Disclaimer: Alias isn't mine.
By the dying fire's flickering amber light, he's almost beautiful.
The rich scent of smoldering firewood surrounds them, clinging to them like dew on a spring morning. She wonders if she'll ever get the smell out of her clothes, off her skin, and suspects that she doesn't want to.
This is hers - the scent of a dying flame, the play of shadows and golden light on the sharp planes of his handsome face. She can't touch him anymore, can't even smile at him without feeling guilty, but she can have this - the memory of an uncomfortable silence and a man made immortal in firelight.
And it will never be enough. Burning wood can't replace the taste of him, the feel of his lips on hers; memories can't compete with the way he once looked at her, all tenderness and passion; silence can't compare to an honest "I love you."
But Sydney's learned to make do with what she has, and if her heart is breaking, and if the hard cold reality is that Michael Vaughn is married to someone else, she still has her dreams.
Dreams and a dying fire.