Pensacola * :: Los Angeles, 1992 :: Lisa grinned. "I've decided." Sydney mirrored the smile, biting into a chocolate bar. "Decided what?" "On which college I'm going to." Lisa beamed, her grey eyes amazingly bright, and she practically glowed. "Really?' Sydney raised her eyebrows, and was caught off-guard as someone crashed into her from behind. She reached out a hand to support her against the wall of lockers and yelled down the hall. "Watch where you're going, would you?" Lisa continued to grin as the bulky sophomore gave Sydney the finger and rushed down the school corridor. Sydney rolled her eyes, looking back at Lisa, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. So, where are you going?" "NYU." Lisa bounced on her feet, excitement coming off her in waves. "I'm going to study art and paint masterpieces and get my own apartment…" she trailed off, waving her hands through the air. "They accepted me!" Sydney smiled, happiness not quite meeting her eyes. "So, you're not going to UCLA with me, then?" Lisa's face dropped. "Oh, Syd, I'm sorry," she apologised, her eyes sad. "But this is something I really want to do." Sydney nodded. (I get that) Lisa smiled faintly, then nudged Sydney with her shoulder as they pushed past a group of freshmen standing in the middle of the hall. "So is your dad back this weekend?" Sydney sighed, shaking her head. "No. As usual, I have the house to myself." Lisa looked at her with pity, and Sydney shrugged. "I think he's in London." "Why?" "Who knows? He never tells me why he's going." Sydney smiled faintly, then let out a chuckle. "It's okay. I don't really care." Lisa nodded, satisfied with the answer. (Thank God Francie's not here. She'd never believe me) Sydney stopped listening as Lisa started talking about her college plans. Thoughts of her father (maybe I should just call him Jack; it's not like he acts like a father) passed through her mind; the silent dinners at home, the forced small talk, the last phone call she got from him. (All gruffness. "I'm off to London for the week. Don't give the housekeeper too much trouble. Good luck on your exams.") There had been nothing to show that he cared, that he actually wanted to know anything about Sydney at all. (Not like that's anything new. He's never acted interested.) Lisa talked on excitedly, oblivious to the blank look in Sydney's eyes as she wondered about the man who had brought her into this world. This typical, indifferent, unexciting world. (I just wish he'd notice once.) The bell rang, startling her into rushing towards homeroom. She waved goodbye to Lisa, made quick plans to meet her and Francie for lunch, and started to walk quickly down the cinderblock-walled corridor, her vinyl backpack bouncing against her back lightly with every step. I just wish he'd notice) * :: Pensacola, Florida :: The room was quiet, the muted sounds of the late news from the radio giving an atmosphere to the dim light. Sydney sat on the double bed, feet crossed in the lotus position, staring into space, remembering, reminiscing. Thinking. About how her father never noticed her (never cared); how Vaughn saw her, but wasn't allowed to (protocol should be nothing when it comes to people like us); how people took interest in her even when she didn't want them to. (Sloane) The lamp next to the bed was on, as was the fluorescent light rod in the bathroom. The shadows it created were simple, strong shapes that Sydney found herself tracing with her eyes, too tired to do anything but sit. (Maybe I should go to sleep) Then at least she wouldn't have to go through the awkwardness of deciding whether she or Vaughn would get the bed. (We could just share...) Everything seemed pointless, and she couldn't focus on anything. The drive had been quiet, uncomfortable, the tension in the car rising with every mile they drove. Their rest stops - in La Grange and Montgomery - had been quick: a gas stop, a food stop, a bathroom break. And there had been almost no conversation for six hours. It was getting frustrating. Vaughn sighed from the bathroom, and Sydney looked up, glancing at his back, the only part of him she could see. He was brushing his teeth; she'd already brushed hers. The motel room was simple and plain (aren't they all?), but it was comfortable. The bed was covered with a floral motif comforter, the couch was covered with red roses on a navy background, and the carpet was pale. She was miserable. (Why?) The question was too complicated to answer, and she gave up on it immediately. Vaughn came slowly out of the bathroom, glancing at Sydney, and she suddenly felt inadequate in her sweats and oversized tee shirt. She stared at Vaughn for a moment while he turned to flick off the light in the bathroom. The shadows disappeared, leaving only the light from the bedside lamp, and Vaughn moved slowly across the room to sit next to Sydney on the bed. Silence. (Say something) Sydney glanced at his profile - at his now-blue eyes and 'midnight blueberry' hair. The colours suited him. (But doesn't everything?) She felt the warmth radiating from his body, longed to touch the tanned skin of his hand. Quiet words. "You take the bed tonight." Sydney bit her lip. "It's your turn. I'll take the couch." Vaughn looked at his hands, then stared forward into nothing. "Fine with me." He half-smiled, and her hope faded further. (There's nothing here. Nothing at all. There never is. God, he can't see me, Dad can't see me… why bother?) Sydney nodded, and then paused before speaking. "Orlando next, huh?" She waited until Vaughn nodded, and then continued. "I've never been." She looked across the room, thinking, before she said, "I've heard it's nice." "Yeah," he replied quietly, his forearms resting on his knees. He glanced at her, and she met his (what is he thinking?) gaze. "I'm going to miss you, Syd." Sydney closed her eyes for a moment, her chest tightening in pain. (I don't want to leave you again) "I'll miss you too." She opened her eyes, and he looked away. She sighed. "I guess we should get to sleep, then." She uncrossed her legs, setting her feet on the floor and drumming her fingers lightly on her thighs as she waited for him to move. He didn't. She paused, decided to wait, stared at him as he stared at his hands. A minute passed before he sat up straighter, turning in her direction slightly and speaking. "Good night." She forced a small smile. "Night." He half-smiled back, turned away ready to stand up, and Sydney started to pull back the floral comforter. (Sleep) And then Vaughn's hands were on her face, gentle and urgent, turning her towards him. She caught a glimpse of his eyes before they closed, his lips softly pressing against hers, his hands moving to her hair and her waist to pull her closer. (Vaughn) She closed her eyes as she responded, her fingers moving to touch his cheek, a small contented murmur escaping her lips as the kiss grew more insistent, his fingers passing over her skin, burning a trail on her arms, her neck, through the thin cotton of her shirt. His hands paused to play with the elastic of her sweats, and Sydney pulled back for a moment. She caught her breath as she stared into his heavy-lidded eyes, dimly aware of his fingers moving underneath her shirt to the small of her back. She tried to concentrate. "Vaughn -" she tried, his lips inches away, her voice little more than a whisper. "I don't - I don't think that…" She trailed off as Vaughn placed a finger to her lips. His voice was soft, low, making her almost shiver despite the heat radiating from his proximity. (Oh, God, why can't I concentrate?) "Syd." She held her breath as he ran his fingers lightly from her neck to under her chin. "Remember L.A.?" His eyes were inquisitive, beautiful, blue, and she nodded. He faltered for a moment. Then the murmur. "Nothing's changed about how I feel for you." Sydney watched him for a moment, then nodded, mirroring Vaughn's small smile as he leaned forward and caught her lips with his. Her heart fluttered as the kiss grew. It became grasping, tangled, feverish. She pulled him closer, needing more. (It's taken so long) Vaughn pushed her back against the pillows, and Sydney ceased to think at all. * Blue lights from streetlamps. Light rain falling on the roof. (Again) Sydney watched the brightness of headlights pass over the walls, twisting into the corners and disappearing with a whoosh as cars drove past the motel outside, the early hours of the morning peaceful, silent. (The calm before the storm) She closed her eyes again and curled closer to Vaughn, his eyes shut, his breathing steady and even. She listened as she felt his chest rise and fall, (rise and fall) the skin warm to the touch, electric almost. (I love you) He was beautiful. She'd lain beside him for hours, basking in his nearness, tracing the scars (old and new) she hadn't noticed before, marvelling at the fact that no matter how much he had changed, how different everything was, some things were still the same. (He was amazing. In more ways than one.) He'd fallen asleep, his arms around her, his body so close that she could feel all of him. Hear his heart beat. Listen to his quiet sighs as he slept, to the random words he mumbled in his dreams. She smiled at his tufts of black hair, his piercing blue eyes, his strong hands. His agility. Then she'd be hit with reality. (I'm not perfect. He's not perfect. This could still get us killed.) And the simple realisations: that she'd never stopped thinking about him. Never. Every time she'd looked at Seth, something had been missing. Something simple. She hadn't been able to figure it out, to determine what it was, had told herself she was being picky. Now, though, she realised. (Love) She wasn't going to give it up. (Everything's fucked up enough as it is. I won't let this screw up just like everything else.) Sydney's eyes opened again, and she stared at the ceiling, thinking. Next stop, Orlando. And after that, Miami. (And then I'll be gone.) She moved closer to Vaughn (I'll never leave you again), wondering where she'd go. "Can't sleep?" She jolted when Vaughn spoke. Quietly, but it was enough to disturb the silence of the morning. Her grinned at her jumpiness, wrapping his arms around her waist tighter and pressing her closer to him. "Can't sleep." She smiled in answer, once again amazed at how lucky she was to be here, with him. (One moment of perfection) His eyes looked into hers, and she stared back, her heart beating faster as he leaned forward and kissed her gently. (Maybe he hasn't changed as much as I thought) "What's on your mind?" Vaughn asked softly, his fingers running lightly over her stomach. Sydney tried not to shiver as she spoke. "Nothing, really." He was silent, allowing her to continue, but she sensed the doubt. "I'm thinking about where I'll go." He was still quiet, his fingers making circles on her abdomen, not focusing on her words. "Vaughn?" (Why can't I call him Michael?) "Can't you just forget about that? Even for now?" His tone was low and soft, but the strength of the words wasn't lost on her. She tensed. "No, I can't. It's not that easy." She sighed as his hands stopped moving. "You know where you're going. You still have a job. A mission. I don't." She laced her fingers through his, stroking the skin on the back of his hand. "I don't know what's going to happen. That's why I can't forget it." Vaughn didn't speak, leaning over to brush his lips against Sydney's shoulder. His hair brushed past her nose, making her smile, and she watched him as he pulled back, his face slightly apprehensive. "We'll figure it out when we get to Miami." A whisper, calm, controlled. Sydney wasn't so sure. "Don't you get it, Vaughn?" (He can't be 'Michael'. He's never been Michael.) She shook her head, and he pulled away, (he's Vaughn) sitting at the edge of the bed. She sat up, pulling the sheets closer (why is it colder?). "We won't 'figure it out'. There won't be time." She watched his back as he ran a hand through his hair, quickly scratching the back of his neck. "Are we still talking about where you'll go? Or have we moved on to us?" Vaughn turned back to her, his eyes demanding. Sydney looked away. "I don't know." "What is this, Syd?" He looked at her, eyes imploring, questioning, steely, his walls slowly rebuilding themselves. "Just a fuck?" She almost recoiled at his words. "Is that what it was for you?" "God, Sydney, you know the answer to that." She was silent. "Please. Don't bullshit me. You know what I feel." He paused for a moment, his voice quieter when he spoke next, but still determined. "I don't know what's happening. I don't know where you'll go. All I know is that we have to get to Miami so you can get extracted, that Sloane is still alive - unfortunately - and intent on killing you, and you are not just a fuck." Vaughn practically glared at her as she sat, not speaking for a minute. He turned back around, resting his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. She virtually whispered her words. "I'm sorry." He didn't turn. "God, Vaughn, I just- I'm so scared. I'm sorry." (That's not all) Why couldn't she say more? (Why can't I tell him that I'm sick of it? The perpetual motel rooms, the dancing around topics, the road trip from hell?) He sighed, and she felt herself break as she realised that everything had changed. Everything. There was no going back, even if they wanted to, and they still weren't safe. (I love him. At least I think I do. I might be too fucked up to recognise it. But I can't love him, so I don't, and why can't everything be simple like it is on TV?) She stopped herself from sinking in her quicksand of thoughts, and looked over at Vaughn. He was sitting quietly, hardly moving. A minute passed, maybe more; and Sydney reached across the bed and touched his hip, her fingers moving softly over the skin before stopping. He tensed slightly, then turned back to her, his eyes weary. Her heart thumped loudly (Oh God, I did this to him. Why have I done this to him?), and she bit her lip before speaking. "Forgive me, Vaughn. Please." Her eyes begged him, and he softened slightly. It was the slightly that made her take her hand away again. "What for, Sydney?" He asked, tired. Almost steeling himself from her response. "Everything." He cocked his head, inviting her to explain. "For not telling you when I left L.A. For not kissing you in Lawrenceville. For… forcing myself on you in Charleston, for leaving you there with nothing but a note, for running away from you when you found me in Elizabeth City, for everything that's ever happened since you met me." She breathed in, feeling as if she was about to cry. Her eyes blurred slightly, the tears threatening, and she berated herself for doing this again. To herself, to him. (I hate myself) He sighed, his mouth moving into a small, wry smile. "Syd… don't worry about it." He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb gently rubbing away a tear. "Forget any of it ever happened. Just think about now." She nodded, another tear spilling over, and Vaughn crawled back under the covers. His voice soothed her, his arm stretched across the pillows, her head on his shoulder. "For a spy, you're nothing but a baby." She laughed through her tears, snorting, and he laughed at her as she covered her mouth with her hand, mortified. (I love him. I do.) When she calmed down, they spoke. The whispers moved through the air of the streetlamp-lit room, tangling within themselves as they talked about her, about him, about their parents, the past two years. Her life in Portland, his trips to Baku and Lvov, the simple things she did on her weekends, the missions he was continually sent on, her new love (ice-skating), his old one (hockey). They talked about everything (except what's happening right now. With us. Around us. Everything but the important things, because nothing is perfect.). (But I love him. I do.) The streetlights blinked off, the stars disappeared, the sun rose. The room slowly became orange with the morning light, covering the floral motifs with brightness, harshness. The light brought with it reality, truth, morning: another day of endless highways and broken hopes, sticky car seats and, yet, cold rain. They didn't move until ten, one hour before they were to sign out of the motel. They packed quietly, shared a shower (this is going to end soon), changed into new clothes. The room stayed floral, unchanged as they left the motel, stepping into the warm mid-morning air, the sun a surprise for their dark clothes and heavy pants. A mustard-coloured Mustang parked around the corner from the motel was their new car. The lock picking was easier every day, Sydney noticed. (Practice makes perfect) They climbed into the car, the mood determined, heated, everything it had been and more. (A little less conversation, a little more action.) Sydney smiled to herself as they drove from the city, passing what she could only describe as a huge marlin, the buildings on either side of the road bright in the strong sunshine. She shed her coat after about fifteen minutes, Vaughn soon following suit as she held the wheel. Along the way she realised that everything was still simple, but not simple enough. They were still running. Still being chased. Orlando was seven hours away, give or take a few breaks in between. (Bonifay. Tallahassee.) Orlando, their last stop before she disappeared, before he left, before she became someone else again. She ran a hand through her auburn hair, memories of childhood readings of 'Anne of Green Gables' coming to mind as they passed the border of Pensacola and started to cruise down the highway, the silence in the car comfortable for the first time since… (since this started) Sydney settled back into the seat, trying to relax. Vaughn looked over at her, his gaze intense, and she smiled faintly at him, hoping he knew how she felt. His hand rested on her knee as he drove, the soft sounds of fifties songs filtering through the warm air, and she felt lighter for the first time in a week. (It seems so much longer) The road stretched before them, the mustard of the car zooming along steadily. (And only one stop left before reality) Her hand clasped Vaughn's as they drove on. * < Atlanta > Orlando » babblings » home » mail?