Chapter 18: Good Night

"Morning, Sandra," Michael greeted as he stepped into the law office, the middle-aged secretary behind the half-wall organizing papers and booting up the computer. He locked the door behind him and left the blinds low before moving through the comfortable waiting room.

"Good morning, Mister Vaughn. Mister Weiss is already prepping in his office. When Mister Johnson arrives would you like me to bring him back to the conference room?"

"Yes please," he smiled and dropped off a coffee and a paper towel-wrapped scone on the counter.

"You must have had a good weekend," she called at his back as he laughed and waved over his shoulder, two other coffees in the drink carrier sloshing against the plastic lids.

Weiss was just as clean-shaven and seated at his desk with his blazer hung on the hook just inside the door, looking up when Vaughn tossed a greeting from his office across the hall. His curious brown eyes watched his partner drop off the suitcase, take off his coat, and bring the coffees and breakfast snacks into his office.

"You ready? Not that there was much to go on other than his statement." Not getting a response, Michael frowned and noticed the studious nature of Weiss's demeanor. "What?" He asked as he set a coffee and scone down for his friend. Taking a bite of his own pastry he flopped into the chair across from the dark-brown oak desk.

"You got laid," Eric answered with a grin.

Responding with a hearty eye roll and standing to leave just as he sat, "you're such a child." Still, he couldn't help the grin that hit his lips knowing that his friend was correct while also wishing he wasn't so easy for Weiss to read.

"You sly dog," Eric called, Michael flipping him off and closing the door to his office behind him. Looking at his watch, it was just nearing nine in the morning and their client wasn't due until nine-thirty.

He had a sudden and inescapable need to hear her voice. He reached into his pocket and extracted his cell, his thumbs hovering over the buttons.

'You talked to her last night until like, one in the morning,' his brain reminded him.

'So?'

'You don't want to over-call and make her sick of you.'

'Is that a thing? Can that happen?'

He paused, the number punched in, but he was now daunted by the green button, the white receiver-shaped icon taunting him. Could he drive her away? He hadn't thought that to be the case, but now he worried that he was being too clingy. He had shown up at her house unannounced.

'She said you saved her life,' his brain reminded.

'Whose side are you on? Should or shouldn't I call?'

As if his mind answered, his thumb hit the button.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand, the ringer silenced, and she mentally marked the spot in the book where her eyes left off. Mornings before the boys woke up and evenings, after they were in bed, were her quiet times, and she'd been engrossed in her new book from the first page. Miffed at having to pause, she almost didn't answer.

'It could be Michael,' her brain reminded.

Butterflies bounced in her stomach despite the fact that they had talked just the night before, and her eyes moved on their own to see his name flashing on the screen. A bright dimpled smile hit her face and she tossed the book aside to answer.

"Hi," she said quietly knowing that the moment the boys heard her voice they would be in the room with a dozen questions ready to start their day.

His whole body relaxed and he hadn't even known he was tense. "Hi."

"Did you sleep at all? It feels like we just hung up," she joked.

Vaughn frowned. "I'm sorry, I didn't...maybe I shouldn't have called so soon," he stuttered, insecurity floating up from his guts into his mouth.

"No! No...no, no. I was kidding. I'm...glad you called," she admitted.

She heard his sigh of relief. "Good. You weren't sleeping, were you?"

"No, I was reading. The boys aren't awake yet so I haven't been pushed out of bed." Punctuating her sentence, she snuggled farther down into the blanket.

They shared a moment of quiet as they reconnected. "What are you reading?"

"It's a book on new teaching practices and ways to engage kids in the classroom."

"Is it good?" The smile hadn't left her cheeks, but the genuineness of his question made the dimples deepen as much as they could.

"Yeah. It's...really, really good. I'm pretty excited to use some of it whenever that happens."

"Any luck with the elementary school in town?"

"I...decided not to put in over here," she admitted.

He frowned. "What? You were so excited!"

"I was...thinking of looking...maybe in Albany." The words eked out slowly, almost one at a time, but it made his stomach flip up and smack his heart, kickstarting his pulse.

"Yeah?"

Sydney grinned at the excitement she heard behind his squeaked question. "I just...I got the money from the sale of the house, so once the debt is paid off I'll have enough to live for a bit until I nail something down. Besides, rent here is way cheaper than L.A.." She realized she was rambling and cut herself off.

"Albany's...great."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe an apartment for a little bit, just to settle in, I don't know."

Another lapse filled the conversation as both thought for a moment, Michael picking up the silver coin from his desk and spinning it between his fingers absentmindedly.

'You can't ask her to move in with you. You've had one date and only known one another for a few months. Deciding not to take some things slow doesn't mean all things. Settle down.'

"I could help you look for places if you want," he said hopefully.

"If you're free, I know you're probably pretty busy."

"I don't think I'll ever be too busy for you, Syd."

Weiss chose that moment to open the door and waltz in, Michael rolling his eyes at him again as the larger man clasped his fingers together, puckered his lips, and put the back of his hand against his cheek making noisy kissy faces. All Vaughn had was the coin, and it thumped with a metallic pang against the carpeted floor as Eric rubbed his hand over his chest dramatically with exaggerated agony on his face.

Dropping the act, though his smile was wide and his voice light and bouncy, "Johnson's here."

Vaughn looked to his watch seeing that their client had arrived about six minutes early. Always a good sign, and he shouldn't have been, but he was annoyed.

"Two minutes," he mouthed.

"Gimme the phone," Weiss ordered, moving to his side.

"What? No! Two minutes!"

"Is that Eric?" Her voice popped into his ear, the man whom she inquired managing to work past the one-handed slaps being sent his way to snatch the phone.

"Hiya, Syd!"

"Hi, Eric," she laughed.

"Look. Ditch him, okay? He's a loser," he whispered loudly and obnoxiously into the phone. "You can do better," was hollered in a rasping false whisper as Michael wrested the device from his hand and glowered with ire-filled emerald eyes.

"I gotta go, okay? Can I give you a call later today? Or...or you call me when you're free?"

Sydney was still laughing on the other end, "you call me. I don't have a job, I'm much more...free to talk." Rolling her eyes at her word fumble, she blushed when he called her on it with a laugh.

"I'm not sure that was a proper sentence, Miss. English Teacher," Vaughn joked, a smile bringing out the dimple on his cheek.

Eric gagged with fake revulsion. "Ugh, you're disgusting. Say you love her and let's go,"

"I'll call you later. Love you," he said, almost as if it was a habit, and his green eyes panic snapped to his friend's suddenly wide brown glare.

Weiss shook his head in a sudden whisper, "you weren't supposed to say it, I was kidding!"

"Uh...I mean...I'll...talk to you later," Michael stuttered and hung up quickly, turning his nervous anger on his co-worker. "Why did you tell me to say it?! Oh my god! I...I said it."

"It's...fine."

"I...I didn't mean to," his eyes looked plaintively to the cell in his hand. "I'm such an idiot!"

"I know, man."

"What do I do?"

Eric took the phone from his stunned friend's hand and set it on his desk. "Just...let's leave that right there, okay, buddy? Here," his voice was suddenly soft and careful as he adjusted Vaughn's tie and collar, though they hadn't been out of place.

"I have to call her back," Michael said quickly, reaching for the phone only to have his hand slapped away.

"You can't call her back." Pulling his friend to face forward, Eric licked his thumb and used the wet digit to smooth out Vaughn's right eyebrow.

Realizing what was happening, Michael growled and pushed him away to wipe at his face with his palm. "Why can't I call her back? I have to call her back. I can't...I just...I said it. I have to...uh..."

"You can't unring that bell. Pretend, right now. You call her back. What do you say?"

He froze.

"Exactly. You can't call back and say, 'just kidding, I don't love you'. It's...it's rung, dude. The bell is rung, and we have a meeting. Can you get your shit together?"

Michael sunk into his chair with a slow nod. "Yeah. Give me a minute."

Weiss nodded and headed toward the door. Stepping through, he pulled it closed only to stick his head back in at the last minute. "For what it's worth...you do totally love her, and you're incredibly adorable about the whole thing."

"Get out."

…

The man was huge. That was Vaughn's first thought as he stepped into the room where Weiss and their client were making polite conversation. Standing to give a greeting as well as shake his hand, Michael genuinely felt like his was dwarfed as the man shook it, though the grip wasn't insanely tight as he'd expected. With fingers the size of bananas and muscled arms threatening to break through the button-up plus-size shirt, Vaughn expected his hand to come out like in the cartoons: a crushed, throbbing purple with mangled fingers begging to be fixed.

"Mister Johnson, I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

"Jim, please," he corrected with a polite ask, his voice rattling the hanging light above with the bassy timbre. Eric continued as Michael set a thick folder on the table and closed the door.

"As I was explaining, we're going to ask a lot of questions, some you're going to like some you aren't, but we need to get to the core of this whole mess to determine how we'll proceed. Please don't take offense to anything we ask, it's just...part of the job." The pleading tone behind Eric's voice was desperately implying, 'please don't punch us in the face if we make you mad.'

"Sure. I...I understand. I'm hoping that you'll be able to give me more information about everything. I still don't really know much and it's led to some sleepless nights if you know what I mean."

The group sat around the table, Michael grabbing the first piece of paper from the folder.

"It might sound repetitive, Jim, but could you give us your statement? I know you met with Mister Weiss already and gave him a run-down, but I'd love to hear everything in your own words."

"Sure...yeah." The massive man took a deep breath, Vaughn wondering what magical force of will was keeping the buttons over his chest from popping as the too-tight, brand-new shirt stretched when his chest expanded.

"I was at work, I'm a - a foreman with a construction company out of the city. We're building that new storage warehouse up on 15th Street." He paused, both men nodding that they were aware of both the location and that construction was taking place, "and two cops came in and said I was under arrest."

"Did they give a reason?"

"They said it was domestic violence. Which is crazy because I've been living up here in Albany for like, a month and a half doing this project. I'm not dating anyone, ya know? And if I was, I sure as hell don't get violent with anyone."

Weiss nodded, Michael jotting that down on his notepad. "But you have in the past, haven't you?"

The first sigh, and likely not the last, warned Michael that he was poking. Eric wanted to remind Jim of their intention, but couldn't do that every time a difficult question was asked, so they took in the man's barrel-chested sigh and waited for his response.

"Yeah. Back when I was a dumb kid, I did some dumb things. But check the record and you won't see anything more than a parking ticket since I was twenty-four years old. Plus, I did my time for that. Every last minute."

Vaughn met his brown eyes and seeing the caution flashing behind his intense stare, but matched it with his own and hoping he was exuding as much kindness he could muster. It must have worked.

Jim laughed. "That must be one of those questions I wasn't gonna like, huh?"I knew better than to ask what the hell they were talking about. I mean, I have priors so I know how my rap sheet makes me look, college graduate or not."

"Did they give you any more details once you were taken to jail?"

Jim shook his head, wobbled it a bit, and then shrugged. "All I got out of 'em was domestic violence with possible children involvement."

Michael looked straight into his dark brown eyes. Under the brow hooded by frustration he saw the rage in the glare, though Jim's body wasn't projecting anything other than respectful calm. Those eyes, however; behind those eyes was a raging storm, and Vaughn wanted to tap into that storm. He couldn't know the man without that experience.

"How long were you at the jail?"

Jim sighed, "a few hours. The guys on my construction team put together the money for bail. I was sitting in the waiting room to get my stuff from the locker when Mister Weiss came in with a box of donuts and some coffee. The cop at the desk pointed me out. Do...do you think you can help me?"

Vaughn looked to his partner and Eric immediately dove into his worry. Shifting in his seat, he placed his elbows on the table and nodded behind hooded eyes.

"So you weren't given any other information."

"No, sir," the man's booming voice hummed low.

"It was your ex-wife that brought the charges against you, Mister Johnson."

That prompted a reaction. It was small, but Michael was studying the man's response from the top of his head to his folded hands now tightly squeezed together. It was tight enough to lighten the color of his massive knuckles.

"That doesn't surprise you."

"No," he growled. "I...don't have a great relationship with my ex. Hell, I didn't have a great relationship with her when she was my wife. She's done some crazy things, you know? But...I've never hit her. I swear it. I...I haven't seen her for over a month. I dropped my kids off the last time I had them, and she didn't even come out to the car. I saw her boyfriend through the front window of his new house and that's all. I didn't even go in."

Vaughn nodded, opening the folder and pulling out two photos. "This is your ex, correct?" Sliding it across, another followed, "and her boyfriend?"

Confirming with a frown and a nod, Jim didn't give them a second look.

"How long were you married?"

"Uh...eleven years."

Jotted note. "You said you didn't have a great relationship. Why get married?"

"My...uh, our oldest is nearly ten. We were one of those couples that stayed together for the kid."

"Having a second kid would imply that things weren't that bad." Internally, Michael winced at the way he'd formed the suggestion. He'd thought about it before asking and decided that it was the most abrasive way to prompt a response.

He wasn't mistaken. The folded hands unfolded, one moving to rest palm-down on the thick thigh causing the elbow to jut out at an angle. Jim leaned forward just a bit toward the young lawyer. Vaughn stood his ground and met him eye to eye with one leg folded loosely over the other, one hand resting in his lap while the other took notes on the table. It was an open stance that showed he had all the cards and knew it, but was also willing to share what he had.

"She was still my wife. We may have fallen out of love with each other, but we still liked each other. But yeah, we had Erika a few years later; she's almost seven. They were the best part of anything I had with Samantha. Putting up with her was worth it because of my babies." Relaxing his pose, he leaned back against the chair but didn't refold his hands. He did, however, keep them in view with one tree-trunk of a forearm on the table and the other still resting on his thigh.

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to bring up next, Jim."

Another deep sigh. "The domestic violence reports." At the nod, the man continued. "Look at the records. Charges were never filed."

"They're still your records. This establishes a pattern, and I need you to explain them to me."

Michael knew they'd been nullified, but they were still officially part of his record. The first instance noted that it was he that bore the bruises, not her. Her side-hustle had started the fight, she'd gotten in the middle to stop them and was knocked down. Jim went to help and the guy sucker-punched him.

"The first report was filed by a guy she was seeing. He-"

Michael interrupted, "while you were married?" He saw Weiss wince from the edge of his vision.

"-he wanted her to go home with him," Jim swallowed, side-stepping Vaughn's interjected question. "She called me to come get her, they were both drunk, and I did. The guy tried to start a fight and she got in the middle to stop it and got knocked down. So I shoved him, picked her up, put her in the truck. That was it."

"And the second one?"

The second instance was much the same. Wanting to avoid a similar night spent in jail as the last time, Jim grabbed her arm and put her into his truck to take her home in an attempt to avoid a fight altogether. The side hustle, a different side hustle, called the cops saying he'd "almost pulled her arm off" and "lifted her off the ground" and "threw her into the vehicle so hard her head hit the roof". Lack of bruising and evidence got him out of that one, along with his statement and hers denying the report.

"Look, man, like I said - I know how my record looks. I know that will make this an uphill battle, especially if we get one of the judges that hits hard when it comes to DV. This is happening here in Albany and not in NYC, and I know that it's rarer up here. I did research; as much as I could, I researched what my odds are, and I know they aren't great. I...I need help, Mister Vaughn."

The tightness to his voice elevated it above the baritone sound that was becoming familiar, and both lawyers heard the change. As tough a youth as Jim Johnson had been at twenty, the man had done very nearly everything right since that point. Michael changed everything in an instant. Setting down his pen he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Whether or not the client realized, Michael was submitting with his posture, showing that the power in the room lay not with him, but elsewhere.

"Can I be straight with you, Jim?"

'Shit...here we go,' Weiss thought as he tried to tamp down the worry that his teammate would get punched in the face. It had happened before, but never by anyone this big. Michael's first round of questions was brutal, today notwithstanding, but it had been a while since he'd done the 'lull into a false sense of security to hit them where it hurts' routine. Still, it always extracted the truth. How their potential client responded to prosecutorial questioning meant to goad and get a reaction was the difference between knowing someone was innocent or not.

"I'd appreciate someone bein' straight."

Pulling out a third photo and wincing despite the fact that he'd seen it a dozen times over the last few days, he knew that the bruises on the child's chest and neck would always be hard to see.

"I…" he paused with a frustrated sigh, "I need your explanation, Jim," he said in a suddenly hard voice that contained more than a hint of blame, his fingers sliding the photo across before he rested back over his legs.

The look of horror that hit the man's face was the answer, and despite it all, Michael was relieved. A visceral reaction shot like lightning from the furled and creased brow to the large, newly-shaking hands. Jim couldn't even bring himself to touch the photo, and the tears that welled behind the stoic and wounded brown eyes fell in ribbons down his cheeks. Shock gave way to sadness which parted the sea for rage, and while anyone else would have flinched, gasped, or begged for mercy when the meaty hand grabbed the front of their shirt at breakneck speed, Michael held his ground and kept his eyes focused on the watery glare.

"I know," he said softly, reaching up and patting the newly broken man's wrist. "I know."

As suddenly as it had bunched the fabric of the shirt and tie the hand was gone, the grip replaced by a strained voice apologizing as the palm smoothed out the wrinkles that had been forced into the material. Reaching and taking his hand to sandwich between his own, Michael nodded.

"Here's what we need. We need timelines, alibis, anything that'll poke holes in their claims." Seeing the sudden want to start immediately shine on the man's face, "and that's going to take a few days. We'll get you a list of what we need; names, dates, signatures. We'll set a meeting with their lawyers and handle some behind the scenes things and get all of the files they're obligated to share. If they're looking to throw the gauntlet, we'll compile evidence that the children, when last seen with you, didn't look like that."

"Is...was that really, Jimmy?" The emotionally strangled question came as Michael turned it over and pulled it back to slide back into the file. While it didn't show the child's face, the man knew exactly which of his two kids bore the marks.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I really am. We'll take care of the next steps today and give you a call tomorrow to arrange things. Will that work?" Standing and holding out his hand waiting for an acceptance shake, Jim looked up at the sure green eyes and gentle crooked smile with confusion and concern shadowing his features.

"Don't...don't you need my statement saying I didn't do it?"

Weiss's laugh broke the tension, and he stood before moving around to help the man out of the chair and straight into a bear hug. "We know you didn't do it, Jim. Now we get to prove that to a judge"

"I didn't even have to ask the hard questions that probably would've gotten me punched in the face," Vaughn chuckled, wincing at the excited and tight grip of Mister Johnson's handshake that squashed his fingers together.

"Thank you," he said enthusiastically before repeating the phrase nearly ten times with an emotional booming rattle.

Walking the man through to the lobby and out the front door, another ten thanks were given as the three laughed and said their farewells.

"Alright. Let's do this. Do you want to call the lawyers together? Have you already?" Michael almost skipped back to his office, his soul feeling light and airy. When Weiss didn't answer, he turned and saw him standing down the hall with his arms crossed over his chest wearing a grimace. "What?"

"You're not gonna like it, but you're in such a good mood I kinda don't want to tell you. I'll call 'em."

Michael felt the excitement drain and knew instantly why Eric was being so hesitant. "Oh shit," he growled, his arms flopping down dejectedly to his sides as his shoulders slumped.

"Yeah. Miranda's team is on this one."

…

Vaughn paced his living room with the cell clutched in the palm of his hand. It was just past eight at night, the lamps casting a low glow across the large room, and his feet slapped against the hardwood as he moved. The sound disappeared when he hit the edge of where the carpet started just below the stairs to the upper floor office and bedrooms, and on what was probably his tenth pass, he flopped down onto the second or third step with a resigned sigh.

'You promised you would call,' he internalized.

'Yeah, I did. Then I stuck my foot - no...my leg into my mouth.'

'Maybe she didn't notice?'

Even his subconscious didn't believe that. He heaved another sigh. 'I'm going to push this button, she'll answer, and I'll hear her say that things aren't working out because I moved too fast. Hell, I was the one that wanted to go slow. Where is the guy from Friday?'

"Might as well get it over with," he grumbled and his thumb hit the green icon, the familiar trilling in his ear making his stomach jump with each burst of sound.

Sudden cacophony made him flinch and pull the receiver from his ear. Both kids were hollering, one a high pitched scream and the other something akin to adorable, angry badgering, and her voice came through with exasperated speed, "call you back," right before the line went dead.

"What the hell was that?"

'She answered. Even in the middle of whatever that whole thing was...she saw your name and answered.'

The pacing restarted and he felt the butterflies of nervousness in his stomach. Just because she answered doesn't mean she didn't have choice words about his choice words. Michael's imagination was running rampant and there wasn't much he could do until the device he held like a lifeline rang.

Thirty agonizing minutes later it rang and startled him on a pass of the couch. The suddenness made him jump, the phone slipping from his hand and falling to the floor with a clattering slide. He watched with wide eyes in stunned silence as it slid across the wood and disappeared beneath the sofa perpendicular to the one he was now climbing in an attempt to get it back into his hands.

By the time he lifted the couch high enough to get his arm under and reach, it went silent.

ONE MISSED CALL

"Damn it!" The hollered word bounced off the walls as he fumbled quickly through the menu and dialed her back, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow as he put it to his ear, out of breath.

"I'm sorry," she said as she answered, "it's been a night." At his panting breaths, "is...everything okay?"

'Do not be honest right now,' the Weiss-voice in his head ordered.

"Yeah! Yeah. All good. I left the phone across the house and ran to catch it, but wasn't fast enough. Sorry about that." Tipping the receiver end away from his mouth, he calmed his breathing as they shared a quiet moment. "What's going on? It sounded like war earlier."

Sydney sighed and snuggled down farther into her blanket, her glare aimed across the hall at the mostly closed door of the boys' room. "Jake filled Noah's ear with playdough."

That was the single strangest sentence Michael had ever heard, and it made him wonder if he'd heard her right. "Filled? With...playdough?"

"Mmhmm," she confirmed. "Mom had to hold him down while I flushed it out. Just...you know. Kid things."

More silence made him want to bring up his faux pas from earlier, but he had no idea where to start. She broke the quiet before he found his guts.

"How was your day? You were meeting with a new client, right?"

Her question was genuine and he smiled. "It was good. A little daunting, but it went well."

"I know you probably can't give many details, but what does daunting mean? Will it be a hard case?"

Michael nodded and picked through his mind what he could and couldn't share. "The guy is almost seven feet tall and nearly three-fifty, so when I had to poke him to get a truthful reaction I thought he might take my head off my shoulders. He's being thrown under the bus and I'm going to figure out why."

A soft smile hit her face as she remembered her father describing him as a bulldog, and his confidence was reassuring. "Does the 'poke them to get a reaction' usually work that way?"

Vaughn laughed. "I've been punched in the face before, but I always get information. My first round of questions is always a little brutal, but I set them up that way. He didn't punch me, and we're on to the next steps. It'll be hard, but worth it."

"Despite it all, that sounds exciting. What about it makes it hard?"

"It'll be an uphill battle. The guy's ex is saying that he hurt the kids."

"Did he?"

Though she couldn't see it, he vigorously shook his head. "No. You should have seen the look on his face, Sydney. He was horrified that I even suggested it."

They lapsed into a moment of quiet, Sydney contemplating something he'd said. "They weren't brutal with me," she said softly.

"What?"

She clarified after realizing she'd spoken in a half-sentence, the first part lingering in her brain before her mouth decided to finish up. "Your questions for me didn't seem brutal."

"You weren't being accused of anything serious like this, Syd."

She chuckled. "Kidnapping and credit card fraud isn't serious? I'm glad you're my lawyer."

He went quiet for a moment and realized that she was right. He hadn't hit her with any tough questions. Though his father had mostly been in charge at that time, the Bristow's one of his oldest clients, when Bill had asked him what questions he wanted to add even he had been surprised when Michael had responded with 'none'. The more he thought about the woman on the plane with two accompanying children and purpling bruises, the less he wanted to accuse her of anything he knew she hadn't done.

"To be fair, my dad was really in charge of that one. Still...I didn't think I needed to ask you a hard question," he said wistfully, Sydney smiling in response though he wasn't there to see.

"If you had, what would it have been?"

"Nah," he responded.

"No - seriously. It's fine, I'm curious now. My dad said you were like a bulldog and I'm wondering what that means. It's a whole side of you I haven't seen, but it's a side that's important to you."

A pause hung between them. A dozen questions spun through his head and he hated every single one of them. "Uh...I may have asked something like, 'were you aware that you had your husband's credit cards in your purse'."

"Is...that an example of a brutal question?"

He rolled his eyes. "No," he groused. "You sure?"

"Go for it."

"I wouldn't have meant it, Syd. It's just a...a trick."

She frowned at the defensive tone he was already taking. "Why would you need to trick me?"

"Well, I didn't, but that's the idea. The question is supposed to tip the client off balance so I can see how they react. Are they defensive? Do they look guilty? Should they have one response but gave another? Things like that."

Sydney nodded. "Okay. What could you have asked me that would have put me off-balance? I can't imagine just being asked something that would make me punch someone."

Michael swallowed. "I...would have asked to," a sigh, "measure the width of your belt."

At the memory of the welt and bruise on her son and the insinuation that she had put it there, a bout of blinding anger staggered up from her stomach. She knew that had he been there, her palm would have met his cheek. Knowing that she'd goaded the question out of him, she released a deep breath shaking it off, the anger surprisingly dissipating as quickly as it had come as knowledge backfilled with reason. Michael wasn't like that unless he had to be, and he never had to be with her.

"I'm sorry. I...I never would have asked it, sweetie." 'Sweetie?'

"I...can see me hitting you in the face for it though. Thanks for...you know...not."

They shared an uncomfortable pause. "Did I just screw everything up?"

She let out an airy chuckle, "nah, I'm a lot tougher than that. I get how Jim felt. You're lucky you didn't get hit."

Another period of silence wasn't wholly uncomfortable, but he still rose to begin pacing again. There was no time like the present, especially after he'd already teed up her disappointment with another moment of 'opening his big dumb mouth'. "Hey, about earlier today," he started.

"Michael, it's fine. Don't...don't let it worry you."

"No, I just...I want to clarify things. I panicked...after. I wanted to call you back, but what could I say?"

"Seriously, it's okay. I've done it too," she rationalized, though the flutter of excitement settled back into her stomach. Marching up and pushing aside said excitement was reality. Reality demanded that she understand him having to take it back. Deep down, she knew it had been a mistake and that she shouldn't have attached so many feelings to a mistake, but she had. The superficial part of her heart ached knowing that he was about to take it back.

Vaughn could hear a tremor in her voice; perhaps it was nerves, perhaps worry, maybe even annoyance, and he realized that she was just as interested as him in what he was going to say. He knew what he wanted to say, but what should he say? Were those things so different? 'What would Jack Bristow tell me to do?'

"Do you want me to be honest?" He put the ball in her court, and the moments of silence that followed threatened to swallow him.

"Sure," she finally responded, though couldn't keep the hesitation out of her voice. "Yeah. I do," she followed up with more confidence, but she couldn't hide the disappointment. They'd agreed not to take things slow in exactly one element of their relationship, and that was at mostly her insistence. Nearly five months of celibacy and a gorgeous man next to her all night hadn't exactly made her think straight.

"I've been terrified since I said it and it's taken me this whole day to figure out why." The pause was excruciating. "I - I wasn't afraid that I'd said it, I was afraid of your reaction. The more I thought about why my worry was so lop-sided, I realized that...I don't regret what I said, even though it was definitely by accident and way too soon."

'He's being honest, and so should you,' she heard her father's baritone voice between her ears.

"It's...been a long time since someone's said that to me. I mean...someone other than family," she admitted, a chuckle accompanying as she rose and began to wander around the bedroom. "So at first I was surprised, of course, and I tried to convince myself that you didn't really mean it, it was just an accident, but," she paused and Michael held his breath. "The more I tried to convince myself the worse I felt because I wanted you to mean it, even though it was a mistake."

The pair paced their private spaces unbeknownst to the other as they took time to sort out their thoughts.

"What if I did mean it but I don't have a clue what that really means?" The words came out in a rushed heap and he pursed his lips once they were free.

Sydney didn't speak, but her feet froze and her toes curled into the padded carpet a few times as thoughts raced through her mind.

"Momma?" Jake's quiet voice came from her doorway yanking her from her thoughts and feelings and back into reality.

"Sweetie, please go back to bed," she begged, Michael frowning before realizing that one of the kids must have interrupted on her side.

'Maybe she didn't hear you? Maybe she didn't...hear what you said?'

"I'm firsty," the tiny voice complained, and Michael could almost picture little Jake in his pajamas as he'd seen him Saturday morning while he did paperwork in the kitchen of the Bristow home. He'd padded onto the tile with sleepy blue eyes and a wild head of hair, one pant leg bunched around his tiny, bony knee as the other dragged past his toes threatening to trip him with each step.

Jake had convinced him to stop working and do something, and Michael had decided that Saturday mornings were meant for cartoons. The two ended up watching Transformers in a pile of blankets and pillows while eating a bit of watered-down oatmeal in case the boy's stomach decided to revolt. It was honestly one of the best mornings he'd had in a long time, and his mind slipped farther back to the moment when wakefulness hit him and he felt her warm body tucked into his side, her nose against his throat and hand over his heart.

The sound of running water pulled him from the memory as Sydney's soft yet stern voice told the little boy to head back to bed.

"Could you tuck me in again?"

She couldn't say no. "Yeah, come on. One sec," she said into the phone, Michael assuring her it was fine.

"Lub you, momma," the tiny voice said.

"Love you too, roo. Have good sleeps," she said, and there was another pause as she walked back to her room.

"Everything alright, sweetheart?" Jack's voice echoed in the hallway as he peeked out from his office.

'JUST LET ME HAVE THIS ONE PHONE CALL,' Sydney screamed inwardly, though none of it showed on her face. Pointing to the phone with a grin, Jack held up his hands in apologies and slipped back inside, closing the door behind him to give her as much privacy as possible.

"I'm sorry," she started, but he laughed.

"I wish I was there," he said wistfully.

"While it's probably impossible to get back on track...I'd love to know what you think it meant."

She had heard him. "I don't know. I keep hearing your dad's voice in my head to just...you know," he left off unsure of the rest of the sentence.

Sydney laughed, "dive in and let your feelings guide you?"

"Yeah!" His chuckle blended with hers. "I mean, don't get me wrong it's probably great advice, but god it's scary."

"Is that a good thing? Being scared isn't always bad, right?"

"Yes?" he asked with a laugh, the positive question admitting he was as sure as he was unsure. Making his way up the padded stairs toward his office, the lamp and computer screen giving enough light to guide him toward the comfortable chair, he flopped into it with a heavy sigh.

On her end, Sydney fell back to the top of the bed as hers echoed his through the small speaker simultaneously.

"What the hell," Michael mumbled, and the nervous fluttering took over her both stomachs. "Trying to convince myself that I haven't fallen hard for you is pointless, because I have. I know that everyone will say it's just because it's shiny and new, but I couldn't go thirty minutes into my day without hearing your voice. I don't want to take it back."

Sydney bit at her upper lip and nodded. "I don't think I want you to take it back."

"Maybe I'll just...change it a little? For now?" It was as if he was asking for permission.

"To what?"

"I really like you, and I miss you, and I...missed waking up to you today." He paused with a little chuckle. "That...seems really long."

She laughed with him, "maybe a little cumbersome."

"Maybe."

"I really like you too and it was hard waking up alone this morning." she paused, closing her eyes.

"So we'll just…" he left off, unsure how to finish.

"We'll just say good night."

He could hear her smile through the speaker, his own lips kinking at the edges, "and good morning."

"And...probably good afternoon."

"Sounds good."

They enjoyed the resolved silence and she could hear a few clicks of lazy typing.

"Do you have a lot of work still?"

He rolled his eyes. 'Absolutely.' "Nah. Just poking at some documents. We're meeting with the other team of lawyers tomorrow and I want to procrastinate the prep."

"Why is that?"

"They're from the city and are a bunch of sleazy jerks that'll do anything to win, including cheat the system within an inch of the law. Which makes them incredibly popular with certain richer clientele."

Sydney gagged, "still, it sounds important," she said quietly.

She knew this would end up much the same as the previous night, and from the sound of things, he needed to get work done and sleep before a long day tomorrow.

"Unfortunately, I have to go clean up a lot from playdough adventures and do some laundry. Maybe...this weekend I could come down and we could...look at apartments?"

"That sounds amazing. Wait...will you be bringing Jake?" His mind raced at the fact that his house wasn't exactly kid-friendly, though the swings embedded in the front yard belied the fact that he didn't have kids. They'd come with the house and he didn't have the heart to get rid of them when the neighbor kids stopped by from school to play around on their way home.

Sydney frowned, "uh no...I thought maybe just you and me?"

"I mean, I just," he floundered again, "I promised he could go on the second date, that's all. I don't want to disappoint him. Believe me...I'm already excited about just you and me."

Her heart blossomed again and had regrets that she'd be ending their phone call early, but he would never hang up if she didn't.

"We'll just promise him it's not a date."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smiled, the quiet settling between them again. "So...good night."

"Alright. I'll call you tomorrow," he said softly, knowing it was the needed push to get him back to work.

"I expect a good morning," her clear command warmed his heart, and they both knew that just because they had changed the words, the meaning was buried just below the surface waiting for the right time.

"Good night."

...