First Steps
"This, he knows, is real."
He stands in the dark, dank hallway, inches from a flimsy wood door. He can't make himself open it. What waits on the other side? Is it really her, or just another dead end?
The man from the safe house reaches around him and pushes the door open. Swallowing hard, he forces himself to take that step into the room. His heart leaps as he sees her standing in front of him. Not a dream.
In seconds, she's in his arms, her hands curling around his head. He buries his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. She's thinner than he remembers, more frail somehow, but still Sydney.
NotadreamnotaghostSydneyfinallySydney.
He hears her broken sobs, feels like weeping himself when they break apart. He doesn't know where to begin, so he fumbles for words, trying to tell her about Will. This will be easier if they sit down, he suggests to her. He knows she is confused, knows that somehow, she has no memory of her life for the past two years. Hell, he's confused too. What could have happened for her to lose so much time, so many days, months, years of her life?
Lucky for her. She has no memories of their time apart to haunt her day and night, unlike him. He feels an unwarranted amount of bitterness, and tries to remind himself that they are both victims of a greater evil. Neither is to blame, though he feels every inch the villain, sitting here in front of her questioning stare.
As he searches for what to say—she's here. I can’t believe it. Right in front of me.—he rubs his hand over his face and feels, rather than hears, her breath hitch.
"Vaughn, why are you wearing that ring?"
There's a hesitance in her voice. He hears it, knows what it means. She thinks he's betrayed her, that much is obvious. He could never hurt her, doesn't she know that? He has to make her understand, he has to explain…
"Syd... since that night... you were missing. You've been missing for almost two years."
A hurt look spreads across her face. "Two…two years?" She rises from her chair and feverishly paces the floor. He hears her mutter something about love and fidelity before she turns back to him with a venomous look on her face. "Get out."
He tries to say her name, but his throat constricts and no sound escapes. She leans heavily against the wall, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. "Call my father. He can explain everything else. I never want to see you again." Still, he remains motionless. She repeats herself softly, coldly. "Get out of here, Vaughn."
He knows what she’s doing; he's seen it happen a million times before. She’s shutting off her emotions, withdrawing into her hurt. He can't touch her now. Dazedly, he stands up. She wants him gone, so he's gone. Game over, and once again, he's on the losing end.
Silently, he turns to the door, preparing to walk away from the woman he's spent the last two years trying to find. He takes one step, his foot moving sluggishly across the floor. Two steps. He might as well be trying to walk in quicksand.
Or rather, he's trying to walk away from her. For all his immunity to her, she may as well be quicksand.
Three steps, and he's pivoting back to her. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket and retracts, holding the velvet box that’s been weighing him down ever since he first arrived in Hong Kong. He had been so hopeful about giving this to her, but now…no. Whatever the consequences, she has to know.
"See this box? Inside, you'll find a ring. It's the partner to the one I've worn on my finger every single day for the past eighteen months. Every single day, I've looked in this box, at this ring, and felt my heart rip in two. Do you know why?"
Enraged by her silence, he crosses the room to where she stands and hits the wall with his fist, narrowly missing her ear. "Do you know why?" he shouts hoarsely. She shakes her head slightly, obviously frightened by the violence he's never let surface, not in front of her. He drops his head, unable to look into her eyes as he says the next part. "Because. I couldn't give it to the woman I loved. She was gone, and I had no way of getting her back." He pushes the ring box into her hand. "So don't talk to me about fidelity," he murmurs almost under his breath, once more turning to go.
"Vaughn." Her voice calls out before he's taken three steps. He's been a lifetime away from her for the past two years; why can't he now move beyond three steps?
He lifts his head to the ceiling, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. He won't turn around. He refuses. "Time changes everything, Sydney, we both know that. The ring belongs to you, but it doesn't obligate you to anything. Take it, and remember." He swallows hard.
He will take that fourth step. He will.
Before he realizes it, he's standing in the middle of the street outside the safe house. Staring up at the inky black sky, listening to the sounds of the city. Letting those sounds envelop him, make him forget what his mind is determined to make him remember.
He mentally ticks off the list of what he needs to do. A horn honks, swerving around the insane American, who just chuckles ruefully. Item number one: Get out of the street. Call Jack. She's his daughter, he can escort her back to L.A. Get to the airport. Get the hell out of there.
He steps back onto the curb and begins walking down the sidewalk. Raising his arm to hail a cab as he walks, he takes a deep breath. His nose is assaulted by scents, some familiar, some not. He smells the fumes from passing cars, the food from the restaurant across the street. Sydney.
Sydney?
A hand touches his right shoulder and travels down his arm to meet his right hand. His eyes follow its progress, his breath catching in his throat. The thin, delicate fingers of this hand entwine with his. He knows those fingers. The nails are long and jagged, and the fingers are unadorned except for the fourth, which is encircled by a simple gold band with a perfect diamond in the middle.
Not bothering to look up, not wanting to find out this is just a dream, he lifts the hand to his lips and softly kisses the ring finger.
It feels real. Flesh and bone. Not a dream. He pulls the hand to his chest, where it alights on his shirt just above his heart. He feels the erratic beating, knows she feels it too.
This, he knows, is real.
Chancing disappointment, he angles his head up and glances at the woman next to him. Unshed tears sparkle in her brown eyes, a small, apologetic smile on her unpainted lips. He returns the smile hesitantly, answering the question she’s silently asking.
“Let's go home,” he whispers.
Hand in hand, they take their first steps together down a crowded Hong Kong street. He sneaks another glance at their joined hands, enjoying the way the gold band reflects the dim light of the neon signs. Feels himself breathing easier than he's done in what seems like forever. That ring is finally, finally where it belongs. And so am I.
Posted by Carrie on 09:40 PM