Lawrenceville * Sydney had slept. Eaten. Thought. She’d even exchanged a few more measly sentences with Vaughn. The silence was less awkward now, but it was still silence. She glanced over at Vaughn. She didn’t know what he was thinking, what was running through his mind. And even though she’d probably never find out… she still really, really wanted to know. They were on Lawrenceville Road now, close to the safe house – according to Vaughn, anyway – and Sydney was beginning to feel better. More hopeful. She could disappear again, into thin air, into crowded cities… Maybe I’ll go blonde again… or maybe I’ll just go overseas. Peaceful thoughts filled her mind, walks in parks, along busy streets where she didn’t have to worry about being spotted. She hoped they’d send her to Germany. Or maybe Austria, or France. She could probably do quite well in Italy, too. Knowing that she could speak more than English definitely gave her choices, choices she’d ever really wanted to think about before. Vaughn turned left. Sydney’s dream vanished. She knew it would never happen – that that little built-up world of carefree memories and simple things (like freedom) would suddenly burst out of nowhere and envelop her current life in an embrace of rose petals and silk. That she’d be able to live naively, taking every moment for granted, never thinking twice about telling people where she worked. She thought she’d found it in Portland – that little piece of happiness she’d always dreamed of. But it hadn’t quite worked out the way she’d planned. Somehow, though, being in the Mercedes, so close to safety, with Vaughn in the seat next to her, everything seemed horribly simple and uncomplicated. And as Vaughn pulled up in front of a small, quaint-looking house, Sydney was once again reminded of what she wanted. A life. (Vaughn) The engine stopped, and Vaughn’s hands dropped to his knees. The keys jingled, still in the ignition, and Vaughn raised his eyebrows slightly as he turned to her. “Well,” he gestured to the house in front of them, “here we are.” Sydney took in the building before her as she got out of the car, backpack in hand. It was set a fair bit back from the street, surrounded by trees. Small. Charming. Private. She nodded to herself as she followed Vaughn to the veranda. Pulling out his keys, he quickly opened the door and stood aside, motioning for Sydney to enter first. She smiled at him, mumbled a “Thanks,” and glanced towards her feet as she stepped over the threshold. Once inside, she stood to the right, trying to let her eyes adjust to the darkness as Vaughn closed the door behind him and started fumbling around for a light switch. Sydney moved to the side, then let out an “oops” when she bumped into Vaughn. She stepped away from him, and then blinked as he found the switch and the room was flooded with light. Sydney took a quick look around. They were in the hallway, painted a warm, pale yellow that matched the walls and furniture in the living room on the left, and a small table stood against the wall on her right, next to the entrance of the old-fashioned, homey kitchen. She looked back at Vaughn. They stood awkwardly in the hall, trying to avoid eye contact. Sydney could hear his quiet breathing, feel the heat radiating from his body, and she sucked in a breath, wondering what to say to him. Wondering why it was so hard to think of something to say to him. (It’s just him. It’s just Vaughn.) (It’s Vaughn.) He broke the silence, his green eyes focused on the tiled floor of the entryway. “So… uh.” He fleetingly looked around, then stuck his hands in his pockets. “Make yourself at home.” He shrugged and then moved his hand in the general direction of the rest of the house. Sydney nodded and headed off to find a shower. She heard Vaughn let out a long breath behind her, and she was hit with the familiarity of the situation – of being so uncomfortable while feeling completely safe. (I never kissed him) The thought burst to the front of her mind, and she paused at the door of what appeared to be the bathroom. Turning, she bit her lip. Vaughn was in the living room. His back was to her, and she looked at his shoulders – the ones she’d looked at in the warehouse, in the bloodmobile, at the florist. She watched him as he sat down on the couch, side-on to her, and leaned down to pull off his shoes. Sydney shrunk into the doorway as he set the sneakers aside and fell back on the couch, sinking into its cushions, closing his eyes and running his hands through his hair. She watched him in silence for a moment as he breathed deeply, and then she spoke. “Vaughn.” He opened his eyes and swivelled his head in her direction. He looked tired, worn out… and yet he was so concerned. “Hmm?” His eyes focused on hers, and she paused for a second. “I just…” she shrugged, smiling slightly. “I just wanted to say… thankyou.” Vaughn smiled wryly, glancing down before looking back at her with his patented green gaze. “What for?” Sydney studied him for a moment. He continued to look at her, into her, and she flicked on the light in the bathroom. “For everything.” (You are everything) Vaughn smiled. She shut the door of the bathroom and surveyed it, with it’s blue tiles and fluffy white towels, and then paused for a minute. The place was quiet, and for a second she worried – about Vaughn, about where she’d end up, about her missing-in-action father, about the ATM at the 7-11. She knew it hadn’t been the smartest idea, but she’d figured getting all her money in one place would be better and less obvious than leaving a clean, “Liz Whitby was here” withdrawal trail in her wake. And besides, New Haven was only one place. There were many places they could have gone from there, if anyone ever tried to look for them. (And this is a safe house) She turned on the faucet in the shower. * “And I love the way you smile at me I love the way your hands reach out and Hold me near…” * She’d never kissed him. In all that time, she’d never gotten that close. She’d thought about it, obviously. Dreamed about it, sure. Fantasised about his being so startlingly close to her that his skin would make itself into hers. But it had never happened. The night Sydney Bristow had become Elizabeth Whitby, she’d been close. He’d told her he loved her, she’d nodded (why didn’t I say something more? Why do I always nod? Why am I so stupid?), they’d embraced… but nothing more. She’d left the warehouse that night convinced that she’d see him again soon. Convinced she’d kiss him in a better setting, a better place. Convinced she’d stay forever. It was only when she was on the train to New York that she allowed him to enter into her catatonic, silent world. Six hours into the ride, after seven quarter-hour, useless naps and two apples she’d bought outside the train station, thoughts of Vaughn entered her mind. Thoughts of his forgiving eyes, his angular jaw, of his amazing smile that could undo any wrong. Francie and Will on the living room floor (blood) had imprinted themselves into the backs of her eyes, and she’d cried for hours just about the realisation that, if it hadn’t been for her, they’d still be alive. (My fault) Will’s cold eyes gazing into space. Francie’s twisted body. All of it was because of her. (My fault) The elderly man in the seat behind her had patted Sydney on the shoulder, handed her a clean handkerchief and said, in his Southern accent, “Trust me, darlin’, you’ll find the right boy someday.” The man had smiled, his skin crinkling around his blue eyes, and Sydney had only thought of Will. How he’d never find his story, how he’d never reach this man’s age. How Francie would never find her perfect life, how she’d never get married. (My fault) Worst part was, Sydney knew the man was right. She’d find “the right boy” someday. She’d find him, be happy, disillusioned with the fantastical images of a future, maybe even get so close that she wouldn’t be able to breathe if she wasn’t with him. (Like with Vaughn) But there was still the half-intelligent voice screaming in the back of her mind. The one that insisted that she was kidding herself if she thought that finding ‘him’ would be easy, if attainable at all. The other part of Sydney, though, trusted that she would find the man worth giving everything up for, the one worth living for, the one worth everything in every single sense of the word. She’d find him one day, most likely when she came home from work. Find him dead. (Blood) So she stayed detached. Less pain that way. * Sydney left the bathroom, clad in her jeans and feeling hungry. A mixture of breakfast smells wafted from the kitchen, and she sniffed slightly at the air. Bacon? Curious, she placed her backpack on the tiled floor and tiptoed barefoot to the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment and approval at what she saw. Vaughn stood in front of the small electric stove, his back to Sydney, frying eggs and bacon. Toast lay on a platter on the bench next to him, as did two plates, and two glasses stood next to knives and forks on the countertop right in front of Sydney. She leaned on it silently, smiling. “Breakfast?” Vaughn jumped at the sound of her voice and turned around. Sydney laughed at the surprise on his face, and he chuckled. “Bad hearing,” he grinned by way of explanation, his dimples showing and lighting up the room. “And yes, breakfast.” She glanced at the teapot-shaped clock on the wall, it’s bright colours and loud ticking adding atmosphere to the room. “It’s quarter to three in the morning, Vaughn.” He turned back to the stove. She watched his hands, tanned and beautifully shaped, stared at his left wrist and realised how much she adored the sight of his silver watch against his skin. It made him look organised, prepared, primed, but not in an overachieving way. The watch suited him perfectly, standard government apparel that it was, and complimented him entirely. She shook her head, tearing her eyes away from him when she realised he’d spoken. “Pardon?” He didn’t seem to notice her slip in concentration. “I rang the CIA while you were in the shower. Talked to Weiss. A team will be here at about five.” He paused. “You know… to get you out. Of here.” Sydney looked away, realising fully well that she only had two hours left until she had to vanish again. Two hours until she disappeared again, went into hiding, and yet she was hiding already, in a building deemed safe by the Central Intelligence Agency, with a man who – even though she’d tried – she’d never been able to hide herself from. Vaughn continued. “I wasn’t sure when you’d get to eat your next half-decent meal, and I was kinda hungry, so…” he trailed off, turning to her and placing a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. The platter of toast went to her right, and Vaughn then walked around the counter with his own plate and sat next to her. Sydney stared at the bacon, her stomach grumbling. “Thanks.” She looked over at Vaughn, at his profile, his bumped nose, his tousled hair. “I didn’t know you could…” she shook her head. “Well, cook.” “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Blunt. Direct. Honest. Wounding. Sydney stopped and looked away, hurt forming in the pit of her stomach and overwhelming the hunger. She knew how the rest of that thought went. There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. There are a lot of things you’ll never know about me. Vaughn, too, had paused, staring at his fork as though it held all the answers to this twisted concept of reality. Sydney nodded wryly, almost smirking at the pathetic situation they were in. Bringing her fork to her lips, she ate a piece bacon, savouring its taste, savouring the fact that it was food. They ate in silence for a few minutes, her mind running over the words that still hung in the air. She didn’t want to participate in another one of those conversations. It made her think too much. So she skipped to a topic that had been nagging at her for over a year. “Do you know what happened to my father?” Vaughn finished chewing his toast, taking a sip of apple juice. He stared at the beads of condensation on the glass before speaking. “Your father… he wasn’t there during the blast. When SD-6 decided to destroy themselves and then reform, he came to us. He told us what he knew was happening, what he knew was going to happen… and he asked us to give him a new name, a new place to live. He also decided to be outside the States.” Sydney froze. “So… he’s alive?” Vaughn nodded. “He’s in Osnabrück, Germany. He’s fine. Happy to be out of the line of fire.” Sydney closed her eyes, which had started to water. “He was glad to move on.” She shook her head, pissed off. “Wonderful. I’m so happy he told me.” She picked up her plate, her meal unfinished, and carried it to the sink. Throwing the remaining food in the trash, she turned on the water and started scrubbing at the plate. Vaughn sat silently behind her. She knew he didn’t know what to say, and she realised that for once, she wanted silence. Her father was alive. Tears started to spill down her cheeks, and she was rewarded by the fact that Vaughn couldn’t see them. She knew she wasn’t completely angry with her father – she could try, but there was no real reason. He’d done what she had – he’d run. He’d escaped, as she had, and was probably enjoying not having to worry anymore. She’d felt the same. But she’d never contacted him because she’d thought he was dead. He, on the other hand, had obviously known she was alive. So why hadn’t he done anything to contact her? The tears continued to fall, and she continued to let them. She was sore from running, from lack of sleep, from thinking. Everything hurt, physically and not, and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. She’d thought she’d left this kind of confusion behind. Obviously not. Why hadn’t her father contacted her? He easily could have. Jack Bristow could get anything he wanted just by asking in his stern voice, with his eyes commanding obedience. Apparently, she wasn’t something he cared about. She felt sick. Sydney turned off the tap, wiping her eyes with the back of her long sleeve. She stood by the sink for a moment, closing her eyes and trying to breathe steadily, trying to stop thinking about everything around her. (Why couldn’t they all leave me alone?) “I’m sorry.” She said the words quietly, but knew Vaughn could hear her. She could hear him stir; hear the plate be moved on the bench. “Why are you apologising to me?” She smirked, her eyes still overflowing. “I’m sorry for all this. You shouldn’t have had to follow me. After LA…” she stopped, looking out the window above the sink into the trees beyond. She didn’t quite know why she was saying all this, and yet she did. Some part of her needed to get it out. “In Portland, I was sure I was okay. Things were simpler than they had almost ever been, and I was so thankful for having that.” She shook her head. “Now… now this has happened, and I don’t know if I’ll see Mel again, or Gwen, or Seth… and Jay… he’s dead.” She looked down at her hands, wrinkled slightly because of the hot water, choosing her words. “I’m apologising because you should be living free, not having to give a shit about where I am or what I’m doing. Instead… I’ve pretty much drawn you back into this sick version of a life that constitutes as my world, and you’re not only here with me, you’re in the middle of everything. You shouldn’t be. You should be home, watching hockey. Or in the Ukraine, being Spy Boy.” She bit her lip, knowing this was hurting her more than him. “Just… You shouldn’t be here.” She became quiet again, realising her little rant was overdone. Yes, it was true… but did she really want him to leave? (No. Not again) He was the one thing holding her together. If he left… (I’d keep going. As I always do) But maybe she didn’t want to. After a few minutes, she felt Vaughn’s arms slip around her waist. His hands covered hers, and she curled herself into him, moving her head into the crook of his neck. He looked down at their hands, tightening his arms around her, his body warm, reassuring, soothing. Closing her eyes, Sydney let the tears flow freely, wishing for all the world that she wasn’t in this situation. Wished she were crying over something simple. Wished she knew what simple was. Vaughn pulled away slightly, and Sydney turned to him. His eyes were gentle, and he searched her face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “Sydney, I…” he broke off, and she started to breathe heavier, her heart pounding in her chest as he leaned closer to her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she waited for his lips to touch hers. He was so close… Her eyes flew open. “Wait.” Vaughn froze. His eyes opened, his lashes almost brushing against her skin. The confusion in his eyes was blatant, and his hand dropped from her face as he moved back. Sydney let out a breath, immediately regretting losing the feeling of his body against hers. She paused for a second, staring at Vaughn as he became interested in the mahogany-coloured tiles covering the floor. “You’re right.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. The pain in the two words was obvious, and Sydney felt like she’d been stabbed. “You’re leaving, and…” he trailed off, pressing his lips together and continuing to stare at the floor. Sydney was upset. She shook her head. “God, Vaughn… it’s nothing like that.” She moved closer to him, then felt everything leave her as he took a step away from her. She paused, then whispered, “Vaughn – someone’s here.” His eyes widened. “What?” She held up a finger and cocked her head towards the window. There was silence, and for a second Vaughn looked at her as if to say, “are you sure?” Then he heard the footsteps. “We have to leave.” She mouthed. The words rang familiarly in her mind, but she didn’t have time to think about it as she ran to fetch her backpack and shoes. When she turned around, Vaughn was shoving his feet into his sneakers, cell phone in hand yet again, worry creasing his features. She stopped in the hallway. “Shit,” she whispered loudly. “Which way do we go?” Vaughn looked up, and she could see his mind working. He quickly walked over to her, leaning close so she could hear him. “I think they’d expect us to go out the back,” he murmured. She nodded and followed him to the door, praying they’d survive this. Vaughn opened the door, and they stepped outside into the morning dew. They made it to the drive before the shooting started. Shots hit the gravel at their feet, and Sydney swore as they ran for the Mercedes. She fleetingly wondered why the first shots never managed to make their mark. You’d think they’d have better skills. She sprinted, Vaughn right in front of her. Ten metres… Vaughn yelled and seemed to slow down, and Sydney almost screamed herself when she saw the blood flowing from his shoulder. Footsteps were following them down the drive, and Sydney cursed whoever was behind her. She grabbed Vaughn’s other arm. “Give me the keys!” He obliged, and Sydney opened the passenger side door, ready to run around the car to open hers as more gunfire burst out behind them. “No…” She turned in time to see Vaughn fall to the ground. * AN: Lyrics from "Elsewhere" by Sarah McLachlan. > Deliver Me < New Haven » babblings » home » mail?