Three weeks later Vaughn called Sydney out to the car under the ruse of going grocery shopping again. She teased him and joked around, not even realising for almost twenty minutes that they passed up the store a long time ago. "Where are we going?" she asked in confusion.
"You'll see," he grinned.
She punched him playfully on the shoulder in mock irritation, squirming in her seat as she tried to figure out his surprise. The traffic slowed them down, but by late afternoon they arrived in La Jolla. She ended up falling asleep before they hit San Diego, and he hated to wake her, knowing she still needed rest, but he knew she would kill him if he let her sleep away the rest of their day. Her face lit up when he roused her, her eyes filling with happiness and excitement as she recognised her surroundings. She hopped out of the car with childhlike enthusiasm, giggling in delight as she kicked off her shoes.
The fading sun cast a golden glow on her skin, almost giving her the illusion of being the healthy, vibrant Sydney of before. Her face was still drawn and pallid, her eyes a little too dark and sunken, but a smile graced her features and restored life to her otherwise sickly appearance. If he thought for too long and stared closely, he could see phantom tears, invisible reminders of the torrent of tears shed over the last three weeks. Right now she radiated only joy and peace, but time and betrayal made their mark, etching her skin with remnants of the past. Sometimes he just wanted to forget it all, but every time he looked at her he remembered the pain they both endured for a cause that was not their own. This life had never been their cross to bear, but they wore the scars anyway. Some scars were all too literal, haunting his sleep and taunting him with how close he came to losing her. He too bore macabre mementos of close calls and brushes with danger, and these were the ones that reduced Sydney to tears when she traced her fingers over his arms and chest. But they'd both been in this business long enough to know scars came with the territory, and once they grew accustomed to seeing each injury on each other's skin, the wounds started to blend in and fade away to memory. It was the scars beneath the skin, beneath healed wounds and mended bones, lurking in the shadows of the deepest pits of their souls, that really and truly scared him, and probably her as well. He diligently obeyed every doctor's order to aide her recovery, tended to her injuries and hovered near when she coughed and lost her breath, made sure she ate and drank enough. He could manage her physical health just fine for the most part, and after her first few days at home with him, he stopped panicking if he left her alone in a room for more than five minutes. She wasn't well by any stretch of the word, but she was getting there, and he knew how to help.
But since they arrived home she started sleeping a little less, no longer needing full days in bed. She still slept far more than she used to and far more than he did, taking several naps throughout the day and falling asleep before nine every night, but every day she spent a little more time awake. And her sleep wasn't the deep unconsciousness of before. In Italy, London, and New York her body was so worn down, so abused and exhausted that her sleep was deep and dreamless. Now he could rouse her with a gentle shake or quiet voice. Now she woke in the middle of the night screaming, sweating, and sobbing. Those moments were the darkest of his life. All he could do was hold her while she exorcised the grief stored up inside, praying for God to grant her a little mercy and just let her fall asleep again so she could escape the torture of her mind. He could only wrap his arms around her and promise to keep her safe. He couldn't erase the pain, couldn't give her back her life, couldn't shake the sorrow from her heart. So he hugged her close to his body and whispered in her ear, terrified this time might be the one to break her. Every time the tears slowed and gave way to even breath he nearly trembled with relief.
Since they arrived home she started moving around, helping him add a few of her own touches to the apartment to make it feel like home. When she felt up to it they went shopping, strolling through the mall and picking out new clothes, new shoes, new lamps, new music - a new life, though neither said the words. Sometimes she allowed herself to get caught up in the shopping spirit, but every time they bought something she grew sad and asked to go home. He didn't push her, and they pretended her loss of enthusiasm was purely physical fatigue. But he knew better. He saw the tears that pricked her eyes every time they drove past the exit for her old apartment, saw her gazing around the still unfamiliar apartment trying to find her bearings, saw her longing expression when she looked at picture frames in stores or on his shelves. Everything was gone, and he didn't know how to help her carve a place in this world she didn't recognise. Because it wasn't even the physical differences that really hurt. It wasn't the clothes two sizes smaller than before, the empty picture frames at the store, or even the books that still smelled new and felt sticky from the price tag at Borders. All of these things stung, but he knew her well enough to know material objects scored low on her list of priorities. It was the strange silence she encountered without Will and Francie's voices. It was the sallow hue of the whole world, forever changed by the absence of her friends who once brought so much light. It was all the faces in the mall and at the park and on the sidewalks that didn't belong to those she loved, that didn't tease or smile or laugh with her. It was the perpetual chill that seemed to pervade her being; she shivered even in the bright California sunshine, to the point that he brought his jacket everywhere they went to cover her up when her hands turned icy. His healthy bank account and wise investments covered everything she could desire, but his plastic credit cards couldn't purchase everyone she needed back.
This life and this job would never take another minute or another smile away from them again. He bequeathed his quest for vengeance the day after she came home, leaving Sydney at home with Jack while he drove purposefully to the JTF and turned in his resignation, turning sharply on his heel the moment the paper fluttered onto Kendall's desk and never looking back. He left everything at his workstation to those that would assume the duties he abandoned, no longer wanting any ties to the CIA. Jack, Weiss, and Dixon had more than enough personal investment in pursuing the people that hurt Sydney, and they could use their own pain and passion to persevere until every last enemy fell. Sydney didn't want or need Vaughn in the field trying to bring her justice, so within 24 hours he decided on a change of career. She was surprised when he returned without a badge and a pass into the JTF, but as soon as Jack left them alone she cried through her laughter and thanked him for saving her from that fear and anxiety. A few hours later he called Jack, at her request, and asked if he would bring her a resignation form the next time he came to visit. Within three days of returning home, they were both blissfully unemployed. He hadn't decided what to do just yet, but for right now Sydney still needed him at home, so he didn't give it too much thought.
Lowering himself to the pebbly sand, he rested his elbows on his knees and watched her tread carefully to the point where the beach met the waves. He heard a tiny shriek as the cold water splashed her feet, but it was immediately followed up with a delighted laugh that brought a giant smile to his face. She didn't seem to notice his scrutiny, but he quickly found he liked it that way. He suddenly wished he brought a camera, wanting to capture the brilliant image of her silhouette against the waning light of day and the backdrop of the vast Pacific framing her figure. He silently vowed to himself not to take these moments for granted again, and made a mental note to keep his camera with him from now on.
Sydney continued voyaging along the edge of the water, still completely oblivious to the eyes completely captivated by her seemingly carefree appearance. In the midst of long nights filled with horrid nightmares, the days that seemed like an uphill battle every step of the way, and the nearly incapacitating despair, he'd seen in her a pure and quiet joy over these last three weeks. Sometimes he looked into the mirror, stunned to see the same expression in his own eyes. He couldn't explain or rationalise the sense of peace surrounding him, but he knew she felt it too. Maybe losing everything set them both free to find pleasure from the smallest of life's details. Sometimes rolling over in the middle of the night to see her hair splayed across his pillow filled him with more happiness than he could ever remember feeling. He knew without a doubt that he loved the Sydney Bristow of before with all of his heart and would have married her in an instant, but he'd fallen even more in love with the person he shared his bed with now. Just the simple fact that she could walk on the beach, content to be with him and with the beauty of a fading day, amazed him in every way. She told him one night about every single thing they did to her - beatings, starvation, sensory deprivation, druggings, electroshock - and his mind couldn't even comprehend that she was still alive. Most people, even highly trained agents, wouldn't survive that kind of torture. Five weeks after her miraculous rescue, she was already bewildering everyone with her resilience. She wasn't ready for physical intimacy yet, but he felt quite certain she would be thrilled when the time came. After a few awkward experiences while he helped her change, and then again when he helped her shower, she forgot her reservations about being touched and seen. At first he was afraid his reaction to her changed body would hurt her and set their progress back, but he found that his feelings blinded him to everything except the rapture of being with her again.
Somehow, the last five weeks had been the best of his life. He would do anything to take away her pain, but he lived for the smiles she dazzled him with. Sometimes, even after a long, hard day, she sighed in contentment and burrowed her head into his chest while they laid on the couch watching a movie. Sometimes, even when he thought her grief might swallow her whole, she found some reason to laugh. But perhaps most of all, she gave herself to him, completely and perfectly. He did the same for her.
"Vaughn!" she yelled, waving her hand urgently. "Come down here!"
He smiled and rose, leaving his burdens in the sand as he joined her. "Need something?" he asked sweetly.
"Yeah. You," she answered, taking his hand. "We're supposed to watch the sunset.And we have to do it from over there." She pointed to a rocky area not far away.
"Really?" he raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realise there were specific guidelines to this. I guess I've been doing it wrong all this time."
Sydney rolled her eyes and tugged ono his hand, leading him to the rocks. He sat down first and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head. Neither said a word until the beach was almost dark and Sydney began to shiver. He gently pushed on her hips to lower her back to the sand, following close behind without ever breaking contact. "Just a few more minutes," she whispered.
He couldn't argue with her plea, so he held her hand and watched her gaze out over the waves.
"What are you looking at?" she asked a moment later, realising that he was watching her and not the ocean.
"You. You're beautiful," he answered simply.
"Right," she scoffed. "I look like a refugee."
In all honesty, he couldn't argue with her reasoning. She was still too thin, the weight-gaining process frustratingly slow to both of them, and it disturbed him more than he'd like to admit. He was anxious to get her out in the sun more so she could regain some colour to her wan features, and moving still wasn't entirely pain-free yet. But she looked like an angel to him. A wounded, stitched-up angel, but an angel nonetheless. The very idea of her was beautiful in a way he couldn't explain. "You're gorgeous, Sydney," he refuted seriously. "Just over five months ago I spread your ashes at sea. Seeing you here, alive and happy...you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
"Vaughn," she sniffed tearfully.
"It's the truth."
She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him, pressing tightly to his chest. "I love you so much. Thank you for finding me," she whispered.
He thought for a moment, unsure of what to say to that. She didn't owe him anything, least of all her thanks. She should never have been lost in the first place. He may have saved her from that cell, but she saved him from a darker fate. And then he knew his answer. "Thank you for finding me."