Dedication/Thanks: This entire story is dedicated to Mister James L. Guter, former director of bands at West Chicago Community High School. He retired in 2004, and he will be sorely missed by everyone. I know I'll miss his jokes and stories, especially the ones he's told me about twenty times. Like the one about Napoleon's tomb. Or the guy who heard Charlie Parker play and threw his tenor sax into a river. Or how Bush has ruined America. Or any story from his Navy days. Guter, here's to you. Thanks for giving me courage and a dirty, dirty mind, and for proving dictatorships do work. Without you, I'd still be wearing pants.

- And, of course, to every single person who ever took a few minutes (or hours, depending on the chapter) out of their day to read and respond this. Your words and encouragement and constructive criticism have inspired me to no ends. I truly wouldn't be here without all of you.

One more reminder about everything...

Title: Seventeen Again
Author: Dream Writer 4 Life
Rating: PG-13/K+
Genre: General/Humour/Romance/Drama/Angst/Action/Adventure...pretty much everything
'Shippers' Paradise: S/V, F/Will, W/OC
Spoilers/Timeline: After Phase One with hints of events throughout the first two seasons; Francie's good; Irina's in custody; basically AU
Summary: Syd receives her next long-term undercover assignment: infiltrate a high school and bust its drug ring. Not exactly super spy stuff. Twists, turns, humour, and angst galore: basically a normal day in high school.
Disclaimer: I own nothing "Alias"-related. Period. End of story. Wait, not it's not! Keep reading! Everything you don't recognize is either real or out of my own twisted imagination. And believe me, you don't want that.
This Chapter: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Disney World...
Chapter Genre: Let's just say we run the gambit of emotions.
Suggested Soundtrack: "Dear Lie" by TLC, "I Will Remember You" by Sarah McLachlan, "Forgive Me" by Evanescence, "Hard Times Come Again No More" by Yo-Yo Ma featuring James Taylor
Author's Note: At end. For once.

Seventeen Again

Epilogue: Seventeen One Last Time

"I can't do this."

"Sydney..."

"Vaughn, I'm serious! What if she refuses to see us and makes a scene?"

"I don't think she'll make a scene in the middle of Disney World; it's too public."

"That shows how well you remember Anne Lawson."

Less than a month after their final departure from the students of Glenfield Community High School, Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn found themselves amongst them once again. The band took their trip to Disney World, and they decided to tag along. After much deliberation, of course; Sydney volleyed back and forth from dialing the phone to cancel the plane tickets to hopping in the car with Florida as her destination. Only fear surpassed her nervousness. She almost envied Weiss and his mission to Hong Kong.

Ever since they landed, Weiss had been notably different. He tried to hide the multitude of emotions for everyone's benefit — Sydney most of all — but he ended up coming off as distant and cold. ("It's-it's like the soul's been sucked out him," Vaughn once commented.) Eventually, Sydney and Weiss began Oscar-caliber performance dance routines whenever the other entered the room, skirting around the Elephant in the Room centerpiece and pretending the past year had not happened. Sydney quickly tired of her role and informed him of such. This dialogue exchange promptly culminated in a broken kitchen chair and a Weiss's fist-sized hole in the wall next to the refrigerator.

She slid the appliance one foot to the right and had yet to speak with him since, an admirable feat considering the fact that his best friend and hockey buddy just moved in with her.

Upon the announcement that the apartment would be featuring one more cast member, Francie had ceased to sleep...or stop talking. Her excitement over the consolidation of the Sydney/Michael ("Vaughn!" "I don't care what you call him in bed, but to me, he's Michael") burned with an unstoppable fire, and from the moment the first box dropped onto the floor, she had not stopped smiling. She thoroughly monopolized every second she could squeeze from Sydney, and while the two of them bustled around the apartment like possessed beings, Vaughn and Will lounged on the sofa, downing "hard-earned" beers and watching the Dodgers get whipped in four games straight. Sydney repeatedly threw threatening glances at her boyfriend.

Affairs settled into a comfortable ('wonderful') routine fairly quickly, but the gnawing in Sydney's heart did not decrease. She had allowed herself one picture from the past year to be kept inside the house. One night, while both Will and Francie were out, she and Vaughn installed a small key pad safe hidden by the crown molding behind their bed. Its only contents: the picture. She took it out whenever she felt a particularly acute attack of loneliness sweep over her. Those bouts increased, and Vaughn finally suggested that they fly out to Orlando, Florida, and catch up with the band. She did not hesitate: "YES!"

Hence the impromptu vacation in Disney World (not Disneyland) in the muggy hundred-degree-plus weather ('it's like band camp all over again') and not a clue as to where they would actually find the band, let alone Anne.

Anticipating Guter's attempt at education, they journeyed to Epcot on their first day. As soon as they stepped into the nearly deserted park, they spotted a group of juniors headed by Malissa Kinils. Near China, she heard Dani Allen and other freshmen discuss the merits of actually having a job in Disney World. In line at the Honey, I Shrunk the Audience ride, sophomores Ben East and Sarah Neumann critiqued their practice session that morning.

In other words, she saw practically every other band member besides the ten or so that she needed to see.

Maybe Anne did not go on the trip. If she did not, then her friends certainly did not, if Prom was any indicator. Or maybe Anne was still in the hospital. Maybe she was—

She heard them before she saw them: Anne's signature sound burst of a laugh followed by, "Sexy, party of...Hey, how many do we have now?...No, we pawned off Katie on Tobi...Eight? Aw hell, Allyson! We're over here!" A bittersweet smile crept across Sydney's lips as her boyfriend squeezed her waist in support. Turning towards the sound, Sydney saw Anne — still in her wheelchair, and still being pushed by Henry — and her "Sexy, party of whatever" milling around the exit to the Test Track ride. Not daring to approach them head-on, Sydney dragged Vaughn out of their line of vision, following instead of confronting.

The rest of the day played out like that, with Sydney and Vaughn discreetly tailing the ever-changing group of friends. (Anne was right in not knowing how big the Sexy Party was.) Every time Sydney thought she worked up enough nerve to say something to them, Anne laughed or smiled or talked, and all the female agent could see was the paper towels soaked with the teenager's blood littering the dirty tile floor; the machines keeping her alive; the look on her face when Sydney told her—

And she would back off again. She became frustrated with herself and this amateurish strategy of advance and retreat, but for the first time since she joined SD-6, she felt truly unsure of herself. In the span of a few hours, she completely reverted back to the shy college freshman who needed the approval of Arvin Sloane in order to feel confident. She would not talk out of anger and frustration; instead, she pursed her lips and slid into spy mode.

Vaughn immediately noticed her rigidity and lent as much support as he could, and she was grateful for it. Part of her knew she was being ridiculous while the other part concentrated on piecing together her obliterated courage. By lunchtime, she gave up her quest, and the two of them left the park at Vaughn's suggestion; he knew neither of them would be able to enjoy Epcot with band members swarming all over the place. "We'll get her tomorrow," He whispered into her ear as his arm crept around her shoulders. Only then did she notice she had not learned the itinerary for the week. As if reading her mind, he held up a yellow-covered booklet and offered her favourite half-grin. "They're at MGM tomorrow. You rest and relax, and I'll get us tickets."

'God, I love this man.'

Once again, a piercing laugh shook Sydney from her thoughts. Almost simultaneously, Vaughn gripped her waist tighter. "Syd." Vaughn's soothing but anxious murmur broke into her thoughts. "They're over there." He nodded towards the darkest corner of the park, wrapped in a blanket of darkness trailing behind the tallest building around: the Tower of Terror. Many patrons mulled about in the shade provided by palm trees and other exotic fauna planted to give the hotel an eclectic ambiance. Sweat dripped from every inch of exposed skin, and the half-hearted wind deceived — it exuded the pretense of cooling but only delivered dust and heat.

None of this affected their effervescent young friend. She and her wheelchair had broken out from Henry's grasp, and she powered away, clutching a blue Stitch doll beneath her chin.

She was headed straight towards them.

Sydney shot her companion a nervous glance. "I was serious, Vaughn; I don't think I can do this..."

"Looks like you don't have a choice, Syd—"

Anne stopped just short of bowling them over like wooden pins, and the plush souvenir fell from her grasp as she tried to regain her composure. "I am so sorry! See, my friends were...! Okay, there really is no excuse, but I'm still—"

Sydney knelt down to retrieve the toy and held it out to her. For the first time in about a month, the former best friends locked eyes. The agent watched while the student's façade morphed from happily apologetic to recognition to anger to hatred. Her upper body stiffened, and she sat up straighter. She still greatly favored her left side, the gauze pads parading across her shoulder and forehead — probably more for the viewer's sake than for protection or sanitation. Her pasty skin practically glowed in the harsh Florida sun, and Sydney immediately knew that this trip was the first time she had been out of the hospital grounds since her admittance. The now completely natural blonde hair fell just past her shoulders in wisps, the rest of it being held up by an uncharacteristically messy bun. She had decorated the wheelchair with anything from smiley face stickers and Fall Out Boy pins to quotes painted in white-out and swatches of fabric in different textures.

Henry's backpack still hung off the back.

Moving to wheel herself back up the slight incline towards her friends, she turned away and stated coldly, "Don't bother. Keep it."

But before Anne could lay a hand on the wheel, Sydney took matters into her own hands and engaged the brakes herself. "Anne, don't. Please. Just give me five minutes. That's all I ask."

Almost hissing at Sydney's invasion into her personal space, the student glared over her shoulder at Vaughn as if seeing him for the first time. "Why are you here?" Looking slightly miffed and taken aback, he opened his mouth to respond, but she stepped over his answer. "Is He here? Is He with you?" As discreetly as possible, she began casting her gaze about the vacationers around them.

"He's in Hong Kong on a diplomatic assignment right now," Vaughn said, carefully choosing his words after the girl almost bit his head off. Kneeling down to the same height, he placed a hand on her knee. "He really wanted to be here, but we figured you wouldn't want to see him."

"Damn straight," She replied, practically spitting venom. "I don't even want to see you right now. Why do you two have to ruin everything? The first time I get to breathe real air in a month, and you have to pollute it. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

She tried to spin away again, but Vaughn's hand held steadfast. "We can't until you let us speak. Hear us out."

Giving him a greasy, distaining once-over, she gritted, "I have issues with you — duh. But they're minor compared to hers." She jerked her head towards Sydney, and the female agent bit her lip to stifle a grimace. "And she can speak for herself, Michael. You still go by that, right?" He shot a glance in Sydney's direction before nodding once. Anne sneered at the other woman. "I don't even know what the hell to call you anymore."

"Anything you want," Sydney responded, pouncing on the opportunity to accommodate her young companion in any way possible. She had to struggle to check her desperation. "You can call me anything you want as long as you give us five minutes of your time." Their eyes locked again, and Sydney tried to poor all of herself into that single gaze. "Just five minutes."

Anne considered her proposition for what seemed like a year — something that Sydney cautiously construed as a positive sign. She finally nodded and wordlessly led the way to a deserted stretch of pavement near the gates to some Disney backlot. "Sit," She commanded, indicating the leaf-strewn ground. They quickly acquiesced, and Anne angrily slammed the brakes down on her chair. Hot tears burned in her eyes, and she twisted one of the ears on the Stitch souvenir as she thought of what she wanted to say.

Sydney gripped her boyfriend's hand tightly as she began apologizing by the seat of her pants. "I know you probably won't fully believe me, and I know you're still angry at all of us, and I know you don't really want to listen to us..." A Look from Anne. "Okay, enough disclaiming. We lied to you because we had to — not only to complete the mission, but because you would have been hurt in more ways than one had you known the truth. But that's not the point." Sydney could see Anne's thought process shift into overdrive by the slight change in her facial features; Anne was more than ready to pounce on the 'I Lied to Protect You' defense. The agent thought she could stop the retort from pouring out.

This time she did not remember Anne Lawson.

"It may not be the point, but it's a point." Her hands abandoned the toy, and she peered down at the two seated agents with an argumentative air completely unique to Anne — and completely political. "You have absolutely no idea how I — or anyone else, for that matter — would have reacted to the truth. Therefore, you have no right to assume anything. If you really were my friend, you would have trusted me with the truth. You know I did: on more than one occasion. Obviously I was wrong."

Sydney ignored the bait and instead went after the real meat of the matter. "At the time, we didn't know who was involved where and who was affiliated with whom. As much as I wanted to tell you—"

"Hold up." Anne's gazed slid to the left as she considered Sydney's last statement. "So you're saying that you couldn't tell any of us what was going on — even if you weren't ordered not to — because you didn't know if we were fraternizing with the enemy? Seriously? You thought I worked for the Negro/Azuls. Wow. You really don't know me at all."

Sydney opened and closed her mouth like a fish floundering on the deck of a ship. That was not what she meant! She needed to tell the teenager that she meant she did not know if Anne was bugged or if anyone would overhear them. (Although there was a period of time where Anne and her red hair limboed back and forth between civilian and double agent status...But Sydney conveniently forgot that for the moment...) The words backed up down her throat, blocked behind the lump of a heart consoling itself in the warmth of her esophagus.

Anne sneered at the agent's lack of come-back. "If this is your idea of an apology, you're more fucked up that I thought."

"This is not going well," Vaughn murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Sydney glared at him, daring him to do better. Peering up at their young friend, he took a moment to arrange his words carefully. "We may have lied to you in the past, but the moment Sydney learned you were hurt, she knew she needed to tell you the truth. We could have lied again—"

"—CIA Deputy Director Kendall, our boss, wanted to put another agent in place to tell you that we all died in the fight," Sydney added, piggy-backing off of Vaughn's start. "We didn't want to do that. Weiss didn't want to do that. My father refused to do that. I knew you wouldn't like the truth, but isn't it much better than another lie?"

Only silence answered her, and the female agent bit her lip to keep her sobs internal.

Vaughn slowly leaned into his girlfriend and murmured, "Don't, Syd. Don't second-guess yourself on this one. You're the champion of second-guessing, but this time, you need to take a stand and realize that you can't change the past. Defend your decision. Believe in it."

"HEY! No secrets. Whatever you have to say can be shared with the class." Anne's face hardened in a look that Sydney had seen before: disdain at exclusion. She had worn that mask many times during her own youth.

Exhaling slowly, Vaughn folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. "We told you the truth in the end — against all better judgment, because we could've been court-martialed for any number of infractions, and you could've been forced into Witness Protection — we told you the truth not to screw over the Man, but because we wanted to. You deserve the truth, not some government-constructed bullshit. And you know deep in your heart that you would have rather been told the truth than go on the rest of your life wrongly punishing yourself for the deaths of three of your friends. You know we would never set out to maliciously hurt you—"

"That's the thing," Anne interrupted. "I know Jane and Michel wouldn't; you two, however...I have no idea. I don't know either of you at all. And that's what kills me. After everything that happened this year, I thought we'd graduate and spend the entire summer together before we all left for school. I thought we'd be crying over a few months and being a thousand miles apart, not...not this. I thought I meant more than being a cog in the machine, than being the next step up on the corporate ladder."

Sydney could feel the loosely-held plans of blissful reconciliation slipping through her fingers like smoke and fog. "Anne, you're one of my best friends—"

"And I thought I was the only one. Therein lies the rub."

Sydney recognized the air of a girl no longer able to cry; there was nothing left, physically or spiritually, to fuel the tears. Only numbness. All-consuming, all-encompassing numbness. The veil, the mask that Sydney even now still clung to from time to time perched on the teenager's forehead, poised to slide down at any time and change her exterior from bubbly to biting, bitter, and downright frigid. "I can't believe you used me like that. I feel like a whore without the benefit of an orgasm. Or the money." Any other time, and Sydney would have given her friend a high-five for her sharp wit. "Used. That's the only way I can think of to describe it." Sydney saw the mask teeter for a moment, nudged by a gust of that deceptively hopeful wind. Her heart began beating wildly as Anne met her gaze with deliberate pain. "They really wanted to tell me you died?"

Both agents nodded sadly, not sure whether to take her question as an olive branch peace offering. Maybe the mask would remain out of use, sport a good layer of dust never to be disturbed. In other words, Sydney thought there was still a chance. "Anne," She tried once more, aiming for this plea to seal the deal, "we lied because we had to, not because we wanted to. As much as you don't want to believe it, we did it for your own good. You know what the Negro/Azuls tried to do to you freshman year. They were doing that to other kids as well, and we had to lie in order to stop them. There was no way around it. If I had the choice, I would do it again — to protect you.

"Because, hard as it is to believe, not everything between us was a lie." The two locked eyes, and Sydney saw the mask tilt backwards — away from her face. Hope, cleverly hidden by wariness, glinted on her face. "You were my first and only real friend at Glenfield: no one else liked Plain Jane, but you did. You accepted Michel Tibot for who he was." She wisely avoided Weiss. "The way we feel about you — that wasn't a lie. We care for you so much it hurts. All of us.

"Please, Anne. Do you forgive us?"

Sydney watched in horror and indescribable pain as the mask wobbled back and forth, utterly indecisive as to where it belonged. The deceptive wind pushed and pulled it as the weights measured the balance on her internal justice scales. Any small infraction magnified itself in Sydney's mind: the thrown-together belated card for her birthday; every time she told a white lie when she could have flashed a bit of the truth; and, of course, that God-damned EWE Party...Would any of it sway her either way now? Maybe if she had done something (everything) differently...

She was not used to relinquishing the control again; not since she regained it after the raid had she felt so powerless to change her situation.

And then the mask fell. Forward. The female agent witnessed the moment the black veil — the thick film composed of their betrayal and her anger, constructed by her stubbornness and hurt — fall down to cover all of the young woman's features, stowing away the real Anne. It slid into place like a wrought-iron portcullis, barring all outsiders from entrance into her soul. Sydney, Vaughn, and most definitely Weiss could be turned away at the door from this moment on, clutching their apologies and explanations like beautifully-wrapped yet still unwanted gifts close to their wounded hearts.

Sydney remembered wanting to drop a cold barrier between herself and the rest of the world (multiple times), but she had Vaughn to resurrect her battered spirit, to swoop down and save her from Despair.

Anne...She had no one. Yes, she would be surrounded by old friends for a few short months before they scattered across the country, but none of them were as deeply involved with the offending agents. No one knew the extent of her pain. Only Henry came close to her level of involvement, and that was only because he and Weiss dueled over Anne. If anything, the teenage boy was glad they left.

The only people who could comfort her were the very people who hurt her in the first place.

And the very people she now turned her back on.

The female agent expected Anne's patented fiery anger and feisty tongue to emerge as the outward face of her mask, but instead the young woman emerged from her thoughts calm, collected, and bitterly cold. Her words, to a passerby, would seem fine, normal conversation; compared to the normal Anne, however, one froze from the inside out.

"No," She answered solidly. "No, I don't forgive you. I wouldn't know who I was forgiving. I don't care how you feel towards me; I mean, it's comforting that complete strangers 'still care' for me, right? I know how I feel towards Jane Porter, Michel Tibot, and Greg Stone, but I don't know how to act towards Sydney Bristow, Michael Vaughn, and Eric Weiss. I don't know you at all. Period. All I know of you is that you lied to me for almost an entire year, and I hate that, so right now, I hate Sydney, Michael, and Eric. Those feelings I held for your aliases...Sorry: nontransferable.

"The fact is, I have nothing to base those feelings on and no assurance that I'm not wasting my time again.

"You say you still like me; you say you still count me as a friend; you say you're telling the truth. But you've said a lot that hasn't been exactly true lately. As of this moment, all I know is the lie and that you were the ones to say it.

"First impressions can't be reversed, guys.

"I don't trust you at all.

"And I don't think I ever will." Anne gulped hard as if the words were a surprise even for her.

The teenager locked eyes with the former teenager, and Sydney struggled to see beyond the veil, but she only glimpsed unfathomable despair. (Maybe that was all there was behind the mask...) "I know you expected some different reaction — maybe anger — but I'm so over yelling at you. Yelling isn't going to change what you did: nothing will; I've accepted that. But that doesn't mean you have my forgiveness, because that is never going to happen. I will never, ever forgive, let alone forget, what you've done to me and my friends and everyone I know. So I'm not going to yell; I just never want to speak to you again."

Sydney's vision blurred with silent tears as her former best friend unlocked the brakes on her wheelchair and made sure Stitch sat securely in her lap. "Enjoy you stay in The Happiest Place on Earth," She admonished before disappearing into the crowd. "'Cause you definitely ruined mine."

Sydney did not have the strength to follow.

Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink — The Ryme of the Ancient Mariner: the poem Sydney loved to hate. So long, so boring, and so over-hyped; she must have read it three times in her freshman college year alone. She actually strongly disliked poetry in general, but the scholarly conditioning — much like its strange bedfellow espionage conditioning — chose the most peculiar times to rise to the surface of her brain, usually in the form of a quotation.

But this time, the quotation matched well. Salty, murky waves slapped down on the beach, white foam swirling and gurgling. Normally, the choppiness would deter no one, but coupled with the steady fall of water from the sky, they kept the scores of sun-seeking tourists inside. The fat drops blasted round craters in the sand, sizzling from contact with the warm grains. A freak summer storm: not exactly unheard of in Florida this time of year. Because of those drops, the lawn chairs, tables, couches, and chaises planted in the sand around her stood empty, leaving her and the water to bond. The water from above mixed with the water from her eyes, washing away the well-worn ruts and painting her cheeks a raw red.

Water, water everywhere, indeed.

After her second failure with Anne in as many tries, Sydney allowed Vaughn to take her back to their beach-front hotel to spend the rest of the day...doing whatever took her mind off of their teenaged former friend. She confessed to merely wanting to watch TV for a while, and so they took in a baseball game in each others' arms. Vaughn, despite a valiant attempt not to, fell asleep, and she stole outside to sit by the ocean and be by herself. She did not even move when the sky began to resemble a shadow and water fell.

Now soaked to the soul, she sat curled in the fetal position on an oversized wicker chair doing what she did best — regret the past. It was too early, she decided; too early to come back and apologize and expect her to accept the apology. After only about a month? It took an entire week to talk the girl down from the ledge after as comparatively small an insurrection as drinking. A year of lying would take much, much longer. And because she jumped too soon, she would never again have the chance to realize the dream of a lasting relationship with Anne.

She would do well to accept that fact.

What happens to a dream differed? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun?...Or does it explode? This particular poem by Langston Hughes — one of the better Harlem Renaissance poets, in her opinion — resurfaced in her brain more times than she would prefer.

She could not just shove aside her friendship with Anne; at least, she did not want to let it dry up. She had not lied when she said all three agents still cared for her. Would she now have to silence those feelings, ignore them like they never existed in the first place? Would she have to lie to herself about Anne's role in her life?

Most likely.

And that thought hurt her more than anything.

Hugging herself tighter as a fresh wave of water surged from her eyes, a new pair of hands added their welcome weight to her shoulders. She nestled into the left one as it stroked her cold cheek. Gripping it by the wrist, she pulled downward to briefly brush her lips across the palm. "I woke up, and you weren't there," said a voice to her left. "You scared me, Syd. Why didn't you leave a note?" Vaughn's worried eyes drifted into her field of vision from the left, only superseded by the lines etched into his brow.

She closed her eyes to his concern but hugged his hand tightly. "Sorry. I forgot."

Vaughn swung around the side of the chair and squatted in front of her, his heated hand now resting on her right cheek as his thumb practically vaporized her tears. Finally lifting her lids, she welcomed him onto the chair, and he stretched out with her clutched to his chest on top of him, his legs dangling off of the edge of the armrest. Their heart beats sank into a well-established rhythm, and she felt his warmth pierce her clammy skin. They sat in silence for a long moment, the arms enveloping her taking her mind away form all the different water forms.

For being a summer storm, this one lasted a while.

When she broke the silence, her voice sounded far away and small. "'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the road less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.'" She blinked a rain drop out of her eye. "Did you know that 'The Road Not Taken' is one of the most misinterpreted poems of modern times? It is not a happy piece. Frost's speaker is actually lamenting the path he chose, not patting himself on the back for taking the less popular route."

"Syd, you can't keep beating yourself up over this," He murmured into her ear, his fingers caressing the strip of lower back exposed by her shirt. "You did the best you could. That's all anyone could ask. At least we tried to set things right by telling her the truth: others wouldn't have even done that."

"But what if that wasn't the right decision?" She questioned, peering up at him through her eyelashes. "Would she have been better off with the CIA lie than our truth? Would she have fewer emotional scars?"

"We'll never know, Syd." Vaughn gazed back at her earnestly. "As much as I want to, I can't build a time machine to go back and try all of this another way. We told the truth, and now we're all going to have to live with the consequences, whether we think they're just or not." He paused, sweeping her sopping hair away from the right side of her neck. "But for what it's worth, in the end, I think you made the right decision."

"But at the hospital—"

"I know. I was being an ass. You know how that goes sometimes." He grinned at her, but she could only lift a corner of her mouth in a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

Sighing, she whispered, "I just...I just wish things were different; that's all. I love Anne and Weiss and you so deeply, and it hurts to have one of you ripped away from me so violently—"

"Marry me."

"What?"

At first, she did not think she heard his soft plea, but her throat had seemed to cut off any possible reply. Her gaze shot to his, searching his eyes for some hint that he meant what he said.

Apparently, he did.

"Seriously. Marry me." His eyes exuded love and honesty and hope for the future. Hope for them. "This isn't exactly how I wanted to ask you. I figured after Anne accepted our apology, we'd go back to our room, and all our friends from Glenfield would be waiting below our balcony, holding signs. Or we'd go on one of those glass-bottomed boat rides, and I'd propose down on one knee during dinner.

"Obviously, none of those things are appropriate now.

"But that doesn't change the fact that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I knew that a long time ago, and this mission just reaffirmed it. There's no sense in waiting for the 'right time' when any number of variables can come along and screw it all up. You're so caring and so kind and so wonderful, and you care so deeply about everyone and everything. Knowing that I'm a part of that love makes me so indescribably happy.

"I know you're hurting right now, and I want to be the one to take away that pain. Forever. Because you deserve some sort of happiness in your life, and I want to be the one to give it to you in whatever way and whatever form I can.

"The ring is, um, up in our room, 'cause I wasn't planning on doing this right now, and you're kind of on top of me, so I can't get down on one knee—"

"Yes." Her voice was firm and very near for the first time that afternoon. A smile began to creep up on her. "The answer is, yes, Michael Vaughn, I would love to marry you."

And while she still shook and cried, those shivers and tears gradually became tinged with happiness, and she began to know before she even recognized: someday, somehow everything would be okay.

END

Well, that's the end, folks. That's all she wrote. Final page total: 265 in ten-point font and singled-spaced. That's about 214,000 words, give or take a few hundred. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this crazy ride, and I hope that you learned something from it, too, whether good or bad. Feedback always makes me happy (especially if there's constructive criticism in there), but realize I write for my own enjoyment: this was how the story was going to end from my first planning, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

That being said...The ending fulfilled one surprise, so I'll fulfill the second.

There WILL be a sequel.

No flaming projectiles, please.

Toodles and snickerdooles.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life