Chapter 12 - The First Failure

Vaughn watched in shock as Sydney pulled away from him, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, barely audible, before she slid out of her seat and fled.

He replayed the last few minutes in his mind. Telling her of his fears when she went on a mission. Never having felt more exposed than with this particular revelation to this particular woman. The calming power of her reassurance. Looking into her eyes, feeling the floodgates open and his emotions come pouring out. Feeling mesmerized with her face and wanting to touch it. Her acceptance of this action. The old need, suddenly reemerged full-force, to feel her lips on his.

And then, this. Vaughn stood, unsure if she would want him to follow or not. He threw a few bills on the table and walked toward the door, opening it hesitantly.

She was sitting on the curb, knees tucked up to her chin, sobbing violently. Whatever had caused this, it couldn't have just been a near-kiss.

"Sydney, I'm so sorry," he said, sitting a safe distance away from her. "I shouldn't have thought—"

"Not...fault," she said, sobs breaking up any semblance of coherence she might have had. "That song...Danny...first date..." Deep, shaky breath. "He screamed it in the middle of the commons when he..." Long series of sobs that left her gasping for air. "...proposed." Now wailing.

Oh. He ached to pull her into his arms and just sit there until the tears stopped, as they had so many times before. But he was uncertain about touching her, uncertain about even being there. Gradually, terribly slowly, her sobbing slowed.

She turned her head, ever so slightly, to look at him, but said nothing.

Vaughn spoke instead, voicing the thoughts that lived only in the dark corners of his mind. "Sometimes I feel guilty just knowing you," he confessed. "Because of what had to happen, the tragedy that had to fall into place, in order for us to meet."

"I've thought about that too," she said softly. Her hand reached through the darkness to clasp his. Her fingers were bare, and he recalled distinctly the first day she had shown up at the warehouse without her engagement ring. "What I hate most is now I know things never would have worked out between us."

Vaughn couldn't even begin to fathom an appropriate response to that, so he waited for her to continue.

"It was a catch-22," she said. "I don't think we would have made it, not long term, if I couldn't tell him the truth. It's too hard to hide something like that from someone you love. The fake trips, the bruises, the lies, it all adds up." She sobbed again. "But telling him got him killed."

"I told myself to move on, that he would have wanted me to move on," she said. "But sometimes you just see something, or  hear something, and it brings it all right back."

The reassurance formed in his mind. A story about how angry he had been when his mother began dating again. How long it had taken him to realize that trying to find love again didn't make her love his father any less. But the topic of how his mother had become a widow was always an uneasy one between them, and they had already dredged up too many ghosts that night, Vaughn decided. He stayed silent.

He didn't realize how long the silence lasted until she whispered, "Can we go, please?"

The tone of her voice wasn't cold, merely weary, but it stabbed at him. Over the years he had listened to her darkest fears, stumbled through comforting speeches, reassured her with his eyes and his arms. There had always been some shift in her demeanor, some subtle change that told him he had helped, even if only slightly. This time, there was nothing, and he grew angry at himself for not knowing what to say, what to do.

"Sure," he said, a twinge of bitterness creeping into his voice.

They stayed silent during the drive to her house, but he made one last attempt as she stepped out of the car. "Sydney, I'm sorry,"

She turned to look at him, eyes sad and tired. "It's not your fault, Vaughn. Circumstances beyond your control."

That, he thought, is always the story. Circumstances beyond our control. He waited until she walked through the front door to drive away.

Will's jacket was still slung over the couch, Sydney noticed as she stepped into the house. She was facing another confrontation with him, but she was too emotionally weary to really care.

"So, how was your night?" he called from the kitchen. He was trying to sound friendly, but couldn't completely cover the undertones of jealousy.

"It was okay," she said softly. "Where's Francie?"

"She went to bed. I thought I'd wait for you." He was definitely drunk.

You thought you'd wait and see if I came home, she thought, realizing that if things had gone differently, she might not have.

Will walked into the living room, where she had been standing. It only took him a glance to pick up on the puffiness of her face, the turmoil in her eyes. "Hey," he said, quiet and comforting. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head before speaking, voice hushed. "Nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," he said, voice louder than it needed to be, between the alcohol and his anger. "Syd, did he do anything to hurt you, because I swear—"

"No. Never." She cut him off with all the strength she could muster. "Something happened that reminded me of Danny, and I just couldn't handle it." She sat down on the couch and rested her forehead in her hand. "I think I ruined everything."

He sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently. "Did he know about Danny?" She nodded. Yes, she thought. He knows the truth about Danny, and he knows the real destinations of all of those bank trips, and he knows why I burned every picture I have of my mother.

"Then I'm sure he understood."

"He did," she said. Because he always does. "I'm not even sure how I wanted things to go, but it definitely wasn't like that."

Sydney turned her head to look at Will. She hadn't expected this expression, hadn't thought he would look as if he had pushed all the jealousy aside and was focused only on caring. "I think we both know how I feel," he said, touching her chin with his fingertip. "But Syd, when I told you I wanted you to be happy, I meant it. You have to decide how to get yourself there."

His face was close, she realized, almost as close as Vaughn's had been earlier. Uncomfortably close, especially when her thoughts were centered on another man. "Thank you," she whispered, sliding away from him and standing.

Once you accepted where he was coming from, she thought, Will's advice was pretty strong.