A/N: I added a large chunk to this today (jan 27) so if you read it before then, you should re-read! Hopefully I will write the next chapter and post it within a week. It all depends on the muse : )

Chapter 3

Long after Julia had gone to bed and the Johnsons had picked up Tara, Vaughn sat up in the den, nursing a glass of whiskey, listening to the only song that meant anything to him these days.

Her hair of floating sky is shimmering, glimmering,
In the sun

As always, that verse made him recall the event that had made his life what it was today.

They had arrived in Charleston, South Carolina – their new home – marriage license in hand, but there had been no time for an actual ceremony before their hasty escape from L.A. Mr. and Mrs. Turner were united on paper, but not in deed. Julia didn't seem at all disgruntled by that fact, but Vaughn, still held by the romantic fantasies which he would gradually relinquish, absolutely insisted upon it. He and Sydney had always imagined a small wedding on the beach, and that's what Vaughn demanded that they do.

"Syd," he said…for he still thought of her that way in those days, "Just think how beautiful it would be. We could do it at sunset…just you, me, and the chaplain."

Julia looked up at him, her eyes still sealed over with that glossy blankness she had been sporting since she turned up on the bank of the L.A. bay a few days earlier. All she said was, "My name is Julia."

"Whatever," Vaughn said, not allowing himself to be disgruntled. At this point, he was still so relieved that she wasn't dead that there was practically nothing she could say to provoke him. "Julia, Sydney, Monica…whatever your name is, I love you, and I want to marry you on the beach tomorrow evening. Please?"

Julia squinted slightly…he could tell she was mulling it over.

"It would be just like we imagined," he said softly, taking a step toward her. "Don't you remember?"

She backed away. "No, Michael, I don't. But if this is what it's going to take to appease you, I'll do it."

Vaughn stepped forward and threw his arms around her, reveling in the warmth of her small frame pressed up against him. She didn't back away this time…she simply stood there like a brick, indifferent to his touch, to his very existence, he thought now, swishing the whiskey around in his mouth.

The day of their wedding was perfect. The air was warm and sweet-smelling, and the sky a pure blue, sprinkled with a few wispy white clouds. It was an ideal Charleston summer afternoon. Julia wore a crinkly brown dress…the same one Sydney had worn during their ill-fated ocean-side date, two years before. After rescuing her that night on the beach, Jack had taken the dress from her and carefully washed out the blood stains from her bullet-wound. That dress meant something to him, too. It had belonged to Laura.

When Vaughn and Julia fled from L.A. a few days before, Jack had provided them with a bag full of a few living-essentials. Some deodorant, toothpaste, a marriage license, drivers licenses, passports, and Laura's dress.

When he saw her come out of their bedroom wearing that dress, Vaughn was certain she did it intentionally. He was sure it was her way of telling him that she did remember everything, that despite her cold demeanor, she still loved him. But now, two years later, swallowing the last of the whiskey, he cursed himself for being such an idiot. Of course she had worn that dress. It was the only one she had.

They walked down to the beach in silence. Vaughn kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye to be sure she was real, to be sure something as beautiful as she could actually exist in this world – could actually be walking beside him, about to marry him. Julia kept her eyes focused straight ahead. For her, it was just another mission. She slid her arm into his when they reached the viewing-range of the chaplain. Not a moment sooner.

Suddenly she paused.

"What is it?" Vaughn asked.

She raised her hand, as if to tuck her hair behind her ear, and then dropped it…it was a motion Vaughn would become quite familiar with in the months to come.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean everything," she whispered, not wanting the chaplain to hear. "You've given up your whole life, risked everything, and for what? Some woman who washed up on a Los Angeles shore a few days ago, who happens to resemble your dead girlfriend? Tell me why you're doing this."

"Because I love you," Vaughn replied without thinking. And it was true. In many ways, this woman, this Julia Thorne, was nothing like the Sydney Bristow he had fallen in love with two years ago. But as he looked at her there on the beach, her blonde hair shimmering, glimmering in the sun, he knew without a doubt that he loved her.

And so he married her. As the yellow sun faded into a peaceful pink, and the waves crashed around their bare feet, Vaughn and Julia exchanged simple vows, and in a way, Vaughn thought, as he put the empty glass down and stood up to turn the music off, it really had been the happiest day of his life.

He walked slowly up the stairs to their bedroom, surprised and pleased to find it pitch black. Normally when Julia went to bed before him, she would leave the closet light on so he could see. But tonight he had provoked her, and he took the lack of light to be further evidence of that fact.

She had left the window open though, and the soft glow from the full moon made it possible for him to see well enough. He looked at Julia. She was curled up on her side, hugging her pillow. Her yellow hair hung around her in soft clumps. She looked like a child, pure and innocent. Even though her eyelashes were glistening with recently-shed tears, she looked peaceful. Vaughn quietly stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed with her.

"Jules," he murmured.

"Mmm," was her sleepy reply.

"I love you," he whispered. His entire body ached with love and desire, but he didn't dare touch her.

Then she made a movement, almost imperceptible and ever so slight, to stretch slightly, loosening herself from the tight ball she had been positioned in. Vaughn's heart was racing.

"I love you," he said a bit more loudly, a bit more courageously. She was still for a moment, and then she moved again, turning herself onto her back, so that he could see her face. Her eyes were still closed, but he thought he saw a faint flush on her cheeks.

"Julia," he said, now speaking in a normal voice tone, "I love you. I love you. I love you…"

And suddenly she was on top of him, her mouth covering his face, neck, and lips in hot kisses, her voice letting out low, seductive moans when he ran his hands under her t-shirt, across her flat stomach, reacquainting himself with all the curves of her body, and then her shirt was off, and their bodies were tangled together, and it was better than he could ever remember, more real, more passionate, and more tender than he could ever remember it being, even when she had been Sydney. It was different, too. The playfulness was gone, replaced by a solemnity bordering on sacredness.

Vaughn could hear through the open window the sound of the waves crashing as he lowered himself into her, crashing outside on the shore he had married her on two years ago, crashing with the same solemnity, the same soothing sacredness that had echoed through the windy air when they said their vows.

And as he held her to him, their bodies pressed together, forming one unit that moved with the same rhythm as the sea, Vaughn had an epiphany. This wasn't about Sydney Bristow at all. He knew right then beyond the shadow of a doubt that he really did love her. He loved Julia Thorne. He wanted her, he longed for her body, for the touch of her skin against his skin, but more than all that, he loved her. He told her so again and again.

He had fallen asleep on his back, one arm wrapped protectively around Julia's back and side, the other resting on her hip. She had converted his bare chest into a pillow. But when he awoke, he was alone. He reached his arm over instinctively to feel her, but she wasn't there. The clock told him it was 7:30. No wonder, he thought. Julia was always up before 6:00.

He stumbled out of bed, threw on a bathrobe, and made his way downstairs. Julia was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. When he went over to her and kissed her forehead, she smiled. It was a Sydney smile, full of dimples, and reflecting brilliantly in her brown eyes. Vaughn breathed a sigh of relief. A part of him had been scared that the events of the night had been a figment of his imagination. Or worse, that they had happened, but that Julia would pretend, as she had in past such episodes, that they hadn't, and go back to being cold and taciturn.

But this hadn't been like "past episodes." This had been…he sighed and smiled, running his fingers through her hair. He told her he loved her. She stood up and kissed him.

The rest of the morning passed relatively quietly. John spent the morning in the kitchen, preparing all sorts of aromatic dishes for his home catering service, while Monica sat at the kitchen table, scribbling endlessly in a leather bound notebook, no doubt writing up something or other for one of the magazines that frequently used her stuff.

That had become their life. Monica the dreamy freelance writer and John the wonder-cook. Their jobs suited them well. Not only did both spouses enjoy what they did, but they had also worked it out to be paid under the table. This was a handy perk. Even though Michael Vaughn and Sydney Bristow were officially dead – Jack had staged an elaborate explosion in the prison where Sydney was being held when she first turned up in LA – the Turners thought it was best to stay out of the public light. Hence Vaughn's anxiety about calling 911 during little Tara's choking fit.

"What are you writing?" Vaughn asked, pouring a bowl full of brownie batter into a large pan.

"Movie review. The new Pride and Prejudice."

Vaughn made a gagging sound.

"Oh please. Why is it that men always think they have to make fun of Jane Austen in order to maintain their manliness?"

"Probably because they do," said Vaughn. He picked up the bowl he had used to mix the brownie batter in and began licking the sides of it like a dog.

"Yeah, well you could learn a thing or two from Mr. Darcy," she said, rolling his eyes at him.

"What, you don't think this is gentlemanly?" Vaughn asked, pulling his head out of the bowl. His face was smeared with chocolate.

"It's completely disgusting. And if you don't bring the bowl over to me so I can finish it off right this second, you really will need to worry about losing your manhood," she said threateningly, aiming her newly sharpened pencil at his lower region.

Vaughn crinkled his eyebrows as if deep in thought, and then, eyeing the pencil sadly, said, in a tone of mock gravity, "Do your thing then. This brownie batter is more important."

Julia snorted with laughter as she leapt out of her chair and across the room. She put her arms around Vaughn, trying to pry the bowl out of his hands, and somehow in the course of the struggle, Julia, Vaughn, and the bowl ended up in a big heap on the kitchen floor. Julia grabbed the bowl and started to sit up, but Vaughn pulled her back down and smothered her with a chocolatey kiss.

"Mmm," said Julia, pretending to be completely absorbed in the increasingly heated kiss, while she surreptitiously reached behind her back, grabbed the spatula (which had also fallen on the ground), dunked it in the bowl so it was coated thickly in the gooey batter, and then in one swift motion, brought it forward and slathered it all over Vaughn's face.

"Oh my God," Vaughn cried, choking back laughter as he continued to pin down the squirming Julia, "You are so dead, Mrs. Turner. I'm not kidding."

He brought his head down and despite all her efforts to escape, managed to rub his face across her neck, lips, and cheeks, so that she too was now covered in the batter.

"What?" he exclaimed, as she looked up at him in shock

"I can't believe you! I just washed this shirt!" she cried, pointing at her white blouse which was now splattered with chocolate.

"Aw, honey, I'm sorry…I was just giving you what you asked for. The batter, you know…"

Julia continued glaring at him.

"Oh get over it woman, it's just a shirt. It will come out. In fact," he said slyly, moving his hands up onto her stomach and slowly unbuttoning the blouse, "I have the perfect way to fix the problem…"

Julia tried to protest, but there was nothing she could do…when Michael Vaughn's hands were on her, she became completely distracted and helpless. It had always been that way. So she happily submitted, and it wasn't long before a lot more than their faces was covered in brownie batter…

Some minutes or hours later, they sat with their backs up against the kitchen counter. Vaughn had his arm around Julia and she was resting her head on his shoulder.

Suddenly Vaughn took a deep breath, and Julia knew what was coming.

"Are we going to talk about this?" he asked seriously.

She sighed. "About what, Michael?"

"Do I really have to say it?" he asked in frustration.

Julia just looked at him in silence.

"Fine. For the first time in two years of marriage, you actually seem to like me. What changed?"

Julia pushed Vaughn's arm off of her and stood up. "Nothing's changed," she said with a forced smile. "That's just it. I need to finish that article now – deadline's tomorrow."

She kissed him on the top of his head and went back to the kitchen table, where she resumed writing her article. Vaughn, after a moment's reflection, decided not to push it. She did like him…at least for now. That was all that mattered.

A few days later, Vaughn walked in on Julia dyeing her hair in the bathroom. She smiled when he came in, but he thought he could perceive a faint touch of anxiety in her face. On a whim, he decided to play off of it.

"Why do you always do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Your natural hair color is beautiful."

She shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess. I've been dyeing it blonde since I was a teenager."

"What are you talking about?" Vaughn asked, allowing himself for a rare moment to forget that she was Julia.

"I have, Michael," she insisted. "Since I was fourteen."

She was pleading with him now; he could see it in her eyes. The cruel part of him wanted to keep pushing her until she broke, until she came sobbing into his arms, and for once, finally, explained why she had transformed herself, why she had buried Sydney.

But he looked into her eyes…those brown, vulnerable eyes he had fallen in love with four years ago, and his heart broke. Because however hard it was for him, he knew it had to be a hundred times worse for her. He went over to her and kissed her lightly on her forehead.

"I'm sure you'd look amazing with any hair color. Even bright purple." He was thinking of the alias she had used on a trip to Madrid, during her SD-6 days.

"Want to help me rinse the dye out?" she asked, slipping off her bathrobe and stepping into the shower.

He needed no further encouragement.

For three weeks they continued in this bliss, like starry-eyed lovers on their honeymoon. Vaughn did his best to ignore any urges to remind Julia that she was really Sydney. But one morning when he came downstairs, everything changed.

Julia was lying on the kitchen floor. She was crying hysterically. When she saw Vaughn enter the room, she immediately hid her right hand behind her back. Vaughn ran over to her and tried to pull her up, but she squirmed out of his hands like a wild animal. She stood up and backed into the corner of the room, hand still tucked safely behind her back.

"Julia," he said, trying to hide his panic, "What is the matter?"

She shook her head, but said nothing, tears still streaming down her face. He took a step closer to her.

"Get away from me," she screamed, her entire body quivering.

"I'm not going to hurt you. You know I'd never heard you, Sydney."

"I'm not Sydney!" she shrieked, grabbing a glass plate from the table and flinging it at him. The plate hit the wall and shattered.

"I don't care who you are," he said calmly, still walking closer to her. "I love you."

"I'm Julia, goddamn you! I'm Julia! Julia…"

Her voice began to fade, probably from weariness, as she continued repeating her name. Vaughn was standing right in front of her now. He took one last step and her eyes flashed warningly, but when he took her in his arms, she instantly lost herself in his embrace, and would have crumpled to the ground if he hadn't supported her. He felt as if he were holding a helpless child.

"Julia, then," he whispered, as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. "I love you, Julia."

And as he held her tightly while her endless tears soaked through his shirt, the beautiful simplicity of it was revealed to him, that Julia was Sydney, that Sydney was Julia, that the two parts formed a single person, and that his love for Sydney was only a half, that the reason his ecstasy over the past weeks had been so pure, so wild, so complete, was because he had finally learned to love the whole person.

Suddenly Julia raised her head and took a step back from him. "You think you love me, but you have no idea." Her voice was eerily calm now. "You have no idea what I've done."

"Can't you understand?" he cried. "I don't care what you've done! I love you! That's the only thing that matters."

She made no reply.

"I don't understand," Vaughn continued. "Six hours ago you were completely happy and at peace. What the hell happened since then to make you this way?"

Julia shook her head and her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "I wasn't completely happy, and I certainly wasn't at peace. I was in denial. I finally had allowed myself to submit to you…" her voice trembled. "To my love for you. I thought I could forget everything, bury the past. But I was living in a dream world. And now I've made everything a hundred times worse, for both of us."

"I don't understand."

She sighed heavily and then brought her hand forward from behind her back. She was holding a small plastic tube. Part of it had turned blue.

"Vaughn. I'm pregnant."