Thank you so much for all the reviews, everyone. You have all been great and I hope you've enjoyed this… I apologize for the hugeness of this epilogue, but my muse went a bit out of control and I just ran with it… Thanks again!

Rhapsody

Epilogue

He would say that he had never seen her more resplendent, but it would have been a lie. He had had that very same thought upon waking that morning, finding her still asleep in his arms; would probably continue to think the same thing every morning he awoke beside her, each day he snagged not more than a glimpse of her smile, every night the two of them sighed off to sleep. Knowing this just as well as he knew his own name (and that just barely, given the thousands of high level emotions flinging every which way at the moment, that had been wreaking havoc with his stability and sanity all day), he had settled for a whispered You're so beautiful, finding time to press his lips to her ear just as the last few chords of the march tinkled from the piano.

It might have seemed redundant. They were the same words he had murmured to her that very morning; both of them having decided to damn superstition and spend the day together with the boys. Five thirty was too far away when the sleepy morning sun was just beginning to creep in through the cracks in the curtain. After having finally found each other over a year ago, it still took all their self control to keep their hands off each other at times; trite traditions and silly superstitions had about as much a chance of breaking them apart as a snowman had staying frozen in the fires of hell.

And perhaps he was blinded or biased, but to him, she was always gorgeous, truly hadn't looked much different than she might at any other time. Not in outward appearance, at least. Her dress was simple, much to the chagrin of both his mother and Francie; but she had insisted, hadn't wanted anything to be too fancy or over the top that day, had just wanted him. Even without trying to impress any of them, the dress hugged her figure perfectly, clinging and flowing in all the right places. Sure, she wasn't usually one to wear white, and her hair had more of a curl to it than usual; and maybe she was glowing a bit more than normal, although it may have just been a trick of the light… But she was still his Sydney. Nothing she was or wasn't wearing would ever change that.

Even now his hands were shaking, his breathing a little faster than normal. His ears still felt as if they were filled with cotton; all sound, music and speech alike, muffled, except for the ringing of her laugh. There was a part of him that felt the weight of Ilya curled up against his chest, yawning, his pint-sized suit and jacket wrinkled at this point, but still on, the clip-on bowtie lying somewhere on the dance floor; and he knew that little Gabriel was snuggled in Sydney's arms, adorable as always and fast asleep. But that didn't change the fact that she was all he could see, all he had been able to see since…

You may kiss the bride.

And he did. The two of them may have broken plenty of rules in their lifetimes, but he would never go against an order like that one. Why would he want to?

Sheer common sense dictated that this kiss should be quick and simple, stood as straight and decorated as a military general, side by side with reason and duty. He and Sydney might just have obeyed this directive, too, if emotion hadn't chosen that imperative split second to clang by in a flurry of bells and whistles, snapping ever-hyper passion loose from its chains and stripping common sense and its compatriots of their clothing, along with their pride, sending them screaming away in the shame of defeat.

Three and a half weeks had been more than enough time to perfect all the motions that a quick kiss with full arms required, and it didn't take much to turn quick into lingering and longing, merely the ability to hold on. He tasted her sweetness, let her take his breath away, steal everything from him except the exquisite feeling of her lips on his own. It took all of his self control to wrench himself away; a leftover shred of dignity yanking him from her, but unable to keep him from peppering her lips with a few more whispering kisses before smiling against them, pulling far enough away to look into her eyes.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn…

"Hey, uh, guys? I know you've been here for a few hours, but don't you think you can wait until…"

The renewed ringing of silverware against glasses stopped Weiss mid-sentence. Vaughn could have listened to his friend, turned away from Sydney and back to the reception guests… But with his lips already so close to hers and the chiming glasses standing as a perfect excuse, it was all too easy to pull her in for another kiss.

"Hey!" Weiss shouted, turning his attention from the couple before him to the few people still sitting at his own table, the two who had started the clamoring echo of glass. "I thought you guys were on my side… Francie? Will?"

"It's my job to make sure the bride is enjoying herself," Francie explained with a laugh. "Shouldn't you be doing the same for the groom?"

"Screwed once again by that second X chromosome," Weiss groaned, "I see how it is… Will, come on man, us guys have to band together on this one."

"Sorry man," Will said with a smile, fork poised above his empty glass of champagne. "This is just too much fun. They're like little puppets." With that, his fork hit against the glass once again, quickly joined by the others surrounding him.

"Haven't you spent any time with the two of them?" Weiss moaned, gesturing wildly toward the newlyweds before surrendering with an exasperated sigh and sitting back down. "They do that all the time anyway. They don't need you to bang a damn glass!"

Francie just shook her head, grinning as she rolled her eyes. "Just because you broke yours three hours…"

'And seven drinks ago," Will added, raising his own glass to Weiss in an appreciative toast.

"… doesn't mean that we…"

Vaughn turned away from his friends' argument and scanned the room. Most of the guests had already left, only a few family members and close friends remaining. Both boys were now asleep in their arms, and when his eyes found Sydney's again, he could glimpse the hint of exhaustion that hid, scowling, beneath her persistent smile.

"He's right, you know."

"About what?" Sydney asked quietly, carefully shifting to be closer to him without waking either of the children, another small gesture that had become second nature these past few weeks.

"We've been here too long." He whispered, brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead. "Our flight leaves in a few hours. If we go now, we'll have enough time to go back to the apartment, take a quick nap and grab our bags before heading to the airport."

She smiled in unspoken agreement, pushing her chair back, and even with his arms full, he moved to help her stand. They said their goodbyes, lingering for a few moments outside his mother's car after they had safely buckled in their sleeping boys and kissed them goodbye. A few words were exchanged with his mother and her father, none of them nearly enough to thank the two of them for their help in pulling off this wedding; between Charlotte's stellar planning abilities and Jack's seemingly endless connections, they had had everything they could have ever wanted and then some.

Silence followed them into the back of the limo, the driver, the son of one of Jack's friends, whisking them off to their apartment without a word. Vaughn's fingertips seemed to have discovered a mind of their own, leaving the comfortable grip of her hand and trailing up the bare skin of her arm, dancing across her cheek and lips so that Sydney sighed in sated pleasure and snuggled closer to him as thunder rumbled off in the distance.

"Good thing we left when we did," she murmured, bringing her hand up to smother a yawn. "I hope your mom gets home okay… She could have stayed in the apartment."

"But then she wouldn't be able to show off her grandsons in church tomorrow morning," Vaughn answered with a reassuring grin, his fingers finding hers again and squeezing them gently. "And she likes to drive in the rain. She'll be fine. Don't worry."

He felt her nod against his shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting the air out in one dreamy word. "Paris…"

"For five whole days," he responded, kissing her knuckles before turning to face her, intent on continuing this discussion about their honeymoon. "You're gorgeous."

He couldn't help himself, couldn't stop the words from leaving his lips. It was a thought he normally had tens of thousands of times each day, every second his eyes fell upon her, but usually he was more restrained when it came to actually giving it voice. He didn't want her to think he was joking, that it was merely his repetition of the phrase that kept it anywhere near true. But today, he let the statement fall from his lips as often as it struck his mind, must have whispered words to that effect at least a hundred times and could still keep going.

She smiled, eye contact faltering momentarily as it had every other time that day, and he knew that if the darkness had allowed him to see in color, she would be blushing.

"Have I told you that yet today?" he added, only half teasing as he smoothed her hair back behind her ear.

"Maybe once or twice," Sydney murmured, her response barely catching enough for him to hear, not helped by the way she pressed her face into him. But he understood her, and it was worth straining his simply ears to feel her smile against his neck.

Only a few quick turns and stoplights stood in the way of them and the apartment. After he helped her from the backseat, Sydney barely had time to consider the strange emptiness of getting out of a vehicle without turning to unbuckle at least one of her little boys or the promise of them waiting to greet her inside. Before the thought could do more than touch upon her mind, Vaughn had swept her off her feet and into his arms without so much as a word in explanation.

"Vaughn!"

It was hardly a protest, couldn't even be considered halfhearted and was not by any means enough to make him relinquish his hold. Both knew that if she really wanted to, she could have her feet back on the ground in no time at all, and most likely would have pinned him there as well. But she laughed even as she spoke, the sound of it jingling through the letters of his name, spurring him onward as her arms encircled his neck, drawing her closer to him.

The far off rumbling of thunder had given way to a gentle rain, the beginnings of a storm that would soon rip open the sky, pelting them with cold, fat raindrops determined to drive a soaking chill straight through clothing to skin and bones. But they were either completely oblivious to the weather or simply didn't care. Vaughn never quickened his steps and Sydney didn't make a motion to hurry him; though the feeling of it may never subside, they couldn't stay newlyweds forever. Actions and words may be repeated, but single moments only came once, and they wouldn't waste them.

He was somehow able to unlock the door with her in his arms, pushing it open and carrying her inside, waiting until he had crossed the living room to lower her gently onto the couch. That bright smile was still playing on her lips and he toyed with the idea of stealing it from her, but deep down he knew that commercial airlines were not in the habit of waiting, even for honeymooners, and had to settle for whispered speech instead.

"You want to crash here for awhile? I'll wake you before we have to go."

She looked as if she were about to say yes, to agree with his plans and let him carry them out however he wanted. She seemed to surprise both of them as she spoke, her heart stealing the reins of language as it had so many times before and whipping words and wishes from her tongue that wouldn't have otherwise been known.

"Stay with me?"

Her voice arched into a question, was at once sweetly innocent and achingly seductive, a combination he would have never thought possible if he hadn't heard it from her lips, that only she could manage with or without trying. It was impossible to cleave the two halves from their mingled whole, to decipher exactly what she meant by those three simple words, whether her comment carried with it the frenzied desire that was suddenly prickling his own skin or was merely the yawning, childish confession of not wanting to fall asleep alone.

He swallowed, finding himself, not surprisingly, willing to appease her either way, would kiss her just as eagerly as he'd curl up next to her and soothe her into sleep. Each option would likely carry the same consequences, exhaustion and passion equally capable of helping them miss their flight. It was in both of their best interests that he backed away, offering her that silly, shy smile she so adored.

"I'm going to go get our bags and change. I'll be right back."

Barely moving as he said it, it took a few sleepy seconds for his feet to begin to propel him backwards; he retreated towards their bedroom as far as he could go without breaking eye contact, only stopping when his back bumped against the wall, sending him jolting into reality and scurrying down the hallway before he could hear if she laughed. He swiftly changed and found their luggage, returning to the living room a few moments later, dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt, a suitcase held in either hand.

She didn't stir to acknowledge his presence, was so still that he thought she had already succumbed to sleep. Sneaking a glance at the clock to see how long he could allow her to doze before he would have to rouse her, he dropped their luggage by the door with a soft thud and tiptoed to the couch. He was almost beside her when he saw the glimmer of her eyes reflecting the dim light from the hallway and followed her line of sight to the picture frame that rested on the end table.

Sydney's eyes flicked towards his own and she smiled as she held out her hand and tugged him down to lie by her side. As her sweet scent surrounded him and his body adjusted seamlessly to the feel of hers, he let his eyes wander up from where their hands were joined, following the curve of her shoulder and neck until his gaze pierced hers once again, pausing for only a moment before jumping with hers to the frame on the table. The picture itself was nearly hidden in the shadows, but they didn't need the visual, had both memorized the moment that had been captured. The photo had been taken just a little over a week before, when everyone had healed enough to leave the house and spend some time outside: their first family visit to the playground.

He had taken the picture, remembered posing them all perfectly: Ilya had been on the swings smiling sweetly for the camera, Sydney had crouched beside him with Gabriel, holding up the baby's hand and waving.

It hadn't turned out the way he had wanted, the way he had been planning; but in half a heartbeat he would admit that it was better, wouldn't have traded a thousand staged and smiling shots for the one he had attained. The picture was a little off center and a tad crooked, the result of him nearly dropping the camera. Ilya was reaching towards something out of the shot, his mouth open, face twisted in sudden concentration; Gabriel's hand had been dropped, his fleeting attention turned toward his older brother. It was Sydney who held the entire photo together, her smile radiant, genuine, eyes sparkling and dimples dancing in her cheeks. The fact that she was no longer looking towards the camera didn't matter; it was a smile that could not be garnered on command, even to have captured a sideways shot of it was worth more than gold.

All of this, the smile, the turned heads and four dollars later spent at the ice cream truck that had caught the little boy's eye, had been the reaction to one simple word: morozhenoye – the Russian equivalent to ice cream.

It had been four dollars well spent, the sticky frozen sugar worth every penny, calorie and so much more. In two and a half weeks, barely more than two words had been added to the child's vocabulary: no, uh oh and sometimes pwease joining the regular ranks of Bahn, Tyd, Babe and daddy; meetings with various therapists had been set up and clearly marked on the calendar. Ice cream had been their first breakthrough, the first connection between the child's old and new lives, the first real bit of hope for the future.

The future was something Vaughn had given a lot of thought to these past few weeks; it used to signify nothing more than the passing of time, an ever-distant period that, given his life and job, he might never obtain. Now it had taken on such greater meaning, was watching his little boys grow and thrive, stealing seconds with Sydney that always seemed to end too quickly but left the hope of more kisses lingering in the air… It was everything.

Even before he had healed well enough to leave the house, he had started making phone calls, waiting until she had walked out the door on some errand or another, and spending that time in hurried conversation. Just like the few moments prior to the snapping of that photograph, he had had everything planned out. But this time, it was his own doubt and not ice cream that changed the course of things. He needed to make sure, to know if…

"Syd?" Vaughn asked suddenly, yanking both pairs of eyes from the photo, a few seconds of silence following as they waited for the foggy remnants of memory to dissolve.

"Hmm?"

His forehead wrinkled for a moment, as if he had either suddenly forgotten all that he had wanted to say, or just as quickly realized that he hadn't known all along. But he decided to throw caution to the wind, standing and pulling her up with him, opening his mouth and letting the words fly out as he tugged her towards the door. "I want to show you something."

"Where are we…?"

"It's a surprise," Vaughn murmured, suddenly turning to face her and letting his eyes run up and down her form. "Do you want to get changed first?"

She nodded, mumbling a hurried I'll be quick before extracting her hand from his and scurrying into their room. He let her go with a sigh, his eyes nearly burning through her retreating form, and was about to take the suitcases out to the car when he heard her voice echoing down the hall.

"Vaughn?... Can you help me with this?"

Dropping the luggage handles, he hurried towards the sound of her voice. As he slipped through the partially open bedroom door, he found her back turned to him, her dress only opened a few inches from the top. She was struggling with the zipper, but her arms fell to her sides and she cocked her head towards him when she felt his presence in the doorway, her hair swishing across her back.

"Now I know why this was on sale," she murmured, smiling apologetically and turning away from him, bringing a hand up to pull back her hair. "Will you…?"

Wordlessly he stepped behind her, slowly and carefully tugging the zipper loose and pulling it down her back. His fingers ached to linger over the newly revealed skin, but he couldn't let them, willed himself to concentrate on the sound of the rain that had begun to beat against the windows in time with the stubbornly growling zipper. All at once, the soft pounding of raindrops hardened to a forceful hammering, the storm finally letting loose with a vibrating crack of thunder that sliced through the otherwise still air of their darkened room.

Sydney jumped, the electric tension and rumbling of thunder catching her off guard. Her motion was slight, barely more than a stiffening of relaxed muscles and a swift intake of air, but to Vaughn it felt as if she had leapt sky-high. Perhaps it was only his proximity to her that allowed this, the way he seemed to be touching her all at once; or maybe he had become so familiar with her every sigh and movement that he would have felt it from across the room. Either way, it couldn't be ignored; he wouldn't let it.

"You okay?" he asked, hands resting on her hips as he pulled her back towards him. His arms wrapped protectively around her, all efforts not to touch her foiled as he kissed the nape of her neck in comfort, chin resting on her shoulder as he waited for her response.

"Mm hmm." It was more a sigh than an answer, and she paused for a moment to lean back into him, letting that exhilaratingly relaxing, always overwhelming feeling of simply being in his arms shower over her once more. "Thanks."

That one word tangled the air in his throat, threatening to implode his lungs as he found himself incapable of breathing out to relieve their burning. God, he was so helplessly gone when it came to her, always had been, but now…

She was his wife, was his forever, but he still couldn't rid himself of the urge to relish every single moment with her, both waking and sleeping, whether her mood was sweet or sour, the moment just a tad left of right or spot on (because it could never be wrong, not with her). He had so much to lose, and was still afraid that he would, that his eyes would open one morning and everything would be gone, that it would have all been a dream or he would have somehow screwed up.

After three years, after she had both followed and defied his orders, shouted and smiled, lived with him, slept with him, kissed him, cried, cared, soothed, given him two sons and…

Nothing had changed. Nothing. From that very first time he had allowed himself to admit it, until now, and still ticking by with each passing second. He wanted her, he needed her. He wanted to need her and her to need him. Simply put, he loved her. Whether Bluebird, Freelancer or Mountaineer; Christiana Stevens, Joanna Kelly, Victoria King or Kate Jones; Sydney Bristow or Sydney... Vaughn.

That thought alone almost swamped him entirely, made it very difficult for his mumbled explanation of putting the bags in the car to come out even somewhat coherently. He almost screwed everything: his surprise, their honeymoon… just so he could tear that dress off her and kiss her, make love to his wife for the first time and the rest of the night.

He sat in the car, fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel, only stopping when she joined him a few moments later, comfortably dressed, her face washed clean of any hint of makeup. He started the car and took her hand, turning towards her before backing out of the driveway. "Close your eyes."

"Vaughn…" Her tone was playful, her eyebrow lifting and her bemused grin all that was needed to ask him what the hell was going on. "Why do I…"

"Do you trust me?"

He didn't know why he had asked it, had thought that the answer would be glaringly obvious; but he seemed hardly in control of anything that night, whether it be the weather or his own words and actions. Neither of them were surprised when her answer came quickly, a single word that was linked to the end of his question, nearly voiced before he had the chance to finish.

"Yes."

"Then close your eyes." It was a gentle command and he was smiling. Three years ago, Sydney Bristow would have given him hell for that, probably more for the laughing gentleness of it than anything else. But things were different now, so different.

"Do I have to stay awake?" she teased, eyes shut and smile brilliant. But he could sense the exhaustion behind her words, knew that if she were given the chance, she would surrender to dreamland without a second thought.

"Not as long as you sleep with your eyes closed."

She readily promised and he drove, his fingers threaded through hers the entire way. She fell asleep to the soft strains of the radio and the humming of rain only a few minutes after they had pulled out of the driveway, looked so peaceful that Vaughn considered passing their destination and driving for awhile longer, wanting to give her more than twenty minutes of rest.

But he knew he wouldn't have been able to wait, was suddenly desperate to show her this, to get her smile of approval; and so he pulled into the driveway and turned off the car, gently squeezing her hand to wake her. "Syd?"

She sighed, her eyelids beginning to flutter open with the sound of his voice, her own thick with sleep even after such a short nap. "W-where…?"

"Keep your eyes closed," he whispered, leaning over to seek out her lips, but finding the tip of her nose in the sudden darkness. "I'll come around and get you out."

Sydney expected his lips to trail downwards and find her own, feeling instead the sudden chill of his hand disentangling from hers and his presence vacating the space close beside her. A door opened and the hammering of the rain flooded her ears, quickly joined by a few splashing footsteps, and the opening of her own door. Water dripped upon her as one of Vaughn's wet hands took hers, the other unbuckling her seatbelt and shielding her head from the doorframe as he helped her from the car.

With his hand still in hers, his other arm snaked possessively around her waist to help him guide her tripping footsteps. The chilling combination of cold rain and his warm breath sent a tingling shiver down her spine that resulted in him pulling her closer, as their slow steps lead them somewhere she couldn't see, the hardness of asphalt or concrete becoming soft beneath her sneakers. When she felt him stop moving, so did she; his arms not coming from around her as his breath tickled her ear.

"Open your eyes."

The wavering glow of streetlights through pouring rain helped her vision slowly adjust, eventually allowed her to see in more than just shapes and shadows, to make out the outline of a house, a yard, the realtor's sign that read…

"Is this yours?" she asked, breathless, surprised that even those words came out clearly.

She felt him shake his head and murmur a single word in answer, pausing before linking it with another. And she could have sworn that he had never said anything sweeter, that she had somehow waited her entire life just for this.

"Ours… almost."

"How did you…?"

Vaughn shrugged as her words trailed off, seemed almost unwilling to give away his secret, trying to make light of what had clearly been no little purchase. "Savings… Money from my father… You dad chipped in a bit, too…"

He didn't give her a chance to respond as he untangled her from his embrace, tugging on her hand and running towards the front porch. His cold and wet hands fumbled on his key ring, fought against darkness and trembling fingers to open the front door. Finally, out of pity if nothing else, it relented, swinging open and allowing them to tumble in out of the elements.

She wanted so desperately to get a glimpse of all the secrets this house, their home, held hidden within its walls, but couldn't see, couldn't think, almost couldn't breathe. She was vaguely conscious of the weight of his hand within hers, his fingers twisted with her own, and she tightened her grip on them, squeezing life and love and thanks into that one swift embrace.

"Michael…"

They were the only two syllables she could find, spoken just a hair above a whisper and ringing through the darkness in awe and disbelief, no other words added because none offered themselves up; she didn't know what else to say. Any exclamation of thanks or praise would be laughable in its inability to carry the intensity required, would pale in comparison to this gesture he had performed for her, for them.

Vaughn didn't answer, at least not verbally, his thumb running in circles where his hand held hers, while his other hand felt against the wall for a light switch. A hurried, repeated clicking was evidence that he had found it, but the darkness was unchanging and mocking, the success of his quest inconsequential.

"I don't think the power's on yet," he mumbled, and she could just make out the frown that tugged at the corners of his lips, the darkness starting to come into focus, walls and doorways materializing from that not quite light, but not complete darkness that filtered through the windows. If she had twirled to face him at that moment, she would have caught his eyes upon her, stealing those seconds to savor her every reaction.

"I was going to have it all furnished," he continued in a whisper, "bring you here after we got back from Paris… But that's as far as I got." With this, he gestured to the lonely couch pushed up against the far wall and the few boxes stacked beside it. "I thought I should ask you first, wasn't sure if you'd…"

"It's perfect."

"You haven't even seen it yet," he pointed out with a chuckle, his breath and courage returning as she chased his doubt away.

"I don't need to; I love it already." She turned into him, her hands running up both his arms, tugging his lips toward hers. "Show it to me," she murmured as she pulled away, her voice so small and filled with such awe that he would have never thought she had so much as glimpsed at the evil of the world, seemed a thing wildly pure and untainted.

He could have refused her, pleaded on the side of time and darkness, told her that without light there wouldn't be much to glance at, pointed out that she had just said she didn't need to see it. But in truth, he had been desperate to take her on this very same tour ever since thoughts of Their House had begun to trip across his mind; he could never deny her.

Vaughn didn't stop to look at his watch, to consider how much time they had and should spend in each room, how rushed this tour should be if they were going to make their flight. He simply took her from room to room, drinking in her reactions as if they were all that could quench a years old thirst, were the very elixir that kept him alive. If the lights had worked, if the house had been completely furnished, no doubt her enthusiasm would have been the same; but this... it was better than he could have asked for, than he would have ever dared to dream.

Truth be told, there wasn't much to show. The colors and patterns of floors and walls remained yet to be discovered, and their efforts to mount the stairs and tiptoe into some of the rooms rewarded them with a few small bruises. But with each and every opening of a door, she would still give him that smile, the very one he lived and breathed for, shining so brightly that he didn't need the help of electricity to see what was before him.

And so it was, led by her almost childlike excitement and sunny smile, that three bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms later, after they had been through the kitchen and living room, explored every hallway, closet and even the garage, they arrived at the end of the second floor hallway.

"What's this?" Sydney asked, pointing at the door just as she had done with every other one they had subsequently opened and passed through.

"The fourth bedroom," he responded with a shrug, pushing the door open and ushering her inside. She hadn't spoken or even so much as moved her fingers or lips, but he could sense her inner gears grinding in a quick lesson at mental math, just as his had when the realtor had told him about the house: the two of them, Ilya, Gabriel, and… "It can be the guest room or an office or something, until… unless we need it for… something else…"

His sentence had slowed as the words were added to it, had faltered at the beginning as he had tried to explain himself too quickly, trailed off into stumbling silence after that slight slip of the tongue. There were raindrops and the muted whir of a single car passing on the wet streets, but without the hum of electricity, that was just about all that their sense of hearing had to offer them. The rapid thumping of heartbeats and the buzzing of two minds hastily hunting for the correct answer were tricks of his imagination, somehow Vaughn knew that; but the whoosh of blood rushing past his ears and the shuffling of feet across the floorboards as Sydney slowly spun towards him, those were real.

As real as the heat of her body as it pressed close against his own, the glint of her eyes as her head tilted up to face him, and her soft silhouette, a shape he had memorized, would be able to seek out and select from even the darkest shadows. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost trembling, barely powerful enough to force its way through the pounding rain and give breath to what they both thought, both wanted, but were for some reason too consumed with fear to admit.

"A bedroom for our little girl?"

He tried to nod, to speak, to do anything, but found himself unable to move, except for the slow upwards curving of his lips, the glimmer that passed almost dizzyingly over his eyes. In essence that's all they were missing, the only other thing they could possibly add to their life to make it more rapturous, better than it already was.

Sydney pressed her cheek against his shoulder and clung to him as if she were afraid of falling. He didn't think he would ever tire of this, of being able to hold her; could do nothing for hours on end if only he had her in his arms. After a few quiet minutes of slow rocking and tender caresses, his voice found its way back to him and he didn't stop it, didn't pause to consider the potential contrast between what the words might and should be. If he had looked at his watch, he would have seen that they had just enough time to make it to the airport before their plane took off, but…

"Let's go get the boys."

Sydney took her head from his shoulder to peer up at him. Blackness may have shrouded the rest of the room, but he could suddenly see her as clearly as if they were standing outside under the noontime sun, as if the light radiated from within her. Her hair was still damp from the rain and he gently plucked at a stray lock that had stuck itself to her cheek before finding her eyes gazing with a guarded hope into his own.

"But the honeymoon," she protested, and he knew she couldn't help how it came across as halfhearted. He had had to claw through every last of her motherly defenses to convince her to take this trip with him, and now that he had finally willed her in its favor, it would take far less effort to turn her against it.

"Paris," he started with a shrug, leaning in to press his lips against her forehead and letting his next words vibrate against her skin, "won't change much in the next few months."

Other things would… his heart added, but he never needed to give the words voice. She kissed him so hard and with such insistence that he surrendered to her completely, couldn't stop the pained groan that escaped his lips when she pulled away. But when her fingers threaded their way through his, her arms tugging gently on his own as she spun out of his embrace, he willingly followed her out of the house and through the rain to their car, not letting go of her hand for more than ten minutes altogether during the entire long drive to his mother's.

When they pulled up the driveway, the moon shone brightly, and he quickly and quietly unlocked the door and led her inside. He finally did have to let go of her hand, an odd half empty, half chilled sensation filling the void where it had been, as he crept inside his mother's bedroom to inform her of this new change in plans. Sydney had stood politely outside the doorway despite his insistence that her presence wouldn't bother his mother, but he wasn't surprised to not find her waiting for him when he left the room.

A few steps down the hall rewarded him with the outline of her figure in an open doorway, the one that led to his old room, he remembered, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of his own sons sleeping where he had as a boy. Tiptoeing up behind her, he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist so as not to startle her, but she didn't flinch, always seemed to have been waiting for the comfort of his embrace.

There they were; his two little boys. They would always be just that, no matter how they grew; no difference acknowledged between them, both loved as fiercely as any caring father loves his own flesh and blood.

All news from Russia had been quiet these past few weeks; Bykov's group showed no signs of further activity, and as the days had worn on, Vaughn had even allowed himself to hope that this was how it would remain. Bykov's words still lurked within the darkest corners of his mind, would continue to haunt him, prick him with doubt even at the most serene moments. He would go to the ends of the earth to protect his family, all of it, would fight with more ferocity than he ever had before; for now, that would have to be enough.

As if attuned to Vaughn's thoughts, Ilya stirred at that moment, tossing restlessly beneath the blankets and beginning to whimper. His nightmares had mostly disappeared in those three and a half weeks, but every once in awhile one would creep up on him, capturing his unwitting little mind for its merciless torture. During these dark nights and unsuspecting moments, the wide-eyed, trembling tears would return with a vengeance, all the tranquil day between forgotten.

Both Vaughn and Sydney stepped forward so fluidly that for a moment they stood at the side of the playpen in the same position they had been in at the door. As Sydney leaned forward to soothe the whimpering little boy, Vaughn slid from behind her to the other side of the portable crib, tenderly lifting the still-sleeping Gabriel into his arms, smiling as his son instinctively snuggled against him.

Had he looked up only a second later, he would have missed it, something so mundane yet indescribably beautiful: that first interaction between Sydney and one of their boys, the wonder that filled her every time. She scooped a groggy and quivering Ilya into her arms and hugged him tightly against her, his tiny hands flinging their way around her neck as he tried to wiggle further into her embrace.

Even though the child had buried his face in the nape of her neck, his voice still held to those cooing baby tones and was peppered with fear and exhaustion, there was no mistaking his relieved and pleading near-sob in the sleepy silence of that very early morning.

"Mommy…"

After all their waiting and patient practice… there it was.

A streak of moonlight illuminated part of Sydney's face, capturing half of her features as clearly as a photograph and leaving memory and imagination to paint the missing frames. Shock, disbelief and a delirious satisfaction coalesced into a gorgeous fusion of all-encompassing wonder that nearly topped them both over; her with the overpowering experience of the emotions themselves, and him from simply watching as they played over her.

For a moment, he was almost jealous, wondered if his own reaction had been half as potent, been filled with even a fraction of the delicious satisfaction that he could practically see coursing through her in rhythm with her own heartbeats. But he didn't have time to consider anything further has he hurried to her side, she seemed to almost be swaying with the impact of the child's whispered delivery, and he quickly brought an arm up to steady her, willing himself to hold her up even when he didn't trust his own knees to do the same for himself.

She didn't fall, hadn't been about to, he realized, although that thought couldn't make him let her go. And neither would she, leaning back against him so that he really was all that kept her on her feet, gently rocking the child as she held him tighter in her arms, not finding the strength or breath to speak until a handful of infinite seconds had tripped past.

"Mommy's here…"

Those words, that moment, the feel of her in his arms, almost did him in. He wasn't sure how he was able to keep standing and breathing, wouldn't admit that the sudden blurring of his vision might have been due to unshed tears. Leaning over, he kissed both their sons, comforting one and careful not to wake the other. Their mother was next, his lips impulsively seeking hers and lingering upon them, loath to tear themselves away.

"Syd…" he finally managed to breathe out eventually, feeling her stiffen at the sound of his voice, waiting breathlessly for him to continue. "I know it's a long drive and we only have a couch…"

He faltered, unsure why he was trembling here. They had slept under the same roof for so long now that he all but forgot what it was to fall asleep without her. Add to that the fact that they had slept (and… not slept) on airplane seats and cargo bays, couches, various chairs, cots, the floor, and so many other random places over the months that his sudden insecurity was almost silly.

But Sydney grinned, pushing the butterflies from her own stomach and seeming to catch onto his thoughts. "I don't think we're going to sleep much anyway."

He smiled in agreement, the little boys in their arms all that kept him from kissing her then and there, a sudden frantic need filling him, mocking him with the fact that he had not yet slept with his wife; and he knew that one more kiss, one more taste of her would be a tease, would overwhelm him because it simply could not be enough.

And so, once again, he took her hand, leading her down the hallway and past his mother's smiling eyes. "Let's go home."

The End