Well, here it is. The end. I really hope it's not too anti-climactic. bites nails It's only midnight, but I feel like it's about 4 am...so I'll do another proofread in the morning. Until then, all mistakes are my own. Well...they'd still be mine...but you know what I mean.
Part 7-Embark
Six Months Later
The name 'Bristow' is now stenciled across the dented side of the metal mailbox in neat, block letters. Monthly bills, grocery ads, and the occasional greeting card are addressed to one Sydney Bristow, a quiet and unattached young woman who lives in a house near the beach.
Sydney Bristow doesn't work in real estate. She prefers the rich and satisfying flavor of coffee to the herbal tastes of tea, and favors the classic literatures of Austen and the Brontes over the bestselling works of Danielle Steele. Sydney Bristow is a lover of romance because (and perhaps in spite) of the fact that she has both loved and lost. She speaks an ever-growing number of foreign languages and loves nothing more than to sprint along the hard-packed beach sand with her dog at her side. And though her transformation from the enigmatic Megan Andrews to the cultured and assertive Sydney might have raised a number of questions in any other town; in a community full of free-spirits just looking to escape the world's rat-race, the questions remain unspoken.
She doesn't attempt to pretend that Michael Vaughn's departure hasn't had any ill-effect on her. Such a charade would be a complete waste of energy in light of the fact that there are little signs of his absence nearly everywhere she turns. Like the frigid mornings when she wakes up with her toes curled against the cold and wishes he was there to make her daily cup of coffee. Or when she finally got around to reading Nikolai Gogol's The Overcoat, which he had pestered her to do for so many years.
Or on the beach.
The sincerity of his words echoes in the back of her mind every time she passes what she has unwittingly come to know as 'the spot' in the sand. She knows that it wouldn't be difficult to take another route for her evening walks with Quentin. The beaches within walking distance of her home are numerous, but such a change has become unthinkable. She aches for him, right down to the marrow of her bones, and though the reminiscence might sting, it's also the mark of a beginning. Because Vaughn's arrival, despite his subsequent departure, has been the impetus for something that has proven to be well-worth the painful twinges of loneliness.
She finally remembers how easy it is to just be Sydney.
The day is uncharacteristically cold for spring in Fort Bragg, but the broken rays of sunlight passing through the warped windowpanes belie the harsh bite of the frosty air. The groan of the heater and the sounds of pages turning provide a soothing ambience for Sydney as she sits at her desk with a red pen in hand. Her students seemed appreciative of her offer to devote the final period of the day to some silent reading and with a quick surveying glance, she confirms that they are quite engrossed in Death of a Salesman. With a glance up to the clock, Sydney watches as the second-hand ticks excitedly toward the twelve and she grins when she hears the sounds of rustling papers and backpack zippers. With the sound of the bell, her students are filing quickly out the door with polite smiles as she calls out her good-byes. The heavy wooden door slams loudly behind them and immediately muffles the din of hallway chatter.
Lowering her head to into her hands, she sighs. Today has been one of her more difficult days; the kind that has her wondering why she didn't pack her things and accompany him hand-in-hand back to LA. The enthusiasm of her students and the friendliness of her fellow teachers have made it tolerable, but she can't wait to get home to relax and remind herself of just why her decision to stay in Fort Bragg was the right one.
This answer to this question eludes her as she gathers her belongings from her desk. She's still not entirely sure of what she wants, but the position as a long-term substitute teacher had virtually fallen in her lap and it's something she enjoys. For the time being anyway.
The cool air tickles the back of her neck and Sydney finds herself shivering as she makes her departure through the front office of the high school. Tossing a smile and a wave to the secretary behind the desk, she lets the door fall to a noisy close behind her. She starts her car with a tired sigh and attempts to adjust the seat for the umpteenth time. She's had the car for nearly six months now, but she has yet to find the elusive seat position that perfectly fits her height and posture. Satisfied that she's comfortable enough for now, she turns towards home.
The steady torrent of mixed emotions weighs her down as she pushes through her front gate. Her tall figure sags slightly beneath the exhaustion of the day, but she manages a smile when she hears the gate latch quietly without any hint of its former rusted state. Juggling her keys with her briefcase and a stack of papers, she finally manages to jimmy the front door open without dropping anything.
With a satisfied hum, she immediately drops her keys to the coffee table and sinks into the couch cushions with closed eyes. The moment of bliss is abruptly ended, however, when she tenses at the feel of hands brushing across her eyelids in an attempt to blindfold her. Her immediate response puts her on the defense and she is already planning her first move when a gentle kiss to the top of her head prompts rational thought to give way to a particularly emotional memory.
"So where do we go from here?"
Despite the dim evening, he can see the uncertain expression on her face as they tread through the sand in the darkness and he can feel her nerves as he holds her cold hand in his.
"We go to your place. And we get warm," he replies lightly.
"Vaughn," she chides, "I'm serious."
He shrugs, "I know you are. And the answer is, 'I don't know.' I think we're going to have to figure this one out as we go."
She sounds uncertain as she responds, "I can't go back, Vaughn. Not yet. I just—I just need you to realize that it might take some time. Even if we work things out between us, there are other things I need to deal with."
"And I'll be here to help you sort through those issues. I'll catch a plane on Fridays after work and be back on Sunday nights. Just say the word." he offers sincerely.
"You'd be going to an awful lot of trouble just to be my confidante," she remarks.
With a tug of her hand, he reels her around and up against his chest before pulling her into a reverent hug, "Nothing is too much trouble when it comes to your happiness, Sydney. Nothing."
Unable to contain her giddy grin, she places her hands over his, "I thought you were still supposed to be in France. I wasn't planning on seeing you until next weekend."
"I know, but I realized something," he whispers conspiratorially. "I needed to be here."
Her hands fall into her lap and he lifts his palms away from her eyes. Tensing her shoulders in an attempt to harness her excitement, she squeezes her eyes to a close when she feels a trace of teary moisture threatening to spill. Hoping to prevent the light mood from being burdened with talk of I'm sorry and what-if, she gives him a cheeky smile, "Have I mentioned how much I love you for fixing my front gate the last time you were here?"
"Once or twice," he responds with a nonchalant shrug.
"Good. Then I've settled my debt," she nods.
"Not quite," he replies slyly before moving around to the front of the couch.
"I've missed you," she murmurs quietly. "What are you doing here?"
The initial blow of the question is softened by the bright smile on her face and he knows immediately that the words hold no veiled meanings. Still, he feels the age-old sting of guilt's sharp edge when he realizes that her surprise is genuine. That she can't believe he has chosen her over his duties overseas. He can think of millions of words, thousands of explanations for just how important she is to him. How he will do anything for her. How making the two hour flight to see her is something like an involuntary reflex and requires no thought. Especially on this day of all days.
Instead, he opts for three simple words.
"Happy Birthday, Syd."
She is in his arms almost immediately and he veers dangerously near the realm of sensory overload as he revels in the feel of her soft body pressed against his, the taste of her forehead against his lips, her creamy vanilla scent, and sound of her excited laugh.
He pulls back for a moment and watches with solemn eyes as she considers the sweetness of his gesture in contrast with his neglectful behavior just one year prior. A secondary result of his surveying gaze is a rush of admiration for her fresh-faced beauty, only enhanced by the glistening track of a lone tear. All signs of her accident have long since faded away and with them, it seems, went so many of the problems that festered between them. After six months worth of lazy weekends, long walks, and the softest of kisses, he's grown accustomed to the faintest hints of suspicion glossing in her eyes. But today there is something different: a new clarity, a hint of vigor and of adoration as she watches him watching her.
Things are far from perfect, he knows. She still insists that she's not ready to face life back in Los Angeles and he is being completely honest when he tells her that he'll wait until she's ready. But he'd be lying if he claimed that he didn't wish she was with him every morning, noon, and night. Instead he settles for weekends and he figures that the six months of frequent flyer miles he has accrued will prove useful in some future getaway for two.
The smooth slope of her jawline proves all too tempting and with a soft hand, he finds himself tracing its shape and reveling in the pleasant upward curve of her smiling lips. She'd nearly crumbled almost a month before when he'd informed her that he would be overseeing a deep cover operation in Paris for several weeks and would be unable to see her, but she'd claimed to understand his lack of choice in the matter. However, as her birthday drew closer and the completion of the mission seemed more distant than ever, he became aware of just how skewed his priorities had become. A quick phone-call to headquarters had resulted in a long string of reprimands as well as the promise of a formal inquiry upon his return, but if such consequences were allowing him to be here with Sydney, his decision had been the right one. Protocol be damned.
As they lower themselves to the couch, their upper-bodies still entwined, her arms tighten their hold and her lashes flutter against his jaw. He feels her nose pressing against his neck and shivers at the tickling sensation of her lips as she whispers, "I can't believe you did this."
He responds gratefully, "I can't believe you let me."
The moments pass quickly for as long as they're locked in their tight embrace, something that they've become accustomed to in past months. Sydney can't help but smile as she glances around her small home. For as much as she notices the little signs of his absence when he's gone, the signs of his presence in her life are nearly as powerful. The ragged pair of tennis shoes he often wears to take Quentin down to the beach. The flannel pants and t-shirt that often end up with her dirty laundry after he leaves on Sunday nights. Or the pillow that he's claimed as his own; the one she's been sleeping on every night since the last time he left.
One minute of such thoughts soon becomes an hour and Sydney lifts her head questioningly from Vaughn's shoulder when he rises from the comfort of the couch cushions. His head lolls to one side as he eyes her impatiently, "It is your birthday." Holding out a hand, he guides her into the kitchen and hands her a covered basket before opening the backdoor to allow an anxious Quentin to scamper into the house. Sydney cringes noticeably at the sound of the dog's claws scraping loudly against the flooring, but her sour expression is quickly replaced with a bemused one when she spots the cone-shaped party hat perched atop the dog's head.
She turns to Vaughn with raised eyebrows, "You're tormenting my dog?"
"Hey," he raises his hands in defense before leaning down to give the dog an affectionate scratch behind the ears. He shrugs good-naturedly, "She was a willing participant."
Sydney rolls her eyes, "I'm sure she was just begging you for the chance to wear such a fashionable accessory."
He chuckles, "It's time for her walk. Let's go." And snatching the leash on their way out the door, he snaps it to the dog's collar before the trio heads down the sidewalk.
The walk to the beach is a quick one and they exchange brief summaries of the happenings in the time they've been apart. Stepping hand-in-hand, they keep their distance from the water in an effort to stave off the evening chill. They let Quentin romp freely in the distance and laugh at the squawks of the indignant seagulls as she barks fiercely.
Seated comfortably on a small dune, Sydney watches Vaughn in amazement as he pulls a sumptuous plate of tiramisu from the basket. With one fork to share between the both of them, Vaughn generously offers the first bite and Sydney nearly moans over the delectable flavor of the espresso-soaked cake. After having devoured the delicious dessert, Sydney is surprised to see Vaughn pull a small, elegantly-wrapped gift from the basket.
"Vaughn," she starts to protest, "you've already done so…"
He cuts her off before she can finish, "Don't worry, Syd. I kind of cheated on this part."
Furrowing her brow in confusion, he elaborates, "This was supposed to be your gift on your last birthday." His face falls slightly, "Unfortunately, we didn't exactly get around to gift-giving as you know."
She nods silently, not about to reopen the can of worms, and accepts the flat, rectangular package before carefully peeling the tape from the wrapping paper. Tearing the decorative layer away, she halts her movements when she sees the faded, gilt letters spelling 'The Sound and the Fury'. Ripping the rest of the paper off, she discovers a slightly battered, but early edition of her favorite novel. Feeling her throat tighten with emotion, she utters with a strained voice, "Vaughn?"
He shrugs rather sheepishly, "It's a first edition. I mean, it's not exactly in mint-condition and it's missing the dustjacket, but I know how much you loved the book Weiss gave you and the ones your dad bought your mom so…"
Tears are blurring her vision and she shakes her head in an attempt to clear her eyes, "It's perfect, Vaughn. How did you remember?"
He lifts an arm and pulls her close before pressing a kiss to her tear-moistened cheek, "That it's your favorite? Of course I remember, Sydney." He laughs and gestures towards Quentin, "I mean, come on—Quentin?"
She releases something between a laugh and a sob in response before leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips, "Thank you, Michael."
He grins, "You're welcome, but we're not quite done."
She tilts her head in surprise as he pulls yet another tiny box from the pocket of his jacket.
"This," he starts as he eyes the small box, "is really more of a gift for me." Placing the small package in her hand, he smiles nervously.
As soon as she has pulled the paper away, she feels the black velvet beneath her fingertips and she can feel teardrops forming once again.
Lifting the lid, Sydney pulls in a ragged breath as she comes face to face with the ring she left in her apartment all those months ago. Lifting her teary-eyes to his, she speaks his name once again, "Vaughn…"
He lifts a finger to her lips and effectively blocks protests of any kind before taking the box back, "There's no pressure here, Sydney. I'm not expecting a yes or no answer of any kind. I'm simply returning something that was and will always be rightfully yours." He gives her a crooked half-grin, "I think this ring deserves a second chance just as much as we do, don't you agree?"
She can't help but chuckle at his reasoning and she nods, "I guess maybe you're right."
Vaughn grins, "All I'm asking you to do is hang on to this, Syd. And tell me when you're ready, if you'll ever be ready. We can go from there."
Sydney eyes him for a good several seconds. There are defined creases in his forehead and his eyes are watching her earnestly as she mulls over his words. She nods and smiles as she quietly responds, "Okay."
It's only been three months worth of weekends since his pillow and blanket were upgraded from their spot on Sydney's couch to a side of Sydney's bed, but he's already well-acquainted with the protesting groan of the squat, queen-sized frame as he rolls towards Sydney's side of the mattress. She smiles when she feels the warmth of his body pressed against her own and she's embarrassed to hear something resembling a purr erupt from somewhere within as she presses her cold feet against his warm ones. He smiles slightly and feels her turn over within his grasp until he can feel her chest; feel her heartbeat against his own.
It's some time later when he awakens with empty arms and an empty bed. Moonlight spills unevenly through the curtains and if he listens carefully, he can hear the swishing of the surf. The floor is cold beneath his feet and he hisses as he patters across the room. The house isn't a big one, so it only takes one sweeping glance for him to spot her silhouetted figure standing on the front porch. Stepping quietly through the front door, hoping not to startle her, he moves to stand behind her and whisper into her ear, "Syd? What are you doing out here? You're going to freeze." He confirms his own statement with a quick look at the thin cotton pants and tank top she's wearing.
She gives him a soft smile, but says nothing as he reaches for her hand to lead her back inside. He stops, however, when her hand lands on his in a silent plead for understanding. Gently and without urgency, she gives his hand a tug and beckons him toward the porch railing where, thanks to her coastal location, they have a clear view of the starlit sky.
"Michael, I'm ready to come back."
"Come back?" He questions in confusion.
She nods assuredly, "Vaughn. I'm ready."
Suddenly a break in the cloud-cover allows for a moment of complete illumination by moonlight and as Sydney is bathed in the silver light, it causes something on her left hand to glint.
Raking a joyous hand through his hair, Vaughn lets out a breath and nods, "You're ready. To come back to LA?"
She nods silently, a pleased smile playing over her features, as Vaughn wraps his arms around her and she clutches at the soft fabric of his t-shirt in an effort to pull him closer. Their lips are soft and warm, despite the frosty air that surrounds them, and they each remain oblivious to anything and everything but the fact that they have reached the end of one journey only to embark upon another. That this moment would be the beginning of something new.
And it started with a kiss.
End Roundabout
Thank you to each and every one of you for the tremendous amount of support you've shown for this fic. This has been quite a journey to write and, while I'm sad to see it end, I'm also glad to have it finished. For those interested, I will now be getting back to work on "To Everything Its Place" and hope to have a chapter posted sometime in the not-too-distant future. Thank you again and Happy Reading! Ellie