Clarity

You’d asked him once, right after you got married. He’d looked at you as though you had asked him something completely heinous and even looked a little hurt as he picked up your daughter to put her to bed.

You never asked again.

Now, as you sit on the plane, staring out the window, you’re thinking about the question again, five and a half years later. You know that he’s mad at you for taking this mission, the third in the almost six years that you’ve been married.

”You heard Dixon,” you’d said, after Dixon had made his departure. “He’s got no one else to do this for him.”

”Why you? He’s got hundreds of agents under his direction. There’s always someone else to do this and after the last one, where I got the phone call that you were in the hospital, you promised me that you weren’t going to do this anymore!”

You sigh, your breath fogging the window. You had promised him that, but you break your promise with the verbal slap across the face when you say:

”You don’t get to make decisions for me, Vaughn, because my identity isn’t defined just as your wife!”

You’d regretted that comment the nanosecond it left your mouth and that feeling only deepened when you saw the expression of deep hurt on his face.

”Vaughn…”

But he didn’t let you finish, and you can see tears in his eyes and you know that he must be thinking that the life he’s given you isn’t enough and you don’t want him to think that at all.

”If you’re so unhappy here,” he whispered sharply. “Then have fun on your mission.”

You’d left after packing a bag, remembering the look on his face when Dixon had showed you both Sark’s picture. In the years you’d been married, the fact that he’d let Sark go had, surprisingly, not been the thorn in your side that you’d thought it would be.

You love Michael Vaughn, my god, do you love him. Him and your babies together have made every single thing in your life seem that much better just because you have them…but being an agent was a huge part of your life and you can’t give it up so easily.

But instead of telling him that…

You sigh, and swipe a hand down your face as you realize that you’ve arrived back in Los Angeles.

Time to face the music.

*****
The television is on and the lights are out when you walk into the door to your house. Putting your things down in the hallway you walk in to see the end of what looks like Sleeping Beauty (Isabelle’s favorite movie) just ending and when you see the scene that makes up the living room, you want to cry all over again.

Your daughter is curled up on the floor. It looks as though she made herself a blanket fortress and she looks so…content that you can’t help but crouch down so you can kiss her head. She doesn’t even stir.

Turning around you see your husband stretched out on the couch, but he isn’t alone. Baby Jack is on his chest; his head nestled under his dad’s chin as he sleeps. You can see the pillows that Vaughn’s spread out on the couch in case, for some, reason, Jack were to slip off, but you can see that they are both perfectly safe.

You, oh-so-gently pick up Jack and bring him back to his crib. When you come back, Vaughn hasn’t even stirred and you know that his twenty-four-hours with his children had been exhausting for him, but you know he loves it.

Isabelle is next and though she is heavy, you manage to get her to her own room. Once again, you’re back in the living room, moving over the blankets to sit on the edge of the couch.

Sweeping your hand over his face gently, you admire him, because you know he’s not perfect. He’s protective and stubborn and he spoils his children. But that’s what you love about him.

“Vaughn,” you whisper softly, putting a hand on his chest and jostling him. He stirs and opens his eyes.

“Oh, hey,” he says and looks around, looking for the kids.

“I put them to bed.”

He nods once and doesn’t move again. “Have a nice trip?”

You shake your head. “No.” He raises an eyebrow in question and you elaborate. “I missed you. I hated the way we left things. I’m sorry, Vaughn.”

He doesn’t say anything for awhile and you don’t either, but the fact that he hasn’t tried to bolt from the couch to get as far away from you as possible, you’re not willing to break the moment.

Finally, you hear him whisper, “Right after our wedding…you asked me why I wanted to marry you…”

You smile gently. “And you looked offended that I’d even ask such a thing.”

“I was,” he admits, “but I was also surprised that you’d echoed my thoughts.”

Your gaze snaps toward him in surprise because he’d always been so sure of you, of your life together.

He swallows thickly. “After what happened before that, after everything we’ve been through…I don’t know…”

“You doubted us.”

He shakes his head vehemently. “No. Not us…I guess I just…was afraid that it was an illusion, you know? Something that only lasted until the next bad thing came along to ruin it all. I thought that if I made life as normal as possible…”

“And I destroyed that with what I said about being a wife and a mother.”

He sighs. “Yes.”

You look down tearfully and he brings your chin up so you are looking at him.

“You asked me why I wanted to marry you…I guess with that question I wanted to make it clear to you. I thought I had over the last five and a half years.”

“I didn’t mean it, Vaughn.”

“Syd, I could understand if you did feel that way. “

You sigh. “You’re right. Maybe on some level, I’d never expected this to happen, all the setbacks...I had to be a spy; that was my life for a really long time. But Vaughn, I never wanted to make you think as though I wasn’t happy with us. Ever. I guess it’s just hard to give up a life you’ve lived for so long. Even after all this time and a husband and two children.”

He looks at you in understanding and you squeeze yourself between him and the couch, it’s a tight squeeze but not an uncomfortable one as you nestle your head where your son’s had been just a little while ago.

You’re both set to sit in silence for a moment, but you finally say, “I arrested Sark.”

And to your surprise he laughs and you lean up to look at him. “What?”

He shook his head, an expression of amusement and wonder on his face. “Think about it Sydney. Years ago, that would have been the first thing you’d said before you’d even said hello.”

You realize why he finds this funny and you can’t help but laughing with him when you think about the argument that you’d had a day ago and the complete pointlessness of it because you know that as much as being a an agent had been a part of your life, you realize with startling clarity that the transformation from spy to full-time wife and mother had been effortless.

You know that the only mission you’re going to have to complete anytime in the near future is the one where you detangle from your husband.

But you're not in a hurry.

End