Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Vaughn leans over the railing, looking down onto the foyer and Sydney at the door. "Syd!" He flies down the stairs, cursing himself for his stupidity, and her for being her, and himself a little more. What did he do to deserve this? His life was perfectly content: good job, low monthly-payments, off-and-on romances -- then this insane woman walked into his office and blew it all to hell. Great.

Running through the front entrance and into the parking lot, Vaughn calls out: "Sydney!" She disappeared.

Argh!

Where is she? He feels compelled to apologize. Women have walked out on him before -- Dylan made an art of it, and Abby, well, she only did it once, but that's enough to count a lifetime. Never, has he felt compelled to explain himself and set the record straight. Prior outburst between he and his girlfriends resulted in a fusion of fault. He would bait, and she would bite, or versa visa. This is different, because…. Sydney is not his girlfriend.

He scans the parking lot and finally sees her; he takes off. "Sydney Bristow!" She stops, and Vaughn catches up. Sydney's eyes are bloodshot, and she looks to the ground. She bites her tongue. She is pissed.

"Miss Bristow, I want to apologize for those things I said. They --"

"Were cruel. Malicious. Sadistic." Vaughn can feel the spit hit his cheek.

He opens his mouth, taking his time, "I was going to use unprofessional and inappropriate."

"Do you undercut everything?"

"No. Sydney, I ran after you to say: I'm sorry."

"Go to hell, Vaughn!" As she begins to side step around him, he puts his head out and wrinkles his forehead. He can't let her leave, not under these conditions. They have barely begun to crack her psyche or discover her truth identity. He has to know the answers; the discovery will likewise answer the questions stirrings in his brain (and heart) as he stands before her.

His simple gesture sends Sydney on a tirade. "You have no idea what it's been like for me; to have to come here and have you treat me like some lunatic you ridicule! Is that how you treat all your patients or just me?"

She doesn't wait for a retort. Wiping her eyes, she starts to walk away, but he follows. "I'm sorry, Syd. I am truly sorry."

"No you're not. You can't lie to me."

"Fine." Vaughn snap, taking her bait. She has a point. The need to apologize drives his motivation more than actual guilt (but doesn't that prove something?). "You have no idea what this week has been like for me; to have a woman I've never met before tell me the past decade of my life has been a compete lie. How would you react to that?"

He's reacting pretty well, in his humble opinion. He hasn't called the police yet. He might even be willing to entertain the preposterous idea if it meant helping Sydney with her problems. What? Ten minutes ago he wanted to kick her to the curb, and now he wants to help her? What's going on?

"Try waking up and having five years of your life stolen from you! I don't remember five years of my life; and I only know bits and pieces from files and second hand accounts." Sydney lowers her head.

"Try being told you are brainwashed, and are some radical form of your true self."

"But you are! You are not Michael Vaughn!"

"That's complete… Wait? What does that even mean!"

What does that even mean? He steps forward; she doesn't break away. For the first time all week, since that initial surreal meeting, Sydney allows herself to be human. She drops the act, and Vaughn feels drawn to it. She intrigues him. Her emotions get the best of her; she fights the tears and to keep her voice from cracking. He watches her and wants to make it stop.

"You are some creature that the CIA crafted for their experiments. You look like and you talk like him, but they stole your memories and your personality that actually made up who are."

"Because of you. The CIA didn't do this to me, you did."

"How dare you --"

"Isn't that your story?"

"I loved you --"

"You died and I blew a fuse."

"I loved you so much --"

"And the CIA intervened because I lost you --"

"You were my constant. I felt you were --"

They finish together, "My soul mate."

Soul mate? Vaughn didn't believe in soul mates. He barely believes he's capable of truly loving another human being; yet now, he just used the word soul mate when referring to the Queen of the Basketcases. He's never use that word, ever. He mocked the girls in his British Lit courses for being naïve enough to hope. However, he just paraphrased her words, not his.

Still, that's doesn't explain Sydney. Silent tears stream down her cheek, and she acts bold. She itches towards him, invading his personal bubble. He doesn't back away. He raises his hand and caressed her check. Professionalism no longer clouds his mind; sanity no longer clouds his mind, instead an instinct he can't explain possessed him: he wants to protect her.

It's always been there -- maybe that's why he allowed her to hug him the first time they met, allowed her to take the psych evaluation, allowed her to become his patient, allowed her to stay his patient -- but now he's ready to admit it.

She lets her head fall onto his shoulder and beings to cry. "Syd, we're going to find out what's wrong."

Even if it meant daily session and disregarding his unease of being around her, he feels compelled to help her. Whatever she needed, no matter the cost to him.

Making eye contract, she makes her move. She's going to kiss him -- or is this just his imagination. Is that what he wants? He thinks…

He pulls away, nervously laughing at his actions. He can't let her kiss him. He can't cross that line. He can't let his feelings -- oh, Christ, are they feelings now -- get in the way of curing Sydney's illness. He has to stay (somewhat) professional for her sake. He inquires, "You Okay?"

She nods. She lies, and he knows it.

Impulsively, though, she inquires, "You hungry? Because I'm starving. Isn't there a Diner around the corner?"

He can't. He just can't. But, he doesn't want to be rude. "Yes, they have really good pie."

"Pie?"

"Blueberry pie."

"Do you want to go get some blueberry pie?"

Vaughn hesitates, but nods. "Okay."