Atlanta * Atlanta. Georgia. The streets were full of cars getting to work late, of people racing along, of loud noise and distractions. Sydney drove through the melee lost in thought -- no -- lost in remembrance. (Vaughn) She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything else. She’d run through the trees at the edge of the road, and finally made her way back to the parking lot after hitching a ride with a middle-aged woman who had simply shaken her head and said, “it’s not worth it, honey”. She’d climbed into the Audi, thrown her bag on the backseat and had driven to Atlanta on autopilot. And now she was here, looking out for the first motel on her right, hoping she found one soon, remembering Vaughn’s lips on hers and the indescribable sensation that had hit her. It had been one moment, a few seconds; and she’d been reduced to jelly knees and teen crush status. (Come on. Give me a motel already.) (Aha!) A few hundred yards, a small building, a faded sign. (Looks like my kind of place.) She pulled up on the street next to the building and climbed out, looking around for the Mazda. After a few quick turns, Sydney realised it wasn’t there, and she glanced at her scratched watch. Ten forty-five. (Shit.) She walked into the quiet building with its pink (not again) linoleum floor and cream walls. There was a bench, a few chairs, and a reception counter, and Sydney approached it silently, glancing around for anything out of the ordinary. Apart from the pink, everything seemed normal. “Can I help you?” Sydney almost jumped at the voice from behind the counter. A young girl stood up from the floor, papers in hand, and looked expectantly at Sydney, her eyebrows raised. “Uh… yes,” Sydney stammered. “A room please.” “For one?” the girl asked. “For two. I’m expecting someone, and…” “Male?” (What’s with the questions?) “Uh… yes, but it’s – it’s not what you think…” “Slightly older than you, maybe? Light brown hair? Green eyes?” The girl started sorting the papers, pulling out some manila folders and putting away the files. “Yes…” Sydney furrowed her brow and looked at the girl, slightly puzzled. “How did you know?” “Quite simple, really.” The girl looked up and smiled for the first time. “I was told you’d be on your way. He’s already here.” “Oh,” Sydney nodded. (So, I’m guessing no Mazda.) “He’s in room five.” The girl pointed to her left. “Down there. You can’t miss it.” Sydney smiled faintly, her eyes just about ready to close. “Thanks.” She started down the hall, her feet making slight squeaking noises on the pink linoleum. She approached room five, glancing at the number on the door before knocking. A pause. “Yes?” came the voice from inside. “It’s me.” Sydney stood silently for a moment before Vaughn finally called, “come in”. Sydney opened the door gently and strolled into the room, closing it behind her and dropping her bag to the floor. A fleeting glance around the small area revealed nothing special: twin beds, small round table with chairs, mirror, door to a small bathroom, the whole place nicer than the other motels she’d been in (and that’s a lot of motels), but it still seemed almost wrong, even slightly immoral. The colour scheme was (thank God) not pink, but instead off-white and pale orange. The whole room reminded Sydney of peaches and cream, and she smiled slightly as she stood by the table, rocking back and forth on her heels. The water was running in the bathroom, and she called out. “Vaughn?” “Yeah, I’m in here,” returned the voice. Sydney bit her lip, then walked to the bathroom, stopping and leaning against the doorframe. Vaughn stood over the sink, plastic gloves on his hands as he massaged hair colour through his once-light strands, the bluey-black of the dye covering his head. “Wonderful.” Sydney spoke, and Vaughn glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “Get any for me?” “You can go a purple and black colour or a dark auburn.” He spoke staring into the basin, his tone noncommittal and yet speaking volumes. (All thirty-something volumes of Encyclopaedia Britannica) Sydney walked over the small bench a metre away from Vaughn and picked up the temporary dye packaging. She read the colour aloud. “Midnight blueberry?” Vaughn smiled sheepishly as his fingers made small circles on his scalp. “Yeah, well. I didn’t feel like going red.” Sydney nodded, understanding. “Well, I think I will.” She leaned against the bench, her eyes on Vaughn as he combed through the dye and then rinsed his hands. He turned to her, his eyes deep. “How was your drive?” Sydney looked at the floor. “Uneventful.” She glanced back up. “You?” “Well, the beginning was a bit too eventful for my liking,” he shrugged, “but it got better. Stole a Chevy in Mauldin.” Sydney stopped herself from gaping. “A Chevy?” Vaughn nodded almost proudly. “Yep. Sky blue.” Sydney shook her head. “Wow.” She watched Vaughn as he grinned, and she smiled back. Then she glanced at his lips, and the bathroom suddenly seemed warmer. “Uh…” she looked away, remembering those lips against hers. (Well, the boy can kiss) She immediately chastised herself for the thought, and started to move towards the door. “I’ll just let you… yeah.” She nodded and gestured towards his hair, trying to avoid his gaze. “Syd…” he began. “I’ll be in the bedroom,” Sydney cut him off, and almost reeled at how the words sounded. “I mean… I’ll be in the other room…” she shook her head. “Never mind.” She left the bathroom quickly, noticing the slight curl of Vaughn’s lips as she marvelled at her stupidity. (“I’ll be in the bedroom”) She smirked at herself, still partly mortified. (Cos that didn’t sound sleazy.) She sighed as she sat down on one of the beds, running her hands through her hair. (I really need some sleep) Vaughn emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, and Sydney realised she hadn’t moved. She looked away as his eyes fell on her, not wanting to say anything that might, potentially, start something. (Something? Like what? Like him kissing me? Oh, God, how I wish that would just happen again.) She finally raised her head when he didn’t move for a moment, and stared into his eyes, surprised to find that they were blue. “Contacts, too?” she asked, a small, wry, God-this-is-a-horrible-situation-but-I-love-you-anyway half-smile on her face. “Yeah,” he answered, shrugging. “This or green… but that was a bit pointless, so…” he trailed off again, and she swallowed as he watched her. She bit her lip, trying to control her breathing. She finally glanced up at him, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Vaughn…” the words caught in her throat as Vaughn looked at her intently, his forehead devoid of wrinkles (for once), his face almost completely blank. “Yeah?” he replied, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. (This is not good. None of this is good. God, I wish he was someone I didn’t–) She cut off her trail of thought and spoke, voice quiet, clear, almost scared as she fixed her eyes on his. “I’m sorry for running away in Charleston.” The words were, and yet weren’t, the ones she’d wanted to say. ‘I’m sorry for leaving you in L.A.’ ‘I’m sorry you didn’t kiss me back.’ ‘I’m sorry I’m me, and you’re you, and we’re here in this fucked-up situation where we can’t be what I want us to be because it could kill us.’ (Now that’s a different take on life, isn’t it? I can’t be with Vaughn now. I couldn’t be with Vaughn in L.A. This is all so screwed up.) She watched him as he processed what she’d said, lowering his gaze to the floor as his head dropped. He shook his head, then looked away as he replied. “That’s…” he glanced at her fleetingly, his now-blue eyes skittering over her features. “Forget it.” (He doesn’t forgive me) She nodded, understanding all he didn’t say, understanding the reasons behind everything left unsaid. She wanted his forgiveness, needed it. And still, Vaughn – this new, stronger Vaughn – was something she didn’t want to give up. (So I won’t.) Sydney stood and walked towards the bathroom, stepping around Vaughn. “Just let me dye my hair… I’ll be right back.” (Those are always the famous last words in horror movies, aren’t they? ‘I’ll be right back’, and a hacked-up body in a pool by a mansion. Just like my life.) The bathroom tile was cool under her feet when she removed her shoes and closed the door, pulling off her coat and turtleneck to dye her hair. The gel was slimy, sticky, and she relished it’s feeling on her scalp, on her plastic-glove-covered fingers. (Becoming someone new again) A redhead. Not a blonde, not a brunette, not a raven-haired woman of thirty. She realised that she’d run out of so-called ‘natural’ colours to dye her hair. (Next up, green. How easily I’ll blend with green hair) She rinsed her hands, rinsed her hair, dried it… she left the bathroom feeling new, her green contacts replacing the grey ones of Elizabeth City, the auburn replacing the platinum of Virginia Blair. The clock on the wall near the table showed eleven forty-five. Sydney was surprised to see how much time had passed. (So little time left…) She glanced over towards the beds, her eyes coming to rest on Vaughn’s curled-up form on one of the peach comforters, one of his arms hanging off the side of the bed. She smiled, then walked silently to the other twin bed and lay down. She stared at Vaughn for ten minutes before drifting comfortably into sleep. * The light was fading when Sydney woke, stretching her arms to the side lazily before she realised where she was. The peach around her was like a cocoon, the strange colour reminding her of skin and fruit and ice cream, and she sat up and glanced over at the bed on the other side of the room, Vaughn nowhere in sight. A fleeting look at the clock told her it was four in the afternoon, and it was slightly cooler than it had been in the late morning. She stood, walked over to her backpack. (I wonder what the next stop is? She quickly figured where Vaughn was (that would be the running water in the bathroom) and dug through the backpack for her toothbrush, then sat at the table and waited. She felt… (domestic) She smirked at the word, noting how ironic it was. She also felt… (what? Warm, comfortable. Anticipation.) The burning feeling of Vaughn’s lips against hers still hadn’t disappeared, and she knew it wasn’t going to anytime soon. That one brief, fleeting kiss had been enough to bring back everything she’d tried to forget (and wanted to remember), bringing her old life crashing into her new one. The water was still running in the bathroom, she was still staring at the clock, and yet everything was just starting to seem simple. There was only him, and her, and a road trip. (No black, no death, no Lincolns, no Sloane.) This was the way it should have always been, and she realised that. (Only thing is… what happens now?) The water stopped, and she straightened in the chair, her neck slightly sore. (Miami… I’ve never been before.) She thought randomly as she waited for Vaughn to leave the bathroom. Glancing down at herself, she realised she was still fairly clean. (Or at least decent. It’ll have to do.) Sydney thought back, remembering her post-senior year road trip. She’d driven cross-country with her friend Lisa, a bubbly freckled blonde who had eventually left California to do an art course at NYU. (I miss her.) They’d visited places they’d only ever heard of before: Vegas, Phoenix, Kansas City, Nashville, Memphis, Washington. Sydney had felt free, driving down the highways of the rest of her life with nothing to hold her back. And here she was, doing exactly the same thing (exactly the opposite) again. The bathroom door opened, and Vaughn strode out. He smiled at Sydney (or did he?) and made his way over to the duffel he’d left by the bed. Sydney watched him for a moment before standing and strolling into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind her as she brushed her teeth. The light sifting through the small window in the bathroom was fading, orange and pink beams slicing through the cool air and hitting the walls, signifying a break in the clouds. Sydney paused at the sink after washing her hands, staring at her newly auburn hair and green contact lenses. (Vaughn’s are nicer) Sighing quietly, she left the bathroom, walking silently to her backpack and putting away the toothbrush, making the bed. Vaughn sat at the table, a large sheet of paper in front of him. When Sydney glanced at it closer and walked over to sit opposite him, she realised it was a map, and she leaned over the table to look at the lines drawn on between cities. “What’s our next stop?” she asked, pulling Vaughn from his silence. “Pensacola.” He replied quietly, head in his hands, the raven blue of his short hair slightly wet. “Wings of gold.” She snickered at her own bad joke, and when he looked at her with confusion, she shook her head. “Sorry. Bad television joke.” He nodded, and she felt her hope drop. (What did I do now?) He wasn’t looking at her (not again), focusing solely on the map. She decided to push the subject. “And where are we going after Pensacola?” His eyes flicked to hers, their clear, pale blue reminding her of Will (no, no, no. Don’t even dare… he is not Will. Will’s dead.), and sighed. He turned the map around so it was on an angle where she could see it from the side, pointed to Atlanta, and spoke. “Okay. We’re here. It’s a six-hour drive to Pensacola, give or take a quarter hour, so we should be there at about ten thirty if we leave within fifteen minutes.” He glanced at her quickly. “Got that?” Sydney nodded, taking in the information. Vaughn continued, his forehead wrinkling. “We’ll stay there overnight. Then, tomorrow, about noon, we’ll drive to Orlando, which is about seven to eight hours away.” His finger traced the highway on the map, and Sydney’s eyes followed the movement. “We’ll stay there overnight too, hopefully. And early in the morning, we’ll leave for Miami, where they’ll extract you.” He turned the map back around and traced the red lines on the paper with his marker, their path set. His next words were quieter. “And after Miami, I won’t see you again.” Sydney froze, her eyes on the table. She looked up at Vaughn slowly, his strong blue gaze holding hers as she ceased breathing for a second, and she spoke, the words almost hoarse. “And I suppose you consider that a good thing?” She looked away as he sighed and sat back, shoving the map into his back jeans pocket. He stared at her for a moment, and she wondered if he was actually going to answer. He paused, biting his lip, and then leaned across the table, his face inches from hers. “I would’ve thought you already knew the answer to that question.” Sydney stared at his heated eyes, glanced down at his close lips. There was nothing, and then he moved. (Come back…) She sat, immobile, watching him as he walked across the room and grabbed his leather jacket from the duffel bag, pulling it on as he shoved his feet into the sneakers by the wall. He glanced over his shoulder, the look on his face undecipherable. “Come on. We have to get to Pensacola tonight.” Sydney nodded dumbly and stood, walking to retrieve her coat and backpack silently. He was much too confused for this situation; everything had been simple. (But that was gone ages ago) She’d been running (forever) for something like four days, and nothing was getting any clearer. Sloane was still alive and wanted to kill her; her father was still alive and wanted nothing to do with her. Jay was still dead, all because she couldn’t hide her tracks well enough, and Will and Francie were in graves in L.A., bodies full of holes and mistrust. (All because of me and my stupidity) And here she was, in perhaps one of the worst situations she could imagine, with the only person she could count on. Ever. She followed him (blindly) out the door, down the corridor, past the young receptionist with her brown ponytail and confused glance, to the pale, sky blue Chevy illuminated by the sinking sun and pale streetlights. They drove out of Atlanta, passing Turner Field and Olympic Centennial Park, the darkening streets inviting, familiar. Sydney stared at the fading sunlight and pink-bottomed clouds, wishing she knew what was happening in Vaughn’s mind. (Not going to work) She sighed, folded her arms, and tried to sit comfortably, her neck still sore. (You are now leaving Atlanta) She blinked as they passed the sign. (Hello highway.) * AN: Thankyou to Thorne for betaing this part. And thankyou also to Jenai for providing the Atlanta landmarks and such. :) > Pensacola < Charlotte This whole fic is © to me, 2002 (yeah, like you'd steal anyway) » babblings » home » mail?