She watched as he scruntched his nose at the television set. She knew that he knew she was staring at him, and she loved that he allowed her that simple pleasure.

She reached up to ruffel his hair. He turned from the TV to look into her eyes.

They held the gaze for a second, and then he smiled and turned back to the King's game.

She smiled lightly. His eyes never ceased to amaze her. She had looked into them countless times, memorizing every thin vein, every streak of green, and still, everytime she looked into them, she was suprised.

Somehow they always seemed to contain more love and more comfort than she imagined possible.

He was her solace.

She used to think happiness wasn't possible. She had never admitted it to anyone, even him, but she had stuggled with the thought for longer than she could remember.

No. She could remember.

It was the day she was told her mother wouldn't be coming home. The day her life had fallen apart. The day her life had actually started.

All her pain stemmed to that day; all of her problems some how led her back to that moment.

Her father became hard and cold, not at all like the man she had once known.

He father used her in Project Christmas, training her to become a spy and programming her for the life she would come to live and hate.

Her fiance was killed.

She learned the truth about a job she regretted having.

She became a double agent.

She was forced to lie to virtually everyone she cared about.

She watched people she knew die.

She was re-introduced to the 'dead' mother that started it all.

She was alone.

That's what her life had been about since that day; Lonliness. Not wanting to trust anyone or get too close, but longing for someone to take away the eternal blackness that taunted her day and night.

And yet, all the pain, the hurt, the lonliness, was what led her to him.

Isn't it ironic that the things that hurt us the most end up being the most rewarding?

The loneliness hadn't vanished right away; actually, it was quite the contrary. The moment their eyes met, she knew. She still didn't know how, but she knew; knew that he was going to be the person to tackle her lonliness - beat it and suffocate it until it retreated into nothingness.

But the idea was so foreign to her, she couldn't understand at first; she couldn't except it. Instead, she forced herself to keep her distance. For a while she was able to pass it off as another unfortuante side-effect of the double life she lead, but she knew it was more than that.

Everytime she saw the smallest glimmer of light, the tiniest bit of hope, it was cruedly snatched from her, leaving her to wonder if it had ever really been there at all.

And so he became Vaughn, not Michael; Michael was too personal and using it enduced her longing for him.

But then SD6 went down, and there were no more excuses, no more reasons to hide.

She knew he could read her like a Kindergarden-level book, and for the first time in her life, she welcomed the idea.

Yes, she was still scared. She knew she was a plague for pain and destruction. But Vaughn never seemed to care. He convinced her she was beautiful, she was incredible, she was worthy, and for some reason, she believed him.

She would believe anything he told her. If he said the sky was purple, it must be true. He was the only person that ever made her feel completely at peace.

He was the only person that made her realize the world wasn't all bad.

She was used to her life being mechanic - Fight bad guys, eat, drink, sleep.

He brought meaning back. He made her understand what living actually meant.

It didn't mean breathing in and out. It meant finding the one thing or one person that gave you a reason to do it.

He was her reason.

But still, he was Vaughn, never Michael. And soon, the name lost the meaning it once held and gained another. Using Vaughn was no longer her way of shutting him out, keeping him at a distance. It was her way of reminding herself that he was the one to break through that distance even though she had set it up.

Michael was shared with the world. Michael was the one who played hockey and called his mother twice a day. Michael was the one who saved the world on multiple occasions. But Vaughn; Vaughn was the one that saved her.

So he was never Michael, but always Vaughn.

And as she watched him jump from the couch in excitement as the King's scored the winning goal, she reminded herself that Vaughn was only hers.