Phantasmagoria
Chapter 6, Part I
A/n: By the way, this chapter is flangst to the max.
Sydney lay in bed, sheets swirled around her in disarray. The comforter covered her body from waist to ankle, and her arms were tossed back behind her head as she stared in a daze at the ceiling. The hotel room slowly spun around her while her mind swam endlessly through the vacuum of space.
Suddenly she inhaled deeply and recognized the scent distinctly belonging to Rome, causing her to long for another familiar smell. Reaching for the pillow beside her head, she breathed in Vaughn's fragrance. She hugged his pillow and recalled bitterly that he was away tending to business, leaving her alone in the late morning to do what she pleased with an empty afternoon.
Two days ago, the bookshop received a shipment from Livres d'Eiffel , alerting Sydney and Vaughn to flee the country. Seeing Rome listed as a safe-haven, they jumped at the chance to return to the charming and ancient city. The couple was quite eager to visit, falling in love with the area having only been once before (apart from their break-in at the Vatican).
There was a homely tranquility about Rome– despite its major city status –that appealed to both of them, and reminded them of their precious Bern. They found its history intriguing and its romanticism enchanting, and they agreed it the perfect place to celebrate a much belated third anniversary in late October. Unfortunately, especially after last night's fabulous escapades, there were issues with a publisher based in Rome that Sydney's male counterpart had gone to deal with.
Sydney painfully shifted her gaze to the far window, a stinging sensation burning her eyes in the striking sunlight. She squinted yet refused to blink, stubbornly fighting the pain. Once fully adjusted, she peeled her body from the sheets one muscle at a time and crept forward toward the calling window across the cold, tiled floor.
Touching her fingertips to the sill she examined the morning: bright and cloudless; the piazza: full, bustling, yet soothing; the Spanish Steps: adorned with the trademark red azaleas (likely to disappear by the end of the month), clusters of seated tourists, admirers of the boat-like fountain; and the church: rising magnificently in all its glory, calmly overseeing its city's affairs.
The Spanish Steps were Sydney's favorite site, though it was unclear to her why. Why a simple set of stairs with the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel just blocks away? Perhaps it was related to her unusual attraction to all things normal; train stations, for instance.
Subconsciously she slipped her hand under the hem of her green tank top and brushed the skin that encompassed her bellybutton. Suddenly the room was spinning again and she woozily stepped back from the window, as if afraid to tumble outside. She turned quickly and darted toward the bathroom, the sound of her bare feet slapping against the tile resounding in her head. She leaned over the toilet and vomited, dropping to her knees in a moment of weakness.
Her eyes were closed, each breath a heavy pant, she mentally convinced herself of stability, and she opened her eyes. After wiping her mouth with a trembling hand she grabbed hold of the counter and plucked herself from the floor. She held herself there a moment, unsteady yet on her feet, and rubbed her stomach with a trace of a scowl on her face as she stared at her paled reflection in the mirror.
She slithered back into bed and balled into the comforting fetal position, surrounding herself in the protection of the covers. She had previously toyed with the idea of aimlessly wandering the city that day, venturing down the Via del Corso stopping only for gelato or pizza, passing the abundant fountains and statues in each piazza, gaping at the monstrosity of the monument to Victor Emmanuel II, climbing the eroded steps in the Colosseum. She had previously considered turning in the opposite direction afterwards to bask in the remaining warmth of the October sun upon the large lion fountain in the Piazza del Popolo, her second favorite after the Piazza di Spagna of her beloved Spanish Steps. But the mere thought of dashing through the crowded streets, dodging Smart cars, and the slick feel of gelato on her tongue made her stomach churn once again. She grabbed for her husband's pillow, desperate for his loving consolation, and breathed deeply for his scent as she molded it against the crevices of her body in a tight hug.
When Vaughn returned around dinnertime, he found his wife seated at the elegant sofa by the window, her legs curled under her. Her eyes were focused outside into the darkening night, a pink and orange haze still visible in their sight. Nothing in particular outside the window held Sydney's interest, but she was deeply entranced by her thoughts.
Her concentration broke, however, upon feeling Vaughn's body sink into the cushion and ensconcing his head into her lap. She uncurled her legs to allow him a more comfortable position and her fingers entwined themselves in his hair.
"Sorry I'm back so late," he apologized quietly. "I thought it would be over sooner. But I guess all that matters is we got everything straightened out." She nodded faintly in response, and he could tell she was quite obviously distracted. He tried another approach. "So what did you do all day?"
She blinked rapidly for a moment. "Not much. I was in bed all morning, but I went out this afternoon for a bit, for some fresh air."
"I thought you wanted to wander around today?"
"Yeah, I… I wasn't feeling well earlier."
"Oh." He paused, thinking as her fingers grazed through his hair. "But you're feeling better now, right?"
Her expression faltered abruptly. "That's the thing, I'm not sure…" Immediately Vaughn sat up, his brow deeply furrowed and his wrinkled forehead full of worry. Normally she would have smiled at his concern, but she currently teetered on the edge of an unknown world in a rather distraught state. "I think I'm pregnant, Michael."
Vaughn, too shocked to respond, remained silent. It did not startle Sydney or evoke any worry, nor did she expect him to say anything at first. She had been dwelling on it all day, ever since she had returned to bed and wondered, Could I be pregnant? Being extremely busy with the start of school, she had failed to notice the earliest of signs, but now they occurred to her: missed period, chronic fatigue, and most recently the nausea… All classic.
If she was really– her mind could hardly process the word –pregnant, then what would become of her child? There were too many dangerous people in the world, and more evil than a child, let alone any normal person, could possibly imagine or be exposed to. So Sydney decided the risks were just too great.
"We can't do this," she whispered reluctantly, voicing her fears. "We can't bring a baby into this life. How could we let someone grow up like this? Under lies? Under… Under the way we live?" She hesitated, letting her thoughts sink in, then she whispered, "What if he finds us?"
Vaughn shot her a look, his first indication of consciousness. "We can't think about that, Scarlett. We can't let him scare us."
Tears brimmed at her eyes. "It's a little too late for that."
Vaughn finally met her gaze, and upon seeing his wife so afflicted he wrapped his arms around her. "I love you so much," he says as she nuzzles her chin into his shoulder; he stroked her hair in his fingertips. She felt him pull away only to bring his hands to her cheeks, forcing them to lock eyes. Sydney knew instantly that he understood and shared her fears.
"I know," she replied, "I love you too. And I want to have a baby with you, I want to so badly, but right now… I don't know if it's safe."
He brushed across her eyelashes with his thumb while she studied him intently. She knew how much a child would mean to him, to her, to them, yet their were greater things at stake. Things that taunted their happiness, threatened their little family, plagued their future. Would it ever be safe? Sydney felt they would know; one day they would know.
"Let's not make any final decisions until we know you're pregnant for sure." Sydney nodded, leaning back into the couch and tilting her head to rest on his shoulder.
Sydney bolts upright in bed, her neck twisting around the room as she squints into the darkness. Something does not feel right. Something unknown has awaken her and made her alert, but what? She lies back down momentarily, but no longer feels the strain of tiredness.
Pulling the covers off her body, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and sits with her feet settled on the carpet. She stretches her arms upward, hoping to relieve the pain in her back that has existed without ceasing for the past week. This fails to help, as she expected, and she suddenly feels a tightness in her abdomen. Shifting uncomfortably on her bed, her hand falls to her stomach. Did she just feel…? No, it is too early.
She takes a deep breath as the discomfort subsides, and reaches for the phone on the bedside table. Hesitating, her fingers brush over the numbers, then she quickly dials Vaughn's cell.
After several rings, there is no answer. She quietly curses. He must be working. She sets the phone back and slowly eases herself to lie down, her legs still hanging over the edge. How long has Vaughn been gone? Two, three days? No matter how it disappoints her, Vaughn works for the CIA, and if they need him on a mission that is his top priority. She can not even remember where he has gone, though it is not important. He is gone, she is alone.
Another tightening wracks her abdomen more intensely and she closes her eyes to work through the ache. As she opens her eyes she sees her hands clawing into the bed, her breath quickened. This is not right, she tells herself, it is too early.
She props herself up on her elbows before edging off the bed to her feet. Her back straightens and she cringes slightly, her hands instantly trying to massage her muscles. Soon her eyes settle out the window; the headlights of a passing car flash passed. She can hear the soft pitter-patter of rain outside, and she spies the falling drops in the light from the streetlamps.
Tearing her eyes away she lurks through the darkened hallways of her small home. She pauses briefly, the nursery to her left, and risks a glance. But only after a glance does she move forward again, and heads to the kitchen. There she fills herself a glass of water and leans against the counter. She presses the glass to her lips and cool water slips down her throat, but she suddenly jerks it away as the tightness pulls harder at her stomach, splattering water over the counter, on to the floor. This time the pain is so distinct; she elicits a small gasp as she struggles to stand. Her right hand is tightly gripped on the counter, her left holding her stomach.
It is too early, it is too early, she keeps telling herself. But she clearly knows, it's time. With the next surge of pain her knees buckle beneath her and she falls to the floor with a cry. She scrambles to her knees and crawls across hard wood, destined to reach her cell phone before the next one hits. Her shaking fingers punch at the digits and she holds the phone to her ear, her eyes closed, her heart pounding.
"Hello?"
She strives to catch her breath. "Dad, it's me. I'm in labor." No answer. "Dad?"
"I'm on my way." He hands up, and she drops the phone to the floor, pressing her back into a cupboard door to suppress another onset of pain. She closes her eyes and squeezes them shut until she hears her father entering through the front door. She grabs hold of his arm damp from the rain and he assists her to her feet.
They progress in this fashion through the kitchen, hallway, and out the door. Soon Sydney feels droplets tickling her face, though the rain is easing up. Jack splashes through a puddle along the curb as he settles his daughter in his car.
Sydney clutches the arms of the front seat; her mind is screaming is agony. It's too early, Vaughn's not here, it's too early, Vaughn's not here…
Aside from her rapid breathing pattern the car is silent. Sydney attempts to focus her anguish elsewhere and Jack intently probes ahead with his eyes as he speeds through the streets of Los Angeles.
After losing a staring contest with the volume dial Sydney cries out. "It's too early, I can't do it." Her voice sounds small, a mild whimper, as if she is too weak to speak strongly. "I need… I need… Vaughn."
Jack safely screeches into a parking space and unbuckles his and Sydney's seatbelts. "You can do it, Sydney." He rushes to help her out of the vehicle, and aids her slow and pained gait through the hospital doors.
He speaks to a nurse at the front desk while Sydney's hands clamor beside him at the countertop to hold herself upright. Before too long she is quickly ushered into a wheelchair and pushed into an elevator; Jack is behind her, and he holds her steady as she wriggles.
Sydney keeps her eyes shut tight as her father glides her down the hallways, though after a minute the gliding stops and Sydney no longer feels Jack's presence near her. A nurse helps her change into a gown and gets situated in the bed. As soon as her feet are set into the stirrups nurses seem to swarm around the room, tinkering with machines and hooking things up, stabbing Sydney's vein with an IV and checking how far she has dilated.
A low groan escapes her lips as a hand tightens around hers. "Vaughn?" she asks hopefully, opening her eyes.
"No, Sydney, you know he's not here." Her father's voice is gentle and soothing, his eyes warm and sympathetic. For an instant she wishes to be five years old again, sit on his lap and smother him in a hug, then another contraction rattles her body and she is shook completely from her train of thought.
"She's coming too early, she's too early!"
"She's only a week from being full term, I highly doubt there will be any complications."
Sydney ignored him. "Where's Vaughn? I need him, I can't do this without him."
"Yes you can," he assures her firmly, "yes you can."
To be continued…
A/n: The chapters six are my favorites, I think. I'm quite fond of them. I can't wait for your reviews! They'll make me so happy after the rough week I've had.