Thanks to those who reviewed...if your still reading please review, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you for taking the time to read it so far. Hope It's alright!dani xxx
Vaughn ran his hand through his hair nervously still assessing the beauty of the woman before him. There was a pregnant silence. She smiled at his shyness.
"How have you been?" she almost whispered, the same gentle smile still painting her lips
"I've been ok" he replied, a hint optimism playing in his voice, "What about you?" She shrugged softly
"Same" Vaughn nodded in affirmation allowing his eye line to fall slightly; he had lied to her. He'd been miserable the past few months; he'd missed her an unbelievable amount feeling as if she had died all over again. His overwhelming fear of hurting her caused all rational thought to dissipate. "Oh, I brought you..." he coyly presented her with the bunch of flowers "...some, er, I thought you might like them... I didn't know, uh I wasn't sure if-" he stopped mumbling noting the distress etched into Sydney's face. His half out-stretched arm lowered slightly. "Syd, what...?"
"You brought me daisies?" she whispered incredulously, her eyes beginning to sting
"I- yes. I...I'm sorry" he let his hand fall, the bouquet now hanging limply by his side. "...Sorry" he whispered almost inaudibly turning to go. She laughed gently wiping away her stubborn fallen tears with the back of her hand.
"Vaughn wait" she grabbed his elbow standing facing his shoulder "It's just- it was you wasn't it? Who left the flowers for Francie?" he nodded slowly his anxiousness biting away at him "Why?" she whispered searching his face for an answer. Vaughn stepped away, his back still facing her. Sydney let go of his arm allowing him to talk without feeling pressured or claustrophobic.
"Can we sit?" he asked indicating the doorstep with the string bound bloom.
"Sure". Vaughn sighed gathering courage for what he was about to divulge to her. He hadn't told anyone this.
"When you died, I had nothing, you were...everything- everything I knew, wanted to know. There was no one I could talk to- to truly tell how I felt, I always lied: said I was fine when I wasn't. You were the only person I could open up to, and you were gone. I never met Francie, the real Francie, the friend you loved and used to tell me about so often. I knew how much she meant to you and she therefore meant something to me, even back in our handler-asset days. I told you once that when you were gone, I was a mess; all I'd do was drink and sleep, drink and sleep. It was a vicious cycle that I didn't even want to get out of. I just didn't bother turning up to work, until one day I went in and cleared my desk and just walked out. I didn't hand in a resignation form, I didn't give any explanation, but I don't think they needed one.
"You had no gravestone, no burial sight, just that stupid wall of stars I had for my father. I went to the warehouse a couple of times but I couldn't handle it, it wasn't right- knowing what I'd lost, re-experiencing the feelings I had for you every time we stood there. The dust, the damp, even those stupid ugly crates, I couldn't understand it but each one brought back memories, things I wasn't ready to handle.
"After I sobered up, I remembered how in the blur of it all Will, before he was taken away, said something about Francie's funeral. I searched the Internet for any obituaries under the name of a Francine Calfo, and I found where she was buried. I went there, and it was like I was at home with you, and her and Will and it- it brought the colour back, you know? I felt comfortable and safe and even though I knew you were both gone, I felt like for the first time, I could be open, to someone else, and myself. While I was there no one was gonna tell me some crap I didn't need to hear to try and make me feel better, things that I knew they were just spewing out because they didn't know what else to say.
"I went there every day and talked to her as if she was there. As I hadn't really met the Francie you adored, and there was no judging voice, just the memory of an objective friend of a friend who I'd never had the privilege of meeting, but dearly loved. It was also a way of feeling as if you were there too, but I didn't feel obsessive or desperate. Gradually as time drifted by, the frequency of my visits became less and less, but I made it a habit, every week, even up until now, I took her flowers and spoke to her. No one knew. No one. Well" he laughed gently "Until now."
Sydney wept soundlessly. She cried for Francie, a friend she was never allowed to mourn. She cried for Will, the man whose life she had destroyed. And she cried for Vaughn, a beautiful, caring man who displayed a courage that she nor any person she'd known possessed. She hated herself for falling apart without him when he lived two years in her absence believing her to be dead. And she hated herself for leaving him behind in her two missing years.
She lovingly took the flowers from his hand, breathing in their soft aroma, their fragrance interlacing with his scent harmoniously. She closed her eyes remembering the gentle caring eyes of her lost friend, understanding how he had linked Francie with such a friendly and gentle blossom. She placed the bouquet in her lap and leant in to tenderly kiss his cheek. She felt the boyish texture of his stubble on the tender flesh of her lips, his familiar taste clinging to her senses. Their eyes were closed as her lips lingered momentarily. She pulled away slowly and rested her forehead against his temple; her silent thank you causing his body to shiver. Their breathing was now deep and quiet. Sydney and Vaughn sat still for sometime, the subtle fragrance of the wild garden daisies, mingling happily with vanilla and the innocent scent of forgiveness.
And as the warm evening breeze caressed the contented couple, a gentle whisper escaped him.
"I miss you"