SUMMARY: thought we both could use a friend to run to. Final story in the Matrilineal series. Whee! Read the rest here. Season two spoilers.
DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to J.J. Abrams. Except for Jane, who belongs to Em.
THANKS: To Em, for starting this lovely 'verse. And to kate, for the poetry and the beta-ing.
***
It occurs to Vaughn as he stares at his daughter that he always wanted children in that abstract, in-a-couple-of-years kind of way. There are blurry images in his mind -- youth hockey games, birthday parties, holiday dresses -- but nothing even close to this new reality.
Nothing even close to Jane.
And in none of his fantasies does his adorable six-month-old daughter prefer Weiss's company. She's cradled in Weiss's arms, one of her tiny hands grappling with his tie, the other clutching her stuffed clown to her chest, and she's not looking at Vaughn. For his part, Weiss is doing his best to avoid Vaughn's gaze, fiddling with Jane's sleeve, adjusting her in his arms.
Vaughn wonders if his rage and despair are reflected in his expression. He knows it's not Weiss's fault, knows he should be thinking of something coherent to say to Sydney when she returns, but he can't do anything but stare at his daughter.
His *daughter*.
He'd really thought that concept had sunk in, but a two-dimensional picture was nothing compared to his flesh-and-blood daughter. And the anger at discovering Sydney'd disappeared to keep this secret from him was nothing compared to the body blow of his daughter shying away from him. Away from someone who's a stranger.
When she chances a look at him, Vaughn is entranced. Jane is beautiful, all big green eyes and her mother's dimples when she smiles. She's not smiling now. Instead, she's watching him warily, partially hiding behind her stuffed clown.
Weiss seems to have run out of things to keep himself occupied while Vaughn stares at his daughter. Weiss glances around at the few remaining agents, shrugs, and crouches down to place Jane on the cement floor.
"Weiss," Vaughn protests, the first word he's spoken since Sydney's departure.
Weiss waggles the stuffed clown in front of Jane until she giggles and pulls it away. "What?" Weiss asks, not looking up.
Vaughn feels stupid towering over them, but he's paralyzed, not sure how close he can get to Jane, knowing it'll kill him if she's ever so scared of him that she cries. "That floor is probably dirty," he answers belatedly.
Weiss makes a strange noise and Jane laughs. He glances up at Vaughn. "Kids get dirty. Pull up some floor."
Vaughn hesitates, fighting the urge to scoop his daughter up and enshrine her in snow white cotton so that she won't ever get dirty or, more importantly, hurt in any way.
Weiss gives him an exasperated look. "Would you get down here and play with your daughter? Uncle Eric can only do so much."
It's the "Uncle Eric" that knocks the paralysis right out of him. It sounds so absurd, and Vaughn manages to raise a skeptical eyebrow. "Uncle Eric?" he repeats.
Weiss smiles up at him, and Vaughn can read the relief in his expression. "Has a nice ring, don't you think?" Weiss asks.
Vaughn lowers himself to the floor, thinking one upside to his extracurricular trip is that he's not getting any of his suits dirty. He settles in and tries to smile. "Not really," he tells Weiss, then turns his attention back to Jane, who is watching him warily. "Hi, Jane." He wants to say more, to tell her that he's her father, but that's not a conversation he can have with an audience. Besides, he doesn't entirely trust his voice right now.
"So apparently," Weiss says, slowly pulling his hand from Jane's back, "this is kind of a big deal."
"What?" Vaughn asks, "her sitting up--"
Jane lists to the side, and Vaughn steadies her with shaking hands. She looks disgruntled for a moment, like she may burst into a wail of protest. Vaughn and Jane stare at each other, study each other, until it occurs to him to entertain her. He leaves one steadying hand on her back and reaches for the clown.
"On second thought," Weiss says, "maybe you've got a point about the cement floor." He lumbers to his feet. "I'll grab the car seat, you grab the kid, and we'll camp out in Jack's office."
Vaughn's head jerks up and he stares at Weiss. "Are you crazy?"
There's a tug on the clown, which Vaughn has thoughtlessly stopped moving. He looks back down at Jane, who's pulling the clown up and down and giving him with an expectant look. Something inside of him shifts, something he can't quite name, and he feels himself smiling, a real smile, as he makes the clown dance for his daughter.
"No," Weiss says.
"Huh?"
"No, I'm not crazy," Weiss explains patiently. "Jack's office has carpeting."
Vaughn is watching Jane, drinking in the way her eyes light up, memorizing the sweet sound of her laughter. "Jack," he tells Weiss distractedly, "is a little pissed at me."
Weiss shrugs. "That's just because you teamed up with his fugitive spy ex-wife to kill his former friend, but I think the fact that you're the father of his grandchild might outweigh that part." Weiss loops the car seat over his arm and prods Vaughn's leg with his toe.
Vaughn offers the clown to Jane, and she hugs it to her chest. He rises to a crouch and tentatively gathers Jane into his arms, tensing for a scream of protest. She fusses a little, pushing at his chest with pudgy hands, but she doesn't cry. Vaughn relaxes the slightest bit and gives Weiss a look. "You've got a very strange sense of humor."
"Well, you've got a very strange set of in-laws," Weiss retorts.
Vaughn grimaces, his anger at Sydney flooding back. He'd been so wrapped up in discovering his daughter he'd almost forgotten whose fault it is that he wasn't there from the beginning. "I don't have in-laws," he answers darkly.
Weiss is a few feet in front of Vaughn, heading for Jack's office, and he mutters something that sounds a lot like "not yet."
Vaughn thinks he should comment, give that suggestion the swift denial it deserves, but he's too busy watching Jane. She's got her stuffed clown clutched to her chest and she's chomping contentedly on its nose. He watches her and wonders if there's anything about her that won't leave him in awe.
He wonders how long he'll have to learn about his daughter before Sydney disappears again.
***
Jane's been asleep for an hour, and Vaughn's own fatigue is starting to get to him. He's slumped sideways on Jack's couch, his gaze on his sleeping daughter, as Weiss rambles incessantly about a new sushi place in Venice. Vaughn isn't paying much attention, offering up the occasional "uh-huh" to placate Weiss. Mostly, though, he's memorizing his daughter's face, seesawing in between wordless awe and mute rage that he's missed so much of her life.
"She didn't mean to hurt you."
Vaughn blinks and manages to tear his gaze from Jane. It takes a moment for Weiss's words to sink in, to make sense. When they do, the rage has the edge and his voice is shaking with it. "Excuse me?"
"Sydney," Weiss clarifies, as if that's necessary, as if Vaughn was unsure to whom Weiss was referring. "I don't think her intentions--"
"I don't care about her intentions," Vaughn interrupts, his voice low and harsh. "I care about her actions, which are indefensible."
Weiss gives him an incredulous look. "You planning on hopping down from that high horse any time--"
"Hey," Vaughn protests angrily. "She took off without even thinking about--" He trips over the word "me" and says, "--about the consequences."
"Right," Weiss nods. "Doesn't sound anything like your recent South American adventure."
"No," Vaughn counters. "I weighed the possible outcomes before I left and--"
"Decided that helping a known fugitive from justice to kill Arvin Sloane was acceptable?"
Vaughn's leaning forward intently. "I never thought she'd kill him."
Weiss lifts his eyebrows. "You showed up, said, 'hey, you have a granddaughter, and Arvin Sloane's trying to kidnap her or worse,' and you thought Irina Derevko would just--"
"I thought," Vaughn interrupts, "she would want him in custody."
Weiss gives him a look brimming with disbelief. "People in custody sometimes escape."
Of course they do. Of course Irina Derevko wouldn't trust the CIA to keep Sloane in custody. Vaughn shakes his head, but he has no retort; Weiss is right. He should've thought this through before he left instead of relying on willful ignorance. This wasn't Irina Derevko's first cold-blooded murder; he should never have let her walk into that jungle alone.
Still, Vaughn rejects Weiss's attempts to compare Belize to Sydney's desertion. She hadn't been caught up in a situation that spun out of control in a few hours' time; she'd woken up every day for a *year* and decided that staying gone was preferable to coming home.
Vaughn thinks he could forgive her initial panicked flight. He's still not sure about the rest.
"Look," Weiss says, startling Vaughn. "I talked to her about this. A little. She was?" Weiss pauses, pushing himself up. "She was doing what she thought was right to protect Jane. Maybe she was wrong," he continues over Vaughn's protests, "but she didn't do it out of spite."
Weiss brushes Jane's wispy locks gently off of her forehead.
"She should've told me," Vaughn says quietly.
Weiss holds up his hands in surrender. "Fine. Do you want me to stay?"
"No," Vaughn says. He wants to thank Weiss for calming Jane, but he thinks the words would kill him. "Good night," he says instead.
It's dim in Jack's office and quiet without Weiss. Vaughn sinks further into the couch cushions, lays one hand on Jane's arm, and lets his eyes drift closed. It's been too long since Vaughn slept properly, and he slips into fragmented dreams of the women in his life -- Sydney, Jane, Irina Derevko. He opens his eyes, and for a moment, he's not sure if he's still dreaming when he finds Sydney watching him, naked longing in her expression.
Then Jack's irritable presence registers and Vaughn blinks, waking fully. Jack's a half-step behind Sydney, looking like he just caught a whiff of something unpleasant. Vaughn wonders what fresh hell Jack will put him through in the coming weeks. Vaughn, after all, was the first CIA agent to come within miles of Derevko in a year, and he hadn't managed to bring her in. Worse, he hadn't given Jack the opportunity to try.
"Sydney," Jack says in the clipped voice, "I'll get the car."
She nods, and her father turns and leaves.
"Where are you going?" Vaughn demands, rubbing his eyes.
Sydney looks puzzled. "What?"
"Your father's getting the car," Vaughn says, surprising even himself with the rancor in his tone. "You're leaving already?"
She flinches. "No." A slight shake of her head, and she moves towards Jane. "Just -- he's dropping us at the safe house."
Vaughn watches her gather Jane's toys with shaking hands. She finishes and pushes the bag away. "I'm sorry," she says, turning to face him. He can hear the desperate sincerity in her voice. "I was trying to protect my--" She stops, bites her lip, her eyes downcast. With a sigh, she reaches out and touches Jane's sock-clad foot. "I did what I thought was safest," she says simply. "For our daughter."
It's too much and Vaughn jumps out of his seat, putting some distance between them.
"Wait," Sydney pleads. "Why did you contact Irina Derevko?"
"We're not doing this now," he tells her, but he still can't look at her.
"Vaughn--"
"I was trying to protect you," he answers too loudly, whirling to face her. "I was trying to make it safe for you to come home."
Silence falls, and he knows he's revealed too much. He has no idea what to say to fix it.
Sydney stands motionless, tears sparkling in her eyes. Vaughn's breathing erratically and he's fighting two conflicting urges -- drag Sydney into his arms to convince himself she's really okay, or walk away and never look back. He waits, suspended, wanting her to say something that will make his decision.
Sydney takes a cautious step towards him, but before she can speak, Jane lets out an angry wail. Vaughn can read the frustration and the apology on Sydney's face before she turns to the crying baby. "Ssssh," she soothes, pulling Jane into her arms.
Something inside Vaughn twists painfully and he has to look away.
"I need to put her down," Sydney tells him in that low, soothing tone he remembers from heated nights and lazy mornings.
The past and the present are crashing into each other, and he has no idea where he stands with this new version of Sydney. He dips his chin once. "I'll get the bag and the car seat."
She nods, rubbing Jane's back as she quiets. Vaughn shoulders the diaper bag and follows them down to the waiting car. Jack studiously ignores them, staring into the middle distance. Vaughn suspects he's listening intently.
Vaughn does his best, but he thinks he sounds bitter when he says, "I don't know how to work the car seat."
Sydney looks up at him and their gazes lock for an endless moment. "Would you hold her?" she asks, and Vaughn accepts twenty pounds of drowsy baby. It's a painfully awkward moment because it's one that should be so normal, so routine that it's boring. Mom hands baby off to Dad to fix the car seat. But they're not those people -- the sleepy bundle in his arms is still a virtual stranger and whatever Vaughn has with Sydney, it's far from normal.
His throat tightens when Sydney turns and holds her hands out for Jane, but he hands her over wordlessly.
Sydney looks stricken as she takes Jane, and Vaughn wonders what she can see in his face.
He tells himself to walk away, but he hears himself saying, "What happens now?"
Warily, Sydney shrugs. "I don't know." The awkward silence lingers too long, and then Sydney says, "We're at the Los Feliz house."
It's not a coherent explanation, and it's not a promise that she won't disappear into the night, but he thinks maybe it's a start. "Okay."
Sydney gives him a tentative smile, and he knows her well enough to read the longing in her gaze. But he thinks if she touches him, he'll crumble. He takes a step back, then another. "Good night."
***
He's exhausted and his circadian rhythms are hopelessly arrhythmic. All he wants to do is sleep. Sweet, blissful slumber for a few hours in a row. He thinks if he can just sleep for a while, he'll be able to make sense of his life. He'll know what to do about Sydney, he'll adjust to the presence of his daughter in his life, and he'll maybe even forgive himself for teaming up with Irina Derevko.
Probably not the last one, but maybe the other two.
Instead of sleeping, however, he's lying flat on his back, eyes resolutely open, watching the shifting light patterns from the headlights of passing cars.
He's worried about retribution. Sloane is dead, yes, but he has loyal followers, and they must know that Irina Derevko killed their boss. And if Sloane's minions want vengeance, they'll know better than to try for Derevko herself. And Sydney and Jane were at headquarters, and maybe Vaughn's misjudgment did more harm than good.
Vaughn sits up and reaches for the phone. He isn't supposed to know specifics on the long-term safehouses, but he'd woken Marshall and convinced him to divulge the phone number and address of the Los Feliz house. Now, though, Vaughn hesitates.
What if the ringing phone wakes Jane?
What if Sydney doesn't want to hear from him?
What if he calls and no one answers?
The last possibility itches until he's dialing the phone, almost unaware that he's holding his breath. She answers on the second ring.
"Sydney," he says on a relieved exhale. "It's Vaughn."
"What's wrong?" she demands immediately, her voice tight with panic. "Is it--?"
"Nothing," he interrupts. "Nothing's wrong."
She hesitates for a moment, and then says, her voice betraying her confusion, "Okay."
He's going on instinct now, too tired to think things through. "I'm on my way over."
"What?" She sounds startled. "Vaughn--"
"I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hangs up before she can refuse him. He finds a pair of jeans and a henley and a pair of socks, shoves his feet into sneakers, and he's out the door. The drive isn't too long, but it's Los Angeles, and there's traffic all hours of the night.
He parks and climbs out, and he's not terribly surprised that his legs feel a little unsteady. He has no idea what he's doing, what he's going to say to her. There's no figure silhouetted in the doorway; she's too smart for that, but he knows she's just inside the door. She opens it before he can knock, and then she's in his arms.
He's clutching her to his chest so hard that, were she anyone else, he'd worry about hurting her. But this is Sydney, finally, and she feels so familiar and so good, and she must still use the same shampoo. He turns his face into her neck, and her arms are like steel bands around his rib cage. She's crying, and he can't speak around the knot in his throat.
They stand there a long time, wrapped up in each other. Finally, Sydney pulls back to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He looks down at her, so close after so long, and fights the irrational urge to kiss her.
He steps back, not quite trusting himself.
She looks flustered too, smoothing her tank top as she asks, "Why did you--"
"I was worried," Vaughn admits softly. "I thought -- with Sloane gone, his more loyal people might..." He can't bring himself to say it.
Sydney nods matter-of-factly. "You thought someone might come after me."
"Or Jane."
Sydney's expression hardens into fierce determination. "No one is going to hurt Jane. I'll protect her. I won't let anyone hurt her."
Vaughn turns away because he just can't look at her. Sydney has pretty clearly demonstrated her idea of how best to protect Jane over the past year, but he'd somehow convinced himself she would stick around now that Sloane is no longer a threat. He should've known that she'd leave and take their daughter, thrusting him back into the hell of the last couple weeks. Only worse, because now he knows his daughter. She's no longer a photograph in a frame.
"Vaughn?" She actually sounds confused, which just makes him angrier. How did she think he would take it? He shakes his head because he doesn't have the words. She moves closer. "Vaughn, what's--"
"You're just going to leave?" he demands, turning back to her, practically shouting. "Again?"
She's shaking her head, eyes wide. "No."
That stops him cold. "No?" he repeats, not daring to believe it.
"No." Sydney watches him tentatively, an uncertain smile teasing her lips.
He stares at her, and he's still so angry at her that he wants to scream, and he's still so hurt that she never asked him to go with her, and it doesn't matter, because he's happy that she's staying.
"In L.A.?" he asks, because he needs to be sure.
She nods. "L.A. is my home."
Something that feels a lot like relief nearly knocks him off his feet, but he shifts his weight, leans casually against the wall, and stares at her some more. "Good," he decides.
There's another uncomfortable silence, and he knows she wants to chastise him for trusting her mother, but this delicate truce is keeping her quiet. He knows there's a lot for them to discuss, a lot of anger and hurt and resentment. Maybe too much for them to ever really be okay with each other again.
But as angry as he is, he needs to try. He needs to spend time with Jane, and he needs Sydney to explain her choices in a way that makes sense.
"Are you staying here because it's safe, or because it's convenient?" he asks, indicating the darkened living room with a nod.
For a moment, Sydney looks confused, then her eyes widen and her cheeks flush. "Vaughn, I think we need some time--"
"No," he interrupts, his gaze sliding away from hers. "Not -- I just -- I meant, you and Jane should stay with me. I'd like to spend some time with her."
Sydney studies him for a moment, then nods. "Okay," she agrees.
"I've got a guest room. Just washed the sheets recently." He's talking too much all of a sudden, but he can't stop himself. "Does Jane need a crib? There may be a 24-hour--"
"Vaughn," Sydney says his name gently. "It'll be fine."
Their gazes catch, and he lets himself enjoy it this time, lets himself really feel the relief that she's back and she's unhurt. He nods. "Okay. Do you need help?"
She's moving towards the closed door on the far wall, but she stops and turns back to him. "Yes," she says. She points to the diaper bag upended on the couch, and he knows what she's going to ask. She'll get Jane, and he'll get her accoutrements. Then Sydney says, "I'll get her stuff. Would you get Jane?"
It takes a moment to register, and then he nods.
Sydney gives him a smile, one of the full-blown, sunshine-on-a-rainy-day smiles, and adds, "She sleeps as heavily as you, so she probably won't wake up."
Vaughn is smiling as he moves past Sydney, toward his daughter. "Good to know," he says, and pushes the door open. She's sleeping in the crib, her stuffed clown abandoned near her knee. Vaughn pauses in the doorway, and he can feel Sydney's gaze on his back.
"She really is beautiful," he says softly, and then he goes to get his daughter.
THE END