A/N: Hey guys... I know, I know. Christmas is over. But I just couldn't get this done in time... sorry! I'll try to make fast updates though. :-) Luv you!

Thanx once more to Penny for the help. :-)

It's a Wonderful Triangular Life Part Three
Vaughn POV


It's cold out here, seems way too cold for LA. Even in winter, or maybe I've just forgotten what warmth feels like.

There are these memories I have sometimes. A little unnecessary to point it out I guess, though. I mean...everyone has memories.

Well, almost everyone.

God Damn It. You're supposed to be clearing your head, not rolling in more fog.

Oh, who was I trying to kid when I decided that? Four years of this is somewhat of a significant indicator that someway, somehow, I will always be thinking of Sydney Bristow.

This brings me back to the memories.

A particular one I have, almost five years old now, is what seems to be controlling my feet tonight.

Somehow, in what seems too short a time to be humanly possible, I find myself standing outside a huge, empty train station. This place closed down after a horrible fire a year ago. The city worked on repairing it for about two months before deciding to completely rebuild a train station somewhere else. I forget why. When the first flame flickered, another piece of my heart went with it.

It was just another memory scorched away; just another connection to her turned to ash and carried away with the wind. I used to feel like water was my worst enemy, after she drove her car off that bridge. After Taipei. But since then my emotion has changed. Water puts out fire. Water destroys my worst enemy.

It doesn't feel like Christmas anymore, that's certain. As I leap over the wooden boundaries and luminous yellow "Off Limits" tape, I am strongly reminded of the not so long ago days and nights that I spent with only beer bottles and the night for company.

Breaking and entering isn't a difficult task for me -- the abandoned train station is hardly the Vatican. I enter the half furnished building and my footsteps echo off the walls as I immediately head to the spot in my memories. I am surprised and relieved to find that the very same seats still sit there quietly, seeming almost eerily untouched by flame or time.

Attention, passengers. "Pacific Surfliner" to San Diego departing from platform five in fifteen minutes…

I run my hand over the cool, worn leather. Voices from the images in my mind seem to reverberate around the walls and construction beams and race down the tracks, ricocheting back to me and hitting me full force.

Hey.

Hi... how did you find me
?

I sit quietly, sinking into the cushioning and gripping the arm rest. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate as hard as I can on that day, those moments. Maybe if I think hard enough, I'll open my eyes and find this place bustling with people and hear Sydney's tear choked voice behind me, back in the days when we thought protocol would be our toughest obstacle.

We were so stupid and so naive. Protocol is so easily defied. We demonstrated that so many times. And yet in the one situation our resistance to it would have resulted in our happiness, we took its easy defeat for granted.

I wish CIA protocol was the only thing keeping us apart again.

You told me a couple of months ago that when you feel the need to disappear, you go to the observatory. But the observatory was closed. And then I remembered you said the pier calms you down. But you weren't there. And you weren't at the bluffs and the palisades, either.

You didn't really go to all those places.

Yeah, I did.


"This place is closed, you know," a voice, a real female voice, suddenly rings out from the chair behind me, startling me out of my reverie. I jump up and grab the gun I carry with me out of my jack, swiveling around to find who the expected enemy.

Instead, a young girl jumps up from the chair. She looks only fifteen or sixteen, with Chestnut colored waves frame her face, and her eyes shimmer a crystalline cerulean. "Careful where you point they thing, Hun. There are enough loose beams in here to rebuild St. Patrick Cathedral five times! I should know. I was there the day the first one opened... but anyway... let's just get cracking. I've got things to do, places to go, people to see."

"W...what... who...?"

"Sorry, did I startle you a little? There were other ways of getting your attention, I suppose. But at the time it seemed to be either this or tying myself to the train tracks and screaming bloody murder 'till you came to save me, but that seemed a little too Charlie Chaplin, don't you think? Plus, this way saved me one Hell of a migraine..."

The girl's voice breaks off as she realizes that I'm still staring at her, dumbstruck, probably looking like Ferris after Jeanie saved him from Rooney.

"Oh, Jeez. Didn't realize it would mean that much to you. So sorry to deprive you of you Knight-in-Shining-Armor-jollies." She quips, "Seriously, mate, stop staring. It's not very polite, Mr. Vaughn. I surmised your mother would have taught you better."

I snap out of my trance. "How the hell do you know my name?!"

"I think the correct question would be 'How in the heavens'."  

"...Meaning...?"

"Oh, Michael, you're a smart boy. Must I spell this out for you?"

I stumble backwards and slump back into the chair. "Apparently."

"Ugh. I was afraid of that. Alright... my name is Kate... by no means do you ever call me Katherine. I'm from a little place far, far away that some people call heaven, others call 'The Big Parking Lot in the Sky.' Not to be a drag to car fanatics but I usually go with the former. Ergo, I am an angel. And I'm here to help you."