She turns to him with a solemn look and shrugs a shoulder, "It was easier to be someone different than to face the fact that I don't know who the hell Sydney really is."
Vaughn turns to take a long look at her conflicted profile. The gusty breeze is tossing auburn strands up and about and across her face, and the bruises are still fairly dark against her skin, but the frown of frustration is obvious to him. Her hands still skitter across the sand at her sides and he notices the subtle shiver that ripples over her skin only to leave goosebumps in its wake. He continues to watch her for just a second before he bravely reaches out to steady one of her unruly hands. He halfway expects her to cower as though she's been burned. Instead, she simply gives him a look of surprise at the contact, but she seems to be willing to listen to what he has to say.
"I don't remember a lot of the past year. Most of it is one huge blur of long flights and failed attempts to find Lauren. But I do remember a few specific moments." He gives her hand a squeeze before letting go. "The times I spent with you were the times that got me from Point A to Point B, Syd. I know that I didn't tell you this, maybe that was my first mistake, but coming home to you after every failed mission was the one thing I could depend on." He rubs his eyes before continuing in a strained whisper, "I actually blamed you when you first left—I actually thought that you were being selfish. But the weeks turned into months and your ring was still sitting on the nightstand. I couldn't bring myself to move it. I couldn't move your clothes." He laughs bitterly, "I couldn't arrange those damned pillows of yours. And I came home to an empty house after every failed mission."
He stops for a moment and chances a glance over at Sydney. Her eyes are fixed her lap and her shoulders are shaking just the slightest bit. He can feel the horror etched painfully into his features when she suddenly chokes back a sob and turns toward him to utter, "I don't need you, Vaughn." She shakes her head vigorously as she sniffles quietly, "I don't need anyone. I've been doing just fine here by myself."
"I know that," he responds softly. "I'm not here because you need me."
Sydney cries softly as she combs a hand through her windblown hair, "Eric told me that you came to him before you heard about the accident. He said that you wanted him to help you look for me."
Vaughn nods wordlessly.
"Why? What made you decide to come after me now? Did you just decide you missed having someone around the house? In your bed?"
"God, Sydney! No!" He frowns at her as he thinks of a way to verbalize his thoughts. He starts over, "I was in Nice the other night." He watches as she lifts her eyebrows before he explains, "Another failed mission."
She gives a tearful nod in understanding and allows him to continue.
"Anyway, while I was there, I saw this man. He was about my age, looked something like me, and he was with his wife and son. I found myself just watching them, just watching this family. And I started to think how that could have been us. If I hadn't spent so much time trying to close this old chapter of my life, I could have already started a new chapter with you. We could be married and having a baby. And then I remembered something you told me once. You said that in all of history's great romances, there comes a test. And sometimes that test separates the two for awhile. You said that it's when they find their way back to one another that they know. It's truly true love."
He nods, "And you were right." He watches another shiver pass through her body before he inches toward her and cautiously lifts an arm around her shoulders to give her a comforting squeeze.
She tentatively leans into his warmth as she wipes sloppily at her tears and peers at him through wet eyes. "Do you really believe that?"
"That all depends on you," he responds.
She frowns, "I don't want to be just the next sensible step in your life plan."
He shakes his head with a throaty chuckle, "We're anything but sensible, Syd. That's what always made us so great."
Sydney fights a smile at the tenderness of his words and is trying to form a coherent response when a very wet Quentin comes bounding up the beach, slides to a halt, and sends a spray of sandy saltwater flying over the pair as she shakes her soaked coat dry. Sydney's sharp laugh bursts through the heavy aura of sadness and she turns to Vaughn once again, "So where does this leave us? What are you really here for, Vaughn?"
His answer is simple.
"I came for you."
Her smile is tired, but genuine as she questions him.
"What took you so long?"
TBC…