Vaughn smiled happily and relaxed in his seat as his house came into view. When he was little, he always told his father about his plans to become some great world traveller, to see and do everything, to be a real explorer. It seemed so exciting and romantic at six- and seven-years old, but his dad always just chuckled softly. Vaughn didn't understand at the time, but his father lived that life, and he knew now that the best part of Bill Vaughn's day was returning to his wife and son. He didn't believe his dad when he told him that the greatest adventure was coming home, but now, engaged with a child on the way, he realised just how right his dad was. He'd travelled all over the world, seen beautiful cities and dangerous terrains, and been on a thousand crazy operations to break into the Vatican and hunt down international terrorists, but that life eventually bored him. Every city started to look the same, and every time he left Los Angeles, he counted down the hours until he came home again.
As he pulled the cumbersome green Land Rover into the driveway, he briefly wondered if they should think about getting another car. Sydney would die before she would drive a mini van, but his little BMW was barely big enough for the two of them, and this huge, unwieldy SUV didn't exactly lend itself to baby seats and strollers. Sydney loved this car, and he couldn't ask her to sell it, so maybe they should sell his and see about getting something more mid-sized. The thought almost made him laugh; he never thought he would even consider selling his sleek navy blue BMW in favour of a family-sized sedan, and yet here he was, parking in the driveway of their comfortable two-story home and making plans to buy a baby seat and a stroller. His life certainly took a radical change of directions after the fall of SD-6, but he found he didn't at all mind his new, nearly normal family life.
Loosening his tie, Vaughn stepped out of the car and grabbed his briefcase out of the back seat. Sydney had a doctor's appointment this afternoon, so they parted company after lunch and went their separate ways. He liked to go with her to appointments, but he had work to do, and it was just a routine checkup, so she didn't mind going alone. She decided to come home after the appointment since she had most of her work completed, and they made plans to go out for dinner and maybe to a movie if they could find anything appealing. He rid himself of his suit jacket as soon as he entered the house, tossing it over the arm of the couch and kicking off his shoes in the process. Sydney hated it when he left his things laying around, but she'd yet to do anything about it.
"Syd, I'm home," he called, casually wandering into the kitchen to rifle through the mail on the countertop. He sorted the bills and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, expecting Sydney to come greet him in a few minutes. He noticed the light on the answering machine blinking to alert him of new messages, so he quickly hit the play button and jotted down the people he and Sydney needed to call. His mom wanted to schedule dinner in the near future, and he shook his head wryly at her insistence on always calling the house despite the fact that they were rarely ever at home for any extended length of time, especially through the week. Francie left another message, sounding mildly perturbed that Sydney hadn't returned her calls yet, but he knew she was mostly teasing. Finally, Will had left a brief order for one of them to give him a call so they could discuss Francie's upcoming birthday. By the time he finished the messages, Sydney was still nowhere to be seen.
"Sydney," he yelled again, a little louder this time. "Where do you wanna eat?" She still didn't answer, and he sighed in mild frustration, padding lightly down the hallway to look for her. As soon as he crossed the threshold to their bedroom, he heard the distinctive sound of retching coming from the bathroom. He quickened his pace and hurried in to find his fiancee hunched miserably over the toilet. She hadn't thrown up in nearly three months - not since the beginning of her second trimester and the end of her morning sickness. "Aw, Honey," he sighed in sympathy, kneeling down beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder to alert her of his presence.
She didn't even acknowledge him, too busy emptying the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl to even begin to raise her head to face him. Her body lurched painfully, and from this viewpoint, he could see the tears streaming wildly down her pale cheeks as the violent spasms ripped through her. Knowing there was little he could do for her until the vomiting slowed, he rose and grabbed a paper cup off the side of the sink, filling it with cool water and wetting a washcloth to place over her neck. He'd become quite adept at handling her spells of nausea in the first three months of her pregnancy, so this wasn't new to him. The back of her thin t-shirt was damp to the touch, soaked with sweat, so he gently rubbed the heated skin, allowing the cool water to soothe her.
Vaughn mentally put a hold on their plans for the night and cleared their schedule for the weekend since she seemed to have come down with something. His stomach ached as he watched her fighting to keep her eyes focused as the force of her heaving deprived her of oxygen, and he eased his hands underneath her shirt to massage the screaming muscles. Finally, the combination of his touch and sheer exhaustion brought the vomiting to a halt. She collapsed wearily, allowing her head to fall to the toilet seat, too tired to move any further.
"C'mere, Syd," Vaughn murmured, gently wrapping his arms around her and pulling her away from the mess she'd made. He flushed the toilet and leaned against the wall, coaxing her into submission until she rested in his lap, her head tucked beneath his chin. Tears still fell down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound as he rocked her slowly and stroked her wet hair away from her clammy skin. "What can I do?" he whispered against her ear. "You need anything? Water, tylenol...?"
Sydney shook her head miserably, burrowing further into his chest. He obliged for now, knowing she was probably worn out and desperately in need of a few minutes to rest. She grew still and limp in his arms, her laboured breathing steadying out and resuming a normal pace. He quietly shifted her, awkwardly moving his hand beneath her knees and the other under her shoulders to pick her up. She groaned in pain as he moved her, but he knew she would feel much better sleeping in their bed than on the cold tile floor. He carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the bed, kissing her forehead before leaving her to find some clothes. He pulled one of his old t-shirts and her favourite sweatpants and laid them next to her, and then quickly returned to the kitchen to grab her a bottle of water.
When he returned to the bedroom, he found her wearing the clothes he laid out, the dirty ones thrown to the floor in unwonted carelessness. She really must be sick to just toss her t-shirt and jeans next to the bed, and he prepared himself for a long and gruelling night. "Hey, you should drink some water," he urged quietly as he spread out next to her. She was curled up in a tight ball, facing the far wall of the bedroom until he moved into her line of sight. Her eyes looked hollow and sad, obviously darkened by something other than illness. "What's wrong, Syd?" he asked, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek. She moved towards his touch and clenched her eyes tightly shut, trying in vain to keep the tears locked beneath her lids. "Come on," he prodded, pulling her face to his so he could kiss her forehead. "What happened? Are you sick?"
"No," she shook her head miserably, pulling the blankets up to her chin and crawling into his embrace. He didn't at all mind holding her, but her refusal to tell him anything worried him more than her pitiful display in the bathroom.
"Work with me here," he urged her. "I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."
She rolled over slightly and looked up into his eyes, hers still filled with tears. "Kitchen table," she croaked out.
Vaughn let go of her, confused by the cryptic response. But Sydney just rolled back into covers, clearly unwilling to provide any more information. "Get some sleep," he sighed, kissing her on the forehead.
He watched until she fell asleep, and then rose to investigate her strange answer to his inquiry. He immediately noticed a stray envelope perched dangerously on the edge of the table, away from the rest of the mail sitting on the counter. Curious, he stepped closer. The plain brown envelope, addressed simply to Sydney Bristow, bore no return address or indication of its origin. The straight block letters immediately alerted his senses, the hair on his neck rising as adrenaline and fear syphoned through his veins. Sydney would have known instinctively, perhaps even faster than he did, that only trouble arrived in untraceable packages. What were you thinking, Syd? he mentally berated her. This should have gone to the JTF the second it fell in her hands as she casually flipped through the otherwise innocuous pile. He suspected she knew the contents were threatening, but not physically harmful. She'd done this long enough to know when danger was imminent. Still, the CIA could inspect and examine it, try to identify the sender and the source. At the very least, she should have waited for him. She should have waited for him to come home so she wasn't alone, fragile without support.
But she's a big girl, Mike, he reminded himself. Sometimes his protective instincts overshadowed his common sense, and he forgot that she handled crises on her own for twenty-four years. Just because they were together and she was pregnant didn't make her any less capable of acting independently. He shouldn't be upset that she opened her own mail without him holding her hand, but it just gutted him to think of her stumbling upon something awful without anyone here to calm and reassure her. Obviously the shock was severe; he'd never seen her distraught to the point of physical manifestation. That just wasn't his Sydney, pregnant or not. The baby had increased her propensity for tears, but it didn't account for a complete breakdown such as he just witnessed.
His own stomach churned as he fingered the dull edges of the envelope, contemplating whether or not he should open it and see for himself. She certainly didn't want to explain, and it might help him understand...but he really had no desire to find out what made his fiancee crumble. In this business, morbid curiosity never paid. Stifling that human urge to peek saved him from trauma on more than one occasion. But in this particular case, the damage had been done. Sydney had already taken the blunt of the blow, and now his only chance of softening it was trying to help her cope. To do that, he needed to know.
He tilted the envelope, hands trembling, and allowed a glossy print to slide from its hiding place into his anxious fingers. His heart stilled painfully, sucking the oxygen out of his lungs as his mind processed the image he held. The photo felt as hot as the bright orange flames it depicted, and the veil that slipped over his mind felt as dark as the thick smoke rising out of the remains of the car. He dropped the picture to the floor, shaking his hands frantically to quell the fire and soothe the raging burn. He felt the searing pain in his arm, the crushing pressure in his chest, the sudden throbbing of his head. He saw the billowing smoke from the engine, the shards of broken glass reflecting the harsh glow of the headlights, the sticky, viscous blood dripping down his cheek and onto his twisted arm. He heard the sickening crunch of metal, the blaring car horn, Sydney's terrified voice screaming for his attention and dragging him back from the brink of unconsciousness.
Air continued to elude him as the memories played back with startling clarity in his mind, taunting him with the confusion and fear he felt in that excruciating moment. He kept hearing Sydney's desperate pleas, begging him to listen, and the sound of it drove him to his knees. It saved him at the time, but now, he kept imagining the look on her face as she heard everything through her cell phone. He didn't want to see the aftermath of the wreck, didn't want to see what happened, but thanks to the awful photograph, it was now etched permanently into his mind in between his father's grave and Sydney's crying face. He realised now just how closely death brushed against him, how she saved him from an almost unavoidable fate. He almost left her alone in this world, almost lost his chance to bend down on one knee on the side of the road in Italy and tell her that he loved her, wanted her to be in his life forever. If he had died that day, he wouldn't have ever known about his baby, and his child would repeat the long-standing tradition of having only one parent. Without warning, his mind shifted to the future, torturing him with thoughts of his baby growing up without him and Sydney struggling to raise a child in the midst of yet another loss.
The thoughts suddenly cut off as he realised he couldn't breathe. He noticed a little belatedly that he was gasping in short, shallow gulps, his body burning and his head clouding as panic overtook him. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, couldn't think at all, couldn't lift his head as it grew heavy and fell towards his chest. His own strangled cries sounded foreign and detached, and his arms and legs felt leaden and stiff. His fingers involuntarily clenched into fists, his muscles beginning to spasm from the lack of oxygen.
A pair of familiar arms suddenly clutched his shoulders and pulled him down to the carpet, forcing his head between his knees. "Breathe, Honey," she instructed. She sat down behind him and massaged the knots in his back with tender concern, speaking quietly as he continued to gasp. "Vaughn, breathe," she demanded again, a little more urgently when he failed to comply. "Come on, Honey. Slow it down. You're okay. You just need to take a deep breath and let it out." She moved one hand to the centre of his chest to gently restrain the panicked gasps and force him to focus. If he could think, he would find it humorous just how quickly they swapped places, switching from one role to the next with only a second's notice. Right now, however, his only objective was filling his lungs with air again so he could stop the horrible ache in his chest and the lightheadedness causing the room to spin crazily around him. He looked down at the hand resting on his chest and focused on her fingers, trying to mimic her slow, deliberate motions. "That's it," she encouraged, keeping her hand on his chest to steady him while the other moved to rake through his hair. "Deep breaths," she reminded him.
Relief began to set in as the panic abated, and his body went limp with exhaustion. He still focused on regaining control of his breath, but his mind began to clear again, and Sydney's face no longer swam before him. He moved slowly away from her to lean against the wall, pushing his head back and wrapping his arms around himself to calm the shivering. He'd never had a panic attack before, never lost his ability to control his own emotions, and the fear still gripped him. For someone that thrived on order and control, being unable to breathe without assistance was incredibly frightening. Anyone would react the way he did if they saw something like that, but he never considered himself to let mere feelings choke him like that, and he hated that Sydney witnessed all of it. He comforted her and promised to make things right, but he couldn't even take care of himself.
Oblivious to his sudden shame, Sydney moved closer and reached out. "Give me your hands," she commanded quietly, her voice sweet and devoid of any reprimand. He obeyed and held out his arms, closing his eyes as she gently rubbed his fingers, coaxing each one until it yielded and unfurled from the impossibly tight fist.
"I...I thought you were...asleep," he said, struggling to form the words.
"You were kind of loud," she admitted, kissing his forehead to ease the humiliation he must feel.
"Sorry," he sighed, forcing his eyes open.
"No," she shook her head. "Don't be. I'm glad I heard you. You had me worried for a minute." She kissed his forehead again and played soothingly with his hair. He relaxed against the wall, too tired to argue, and allowed her touch to bring him back to his safe reality in his own living room in his own home. "Stay right here for just a minute. I'll be right back, okay?" she asked.
He nodded wearily and let go of her hand. The terror that seized him moments before lessened now into a dull ache in the back of his head. Someone did that to them. Someone tried to kill him, and when they failed, when Sydney thwarted their plan, they sent a photograph to torture her. He felt awful enough seeing the picture, and he knew it must have been even worse for her. If it had been her in that car, he didn't know how he would even cope with seeing the aftermath of her attempted murder. He shuddered and tried to force the thoughts away as Sydney rummaged loudly through the kitchen.
"Here," she offered, sitting down next to him again and handing him a bottle of Gatorade. "Drink up."
He gratefully accepted her offer and swallowed several large gulps to soothe his parched throat. "Thank you," he said softly.
"Of course," she smiled. "You doing okay?"
"It's sick, Sydney," he shook his head in disgust. "They're just trying to prove that they can get to us. Dammit, Syd," he cursed lowly. "They sent that to Iour/I house. And the only reason they sent it was to make us scared."
"Yeah, well, they're succeeding," she remarked bitterly. "It was enough hearing it and imagining the details." She shook her head, trying to exorcise those awful images neither could move past. She closed her eyes as tears came again. "A few seconds and you would have been dead," she breathed painfully.
"I know," he whispered, not even bothering her to remind her that he wasn't, that he was here with her, healed from the wreck and good as new, save for a few faint scars and a new phobia of semi-trucks. None of those things would comfort her in the slightest, just as they didn't comfort him. The times he came within inches of losing her still haunted him, even when he held her and knew that she was safe and happy and alive. Any reassurances would be a waste of words now. He felt his own heart beating steadily and knew that he walked away from the accident, but that didn't stop him from hyperventilating when he saw the wreckage that very nearly consumed it. It would stop her from wondering what if? and knowing how close she came to living out her worst nightmares.
"God, Vaughn," she murmured helplessly. "I just..." she trailed off and wrung her hands anxiously, biting her lip to keep from crying again.
He carefully pulled her until she rested with her head on his shoulder and placed a tiny kiss on the crown of her head. They sat together for a few minutes, absorbing all the details and trying to replace the images in their heads with the ones that actually existed here and now. "How are you feeling?" he asked after a few minutes, remembering the breakdown prior to his own.
"Okay," she shrugged. "I don't need to throw up anymore."
"Well that's something," he tried to smile. She didn't return to sentiment and laid her head back down. "Let's go lay down," he suggested.
Sydney stood up first and intertwined their fingers. She slowly pulled him up, immediately cradling his head and pushing it down against her shoulder as a wave of dizziness assailed him. When he steadied, she grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly, as much for her benefit as it was for his. They walked slowly to the bedroom, and she deposited him on the bed while she grabbed boxers and a t-shirt for him. He quickly changed clothes and then joined her in bed, pulling her close and savouring as much contact as their bodies allowed. Momentarily agreeing to leave the horrible incident shelved for a later time and place, they quietly talked about their days. Vaughn couldn't even bear to speak of the accident or Sloane or her mother anymore while they were here in their bed, scared of ruining the solace they both found when they crawled beneath the covers together at the end of a long day.
Instead, Sydney delivered a glowing report from the doctor, indicating that all was well and she was progressing perfectly. She was mildly but happily surprised at every appointment, amazed that after all the beatings and druggings and training sessions she could still manage to carry and protect a tiny little life inside. A part of her accepted that kids would be out of the picture the first of many times that a run-in with a security guard landed her in a hospital. But so far, every test had been negative, and no abnormalities appeared. Vaughn proudly rubbed his hand over her stomach, thoroughly intrigued by its ever-changing shape. She balked about her appearance for a while, but she finally began to embrace her new body, amazed to be a part of something so normal and yet simultaneously miraculous. Everyone cooed with delight now, excited about Baby Vaughn's impending entrance into the world.
Vaughn proceeded to tease her for a few minutes as they once more brought up the topic of baby names. He still insisted that it was a girl, and refused to think anything else. They tossed back and forth several awful prospects, each one more absurd than the one before. Sydney kept a real list on the night stand, but they always seemed to subtract more than they added. Vaughn promised to give her the final naming rights, but as part of the deal, she could only pick from a list that he had approved beforehand. Every time he caught her adding without him, he stole the small notebook and crossed them out, until it had become an all-out war between them. Since neither really grasped the concept of compromise very well, the list remained short, with Candice, Catherine, Alexis, Sadie, and Audrey for a girl, and Matthew, Caleb, Adam, Kellen, and Dominic for a boy. Of course, both Will and Eric had suggested their own names - and several ridiculous female counterparts - but both Sydney and Vaughn agreed that the first name would not be in honour of any family member or friend.
Once they exhausted that topic, Vaughn tried to keep the mood light and the conversation far from the photograph still laying on the kitchen floor. Sydney dealt with her emotions by shutting down, and he knew if he didn't keep her engaged, she would just turn everything off and hide from the world. He, on the other hand, handled trauma by refusing to think about it. Their different styles lead to an interesting stalemate, as Sydney wanted to soak in the misery and Vaughn wanted to pretend it didn't exist. Anxious to keep her with him for now, he tossed around the idea of a brief vacation - Tahoe, perhaps - when they found a few spare days to relax.
But the avoidance could only last so long before the picture returned to both minds, destroying the semblance of peace created by their forced conversation. He knew the instant the memories assailed her by the sudden trembling of her body. "Syd," he murmured sympathetically, tightening his hold on her. She was lying with her back to his chest, and she pressed harder, clutching his hand with startling force and pulling it more firmly around her waist.
"I'm sorry," she apologised in a quavering voice. "I know you don't want to think about it-"
"Don't be sorry," he whispered, his lips planted in her hair.
"I need you closer," she insisted, tugging again on his hand.
"Okay, okay," he soothed, obliging as well as he could. "Relax. I'm here, Syd. It scared me too, but it's over. Barely a scar. Try not to think about it anymore. I'll call your dad in a little bit and have him step up security just to be on the safe side, and we can just lay low for a while, okay?"
She nodded, but he saw that she was still distressed. Honestly, he didn't feel much better, knowing that someone was sick enough to taunt them with photos of the traumatic incident and send it directly to their home address. He slept here with his fiancee, came here to escape the dangers of his career, and considered this place a safe haven. They might discuss their work here, but this place should be entirely separate from the office, and yet the hazards of their work lingered even here behind the walls covered with happy photographs of Sydney and Vaughn and their friends. The idea of of setting up a surveillance team around his own house disturbed him more than he would ever admit, but it was the only way to ensure Sydney's safety. If they could send a photograph, they could send agents, and if they could send agents, their lives were in immediate danger.
Knowing that the picture was still on the floor of the kitchen didn't help the situation, either. For Sydney's sake he would face it again, but he didn't want to remember the crash, the pain afterwards, and the terror in Sydney's voice when she begged him to get out of the car. He didn't want to see those bright orange flames engulfing the car knowing that someone wanted him, and Sydney, in the ashes.
Sydney continued to tremble next to him, and a sick feeling suddenly filled his gut. It wasn't someone that tried to kill him, especially not to Sydney. That person was her mother, the person Sydney once admired above all others, the one she attempted to model most of her life. She idolised her mom the way he did his dad, and even the thought of his father being responsible for hurting Sydney threatened to send him hurtling over the edge of reason. "Syd," he breathed. "You're upset about your mom," he whispered, squeezing her tight in his arms. She reacted violently every time someone mentioned Irina Derevko with good reason, but he needed her to admit what was really bothering her before he could hope to comfort her. He had a sneaking suspicion he just hit the nail right on the head.
She immediately stiffened in his embrace, convulsing slightly as a sob ripped up her spine into her throat until it escaped as a tortured wail. "Oh Syd," he murmured, pressing his lips into her hair.
"She tried to kill me," she cried, rolling over to bury her face in his chest. The sudden force of her clutch and the fingernails digging into his skin startled him at first, causing him to wince with pain, but he recovered from his shock and began rubbing her back. "She tried to kill me, Vaughn. She almost took you from me. She knows what they did to Danny, and then she did the same to you."
He began concocting various responses and assurances, but as he rehearsed them each in his head, he realised they all sounded false. As much as he hated it, she needed to cry herself out and exorcise all the sorrow deeply rooted in her chest. He whispered unintelligible words of comfort and continued stroking her back. "You're okay," he murmured.
"How could she do that, Vaughn? How could she just leave me? I thought she loved me, but she couldn't have, or she wouldn't have tried taking you from me."
"You can't understand her," he whispered. "There's no explanation for what she's done. I know you need that, but it just isn't there." He closed his as as a wave of memories washed over him: playing hockey with his dad, listening to the stories he made up at bedtime, watching him kiss his mom when they thought he wasn't watching...a thousand snapshots in his mind that kept the love he felt for his father strong and real. Those memories filled the void when he missed his dad so much it hurt. Those memories helped him move on with his life and motivated him to be the man he was today. Sydney's memories of Laura Bristow did the same for her, maybe to an even greater extent since her father was never there to help her; memories of her mom were the only comfort she ever received. And then one day she learned that everything she believed was false, her memories a charade and her ideals shattered. Everything that kept her going disappeared the day they learned her mother's sins, and once more, he was so grateful just to have her here, safe and relatively intact. If someone ever told him that Bill Vaughn didn't exist, he honestly didn't know how he would survive.
Losing his father at the tender age of eight was the worst thing that ever happened to him, but as Sydney broke down in his arms, he actually felt a little guilty that Irina Derevko let him off easy, allowing him to maintain the image of the perfect and heroic father in his mind, and then progressed to completely destroy Sydney. Inwardly, he cursed the day he went against his better judgment and encouraged her to see her mother. None of the aid she provided could possibly be worth the price Sydney was forced to pay. No amount of intel could atone for the suffering of this woman in his arms, and he let it happen. Her father was right to worry about entangled emotions, and not because Sydney was weak, but because Irina was manipulative and ruthless enough to prey upon her own daughter. He encouraged her because he thought Irina could be a means to an end, but it was probably the worst decision of his life. Maybe he couldn't stop Sydney from seeing her mom, but he complicated the situation by supporting their interaction. "You deserve so much more than this," he said quietly into her ear.
"How do I do it, Vaughn?" she asked, her sobs final lessening but her breath now interrupted by hiccups. "How do I reconcile what she did with the fact that she gave me life? How could I mean that little to her?"
"This has nothing to do with you," he swore, backing away just enough to cup her face in his hands and force her to look at him. "Do you understand me? What she did...you're just a victim, Syd. She's sick, and that's the only explanation for any of it. It's not about you."
"She's still my mom," she protested, her voice small and shaky. "How am I supposed to raise a child when my own mother didn't even love me?"
"You'll do fine," he assured her. "I have no doubts about that. You're nothing like your mom. I know you, Syd, and I know you'll love this baby so much." He emphasised his assertion with a kiss to her forehead, allowing his lips to linger on her skin. "Get some rest," he suggested. "I'll have some dinner ready when you wake up, okay?"
She nodded, her tears slowing as his words sank in. She pulled tightly on his arm, keeping him tethered to her side. "Stay?" she asked quietly. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"
"Of course," he answered easily, moving his hands to stroke her hair, knowing the motions would lull her to sleep. It didn't take long for her to succumb, and her breath became deep and even. He stayed a little longer in the bed, just needing to reassure himself, but then his stomach growled so loudly he feared it would disturb her. Checking to make sure she was really asleep, he crawled from her side and crept to the kitchen, reminding himself to breathe when he faced the picture again. By some miraculous twist of fate, the photo fell face down when he dropped it, so he quickly grabbed it and shoved it back into the envelope to take to the agency.
There was no way in hell Sydney would ever forgive him if he left now, but there was no food in their house. Or, more accurately, none that only required water and/or a microwave. He could fix a decent pasta dish or two, and Sydney let him do the grilling to boost his manly pride, but other than that, he was worthless when it came to food preparation. Sydney was only slightly higher on the culinary ladder, but they were usually too tired to cook anyway, so one drawer in their kitchen was entirely devoted to takeout menus. He stood perplexed for a moment, unsure of what to do, and then grabbed the phone.
For one time in his life, Jack Bristow decided to take it easy on his future son-in-law, obviously too angry with his former wife and too concerned about his daughter to torture Vaughn at the moment. He actually sounded understanding, and not only did he pick up dinner and bring it over, but he also proposed an idea Vaughn himself hadn't thought of. He wasn't about to assume that Jack decided a sudden liking for him, but at least he managed to secure a decent meal and a plan to help Sydney (and himself) recover from the trauma they endured tonight.
Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone and dialled a familiar number. "Bonjour, Maman," he greeted when his mother picked up the phone.
"Michael," she acknowledged happily. "Two calls in one week? You're spoiling me!" she teased.
Vaughn sighed, not really up for the usual banter right now. "This isn't an entirely unselfish call," he admitted.
"That's okay, dear. What do you need? How is that beautiful fiancee of yours?" she gushed, not at all conscious of the weary tone of his voice and the underlying sadness laced with each of his words.
"That's why I called, Mom," he began cautiously. "I was hoping maybe we could come down and stay with you for the weekend, maybe a little longer if we can get some time off work. Syd's dad was just here, and he mentioned us taking a vacation, so I think he'd probably be okay with us spending a week or so, if that's okay with-"
"Michael," his mom cut him off. "You're rambling."
"Sorry," he apologised sheepishly.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she asked in concern. "I would love to have you and Sydney for as long as you'd like to stay, but I know this isn't just a spur of the moment vacation."
Vaughn massaged his temples and sat down heavily on one of the barstools in front of the counter. He knew when he called that she would detect something wrong, but he didn't want to tell her about the photograph. He'd glossed over the car accident in Paris, lying and telling her it was just an accident and that he only had a few bruises. He didn't enjoy lying to his mom, but sometimes the lies were easier for her to hear, and as long as he wasn't doing her any harm by concealing the truth, he preferred to spare her the pain complete honesty inevitably inflicted. It was a decision he made long ago, when he first decided to follow his father's footsteps and join the CIA. The decision was his to make, and he knew he had to do what he felt was right, but it tore him apart to know that his choice caused her far too many sleepless nights wondering if her son would suffer the same fate as her husband.
His plan worked for years, but now he finally reached the point where the lie landed him in a compromising situation. Sydney needed more than he could offer at the moment, and his mom seemed like the perfect solution. But his mom would never cooperate unless he told her the truth - all of it. And that also meant admitting that most of the Paris story was fabricated for her benefit.
"Maman, sit down," he instructed quietly.
"Michael, you're scaring me."
"I know, and I'm sorry," he sighed. "I just need to tell you a few things, and you're not going to like them."
"I gathered that," she said dryly.
He spoke slowly, mostly for his own benefit to prevent another panic attack, explaining the wreck in Paris. He told her everything he was authorised to tell - that he was sent there for work, that Sydney was supposed to be with him, and that someone put out a hit on their lives. She was crying by the time he admitted that it wasn't a minor traffic accident, but a brutal collision with a truck, that extended his trip to France.
"I don't understand, Michael," she said tearfully. "How did you make it out with only a few bruises if the car caught on fire?"
Vaughn took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. "Mom, I lied about that because I didn't want to upset you," he confessed. "I was pretty banged up. I broke my arm, knocked my head around a little, bruised some ribs, and inhaled a little too much smoke. I was on the phone with Sydney when it happened, and she kept me talking and got me out of the car before it blew up. It's not as bad as it sounds, Mom, I swear."
"Explain how it's not as bad as it sounds," she demanded, her voice somewhere between anger and hysteria. "Explain to me why my own son lied about nearly dying."
"I just didn't want you to worry!" he shouted in frustration. "Look, I'm really sorry I didn't tell you. I should have told you the truth about the accident. But you saw me, Mom. I'm fine. Sydney flew over and took care of me until I was ready to go home, and I'm fine," he assured her. "I need you to listen, Mom. I know I screwed up, but Syd really needs this. We got something in the mail today - a picture. I wasn't home when Sydney opened it, but it was a photo of the accident."
"Oh God!" she cried.
"We're fine, but we know her mom had something to do with it."
Vaughn allowed his mother a few minutes to cry after that, knowing that she needed time to process just as he and Sydney had. His mom was a strong woman, but her ability to empathise just made this worse. Hating Irina Derevko for killing her husband was a lot easier for Celia than hating Irina Derevko for using Sydney like a pawn in a deadly game of chess. Celia Vaughn had nearly thirty years to cope with the loss of her husband, but Sydney kept getting hurt, and every time they thought it was over, Sloane or Derevko struck again.
"Bring her here, Michael," she insisted as soon as she managed to compose herself.
"Thank you, Maman," he said appreciatively. "She's sleeping right now, and Jack brought us some dinner, so I'll get her packed and we'll leave right after we eat. Is that alright?"
His mother agreed, and Vaughn gently ended their conversation, knowing she would probably cry from now until he and Sydney arrived. The sooner they got there, the better it would be for everyone involved. Sydney wasn't awake yet, but he knew he'd have to wake her up within the next few minutes. He put their dinner in the microwave and got out the plates, buying her a few extra minutes of sleep.
To his surprise, she was already sitting up against the headboard when he crept in. She smiled softly, but he saw evidence of recent tears. "Hey," he said, taking a seat next to her and kissing her cheek. "You up for some dinner?" he offered. She nodded, and he helped her up. Instead of leading her to the kitchen, he took her to the couch and quietly instructed her to sit, handing her the remote so she could find something distracting on television while he gathered the food.
"When did you go out?" she asked in confusion, eyeing the white and red cartons from their favourite Chinese restaurant.
"I didn't," he admitted a little guiltily. "I um...I didn't want to leave you, so I...I called your dad."
Sydney laughed out loud and accepted the plate of orange chicken he offered. "You called my dad?" she asked incredulously.
"Hey," he laughed, tossing a fortune cookie at her. "Your dad and I are bonding."
"Right," she smiled. "That's part of his plan to get you comfortable so he can catch you off guard."
"I'm hurt by your lack of confidence."
"Sorry, Honey," she grinned.
They finished up their dinner, and he informed her of their spontaneous trip to San Diego. She seemed surprised, and maybe a little irritated that he planned this without her, but she couldn't hide the small amount of relief in her eyes. They packed quickly, and both felt much better as soon as they pulled out of the driveway and left the house for a few days.
Celia was ready for them the minute they pulled up, and she rushed out to meet her son and future daughter-in-law. She hugged Vaughn first, squeezing tightly to assure herself, and then let go and placed a small kiss on his cheek. He blushed, but Sydney smiled at the easy affection between him and his mother.
"Sydney," Celia exclaimed when she finished with her son. She opened her arms, and Sydney's resolve to stay strong crumbled. She fell into the older woman's embrace and sobbed against her shoulder, out of grief that her own mother wasn't here to hold her, and out of joy that someone else was.
After several minutes of crying, Sydney composed herself and straightened up. Vaughn had managed to slip away and carry their suitcases inside, leaving them alone on the front walkway. "I'm sorry," Sydney apologised sheepishly.
"Don't be," Celia shook her head. "You're my daughter now, alright? You don't have to think about her anymore. Whatever you need, you come to me."