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."
