35. Keep Your Heart Open

Once they were debriefed at the Singapore International Airport, once Tems had been cleared for extradition to the United States, once she and Winter were finally back on American soil after catching a new flight, Sydney confirmed several things.

The CIA rogue cell that they—that Tems—had been working with from the beginning of their mission, was behind not only the president's assassination, but had facilitated Niall's murder for Tems. As a result, the CIA itself had exploded into the headlines, with the director resigning in the midst of the scandal and an internal investigation plowing through the agency's ranks. Not a day had passed without the vice president—now the president—addressing the nation to report on the state of international affairs or provide updates about the arrests within the agency as members of the rogue cell were identified.

"He's going to be okay," Sauda told Sydney three weeks later as they sat across from each other in a war room at Panacea's headquarters. The woman nodded at a screen on the wall that was playing a live feed of Winter leaving the FBI's front entrance, his eyes shielded behind large black sunglasses as a crowd of reporters and fans jostled around him. "We've already spoken with both the FBI and President Castillo about him. The news will be reporting on his recovery and the number of postponed concerts he'll need to deal with for the next few months."

Sydney shifted in her seat. The dozens of bruises she'd gained from the chase and final fight at the airport still made her wince.

"I feel like we owe his fans an apology," she replied dryly.

"An apology? All this news around Winter being trapped in Singapore during the president's assassination has practically erased his father's tell-all book from the news. His team should be sending us flowers." Sauda crossed her arms and sighed. "But make no mistake, Sydney. I don't think his cover will last through any more missions with us. Take comfort in the fact that this may be the last time he risks his life for us."

Sydney angled her swivel chair away and pretended not to care. But a hollow in her chest had formed since the day she had separated from Winter, since her life had taken her back to Panacea's headquarters and his life had taken him back into the whirlwind of the spotlight. He seemed like he was doing okay, at least in the news, although she had yet to see him smile for the cameras since his return.

At night, she'd startle awake, still reaching for his hand, still waiting for him to take it. Then she would toss and turn, would sit up in bed, staring at her window in grief and exhaustion until dawn came to burn the darkness away.

No more missions with Winter, at least not with him at her side as a partner. She didn't let herself dwell on it, couldn't bear the thought that she might never see him again. She told herself to be what Sauda suggested—grateful for his safety.

A smaller window on the live feed now showed a CIA agent being led away in cuffs, the latest arrest in the rogue cell scandal.

"War still on?" Sydney asked hesitantly.

Sauda shook her head. "The last intel we were given was that China has backed down after news spilled about the CIA's rogue cell. President Castillo has gone with the CIA director to China to apologize for the incident and accusations. China is going to introduce sanctions against us, to show their displeasure with the whole incident. There will be years of damage control ahead for us." She looked at Sydney. "But no war."

Sydney sank back in her seat. Suddenly, she felt like everything in her had turned weak, and a curtain of exhaustion draped so heavily on her that she wanted to fall asleep right here in her chair.

"Still," she whispered, almost to herself. "The mission was a failure."

Sauda was quiet for a while. "It could have gone much worse. I think we have the camaraderie between you and Winter to thank."

Camaraderie. A thread of fear shot through her as she met Sauda's searching gaze, as if the woman was reading every thought she had of Winter. Sydney wondered if Sauda had somehow guessed at what had happened between her and Winter during the mission, if something in her demeanor might have given it away. And she wondered if Sauda was thinking of Niall, of the fleeting moments of love in her own life, of future moments that would now never come to pass.

But Sauda just gave her a curt nod.

"The question now is Tems." Sauda laced her fingers together against the table. Grief clouded her features. Niall's name seemed to hover in the air between them, although neither of them had the strength to bring him up.

"What will you do with Tems?" Sydney asked instead.

"I'm hardly the one in control of his fate now," Sauda replied. "The government will make sure he'll never set foot outside of prison again. But they want us to have a conversation with him. He has valuable information about others in the ring he was working with."

"The government needs our help for leverage with him?" Sydney asked.

"I think we both know what leverage will work," Sauda replied gently.

Sydney felt something in her chest twist.

"You do the honors," Sauda went on. "After tomorrow, he's not going to talk to anyone again for a very, very long time. But in spite of all his despicable actions, he cared about you. If there's anything to tell, we have the best chance of him telling you."

Sydney looked away. Tems had lied and cheated, had stolen from the agency more viciously than Sydney ever did. He had taken Niall from her, the only man Sydney had ever seen as a father.

Still. There was some part of her, however small, that felt sorry for him. Even now, perhaps, he believed he'd done it to honor a friend. How strange an emotion love was, how powerful it must be to fuel kindness and hatred and empathy and revenge and grief, all at once.

"Did Niall know?" Sydney asked in the silence that settled between them. "That you loved him?"

Sauda didn't answer. Out of instinct born from years of training, Sydney found her gaze falling on the woman's hands and arms, noted the way she tensed, how her shoulders pulled slightly forward, as if protecting herself. She waited as Sauda stared for a while at the screen.

"No," Sauda said at last. "I never told him. And he never told me. We never uttered a word to each other about how we felt, but it didn't matter. I knew. I could feel it every time we were together in a room, every time we had a late-night chat or shared a laugh or confided in each other. Every time we grieved together over a failed mission, over a lost ally, over his estrangement from his daughter. I don't know how to explain it. But love is something you don't need to explain. When it's there, you just know." She looked at Sydney, and in the woman's eyes, she could see an endless ocean of grief. "We both understood the dangers of our work. We have prepared our entire lives for this ending."

Somehow, Winter's song came back to Sydney now. You are my meditation. Am I ever yours, too?

She could feel the pain rising in her chest, could sense the ghost of her mentor in the room. She thought of why Winter chose to leave his heart open, in spite of all that could happen. Her eyes glossed with tears.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Sauda just nodded at her words, swallowed, and looked away.

"I know you understand," she said softly, before walking out of the room.

When Sydney stepped inside his cell in solitary confinement, Tems looked tired, dark circles prominent under his eyes. His skin was pale under the cold wash of fluorescent light. He sat on the ground, because there was no furniture allowed in his room—not even chairs—and regarded her, his head tilted.

"Sauda sent you, did she?" he said.

Sydney felt her rage rise at his words. "Does it matter?" she replied.

Tems sighed, then straightened and looked away from her. "She wants me to tell you everything, because she thinks I care about you."

"Well?" She leaned against the cell door. "Do you?"

She hadn't expected her words to wound him, but she saw a slight wince in his eyes. "What do you want, Syd?" he said tiredly.

She chewed her lip for a moment. "There are others you worked with, aren't there? Those we don't have the names for yet."

He was silent. "You really think I'm going to talk to you," he finally said.

She let out her breath, thought for a minute. "You know, you're not the only person in the world who cared about someone. Niall loved others, too. He had a daughter he cared for, who he'll never see again. He loved Sauda. And whether you want to believe it or not, he worried about your safety when you were out in the field."

Tems let out a sarcastic chuckle at that and turned his head away. "Sure."

"I will never forgive you for what you did," Sydney replied, her face sober. "But I do think you cared. In your own, twisted way." Her voice quieted. "I know that love and anger can make people do the worst things."

He grimaced at her words and leaned back against the wall. "What's this?" he muttered. "A gentler side of Sydney Cossette?"

"I'm giving you a chance to be understood, Tems."

"Ah, well. Thanks for that," he said in disgust.

They sank back into silence. She knelt back down and took a seat on the floor across from him. "You'll live out your life in here. But maybe there will be people alive because of your help. Maybe someone out there will feel gratitude for what you did, even if they don't know who you are. Maybe you'll save someone who was friends with someone else." She crossed her arms. "And if none of those things matter to you, then why are you here at all? Why all the effort to become an agent? Why put yourself through all this?"

He didn't look at her, and in frustration, Sydney looked away, too. Her eyes went to the lone window at the top of his cell. It was barely one square foot in size, the only view of the outside world that he would have, possibly for the rest of his life.

"Back on the plane," Tems said at last.

Her attention returned to him.

"Back on the plane," he repeated, "you could have let go of me. I almost fell through the plane's open hatch and onto the runway. You could have let me die, and you didn't."

She rested her elbows on her knees. "I wanted you to stand trial for what you did," she replied. "I wanted you to know that your actions caused so much pain."

He studied her. "That wasn't the reason," he said. "I saw your face in that moment. You didn't want me to die."

Her lips tightened. "In spite of everything," she said, "I once saw a side of you that opened up and told me your vulnerabilities. That made me laugh, that made me feel like you were my friend. I remembered a version of you that, for a split second, I thought I could be with, if only for fragments of time. That couldn't have all been a hoax. There had to be something real in there."

She thought he would say something sarcastic in response, but he didn't. He looked away from her again. This time, there was something far away in his eyes, something that looked like regret.

"I saved you because I think people are worth saving," she said quietly.

He didn't say anything, turning his gaze instead on a slant of light at the top of his cell's wall, and for a while, Sydney thought he had decided not to speak to her at all.

Then he looked down and sighed. "Alison MacGranger. Neil Wolfe."

Sydney listened carefully as he listed several more names, checking halfway through to make sure that the recording device taped to the back collar of her jacket was functioning.

"Thank you," she said. "If there are discrepancies, we'll be coming back to you. So I hope you said the right names."

He watched her as she rose to her feet. Finally, he said, "It's because of him, isn't it? This new, soft side of you?"

"Who?" she asked.

He nodded at her. "Your fancy boy."

Sydney had stayed calm through their conversation, but at the mention of Winter, she felt the familiar jolt in her heart, the painful tug. "I don't think you understand me," she replied.

"I do. And you would leave all this for him."

It was a dangerous thing for him to suggest, and Sydney noted the purposeful way he'd brought it up, knowing that Panacea was watching. Still, his words hit something deep and raw in her chest. She wanted to wince, but her expression stayed cool and composed.

"I would do whatever was needed," she said. "As I would for any mission."

Tems stared at her a moment longer. "He's lucky, you know," he said at last. "To have you watching his back."

She snorted. "I'm pretty sure he's never been in more danger than after he began working with me."

"He's lucky," Tems repeated. "I hope he knows that."

She thought of Sauda and the grief in the woman's eyes, thought of all the warnings she'd ever been given about falling in love in this line of work. She thought about whether or not she could bear following in Sauda's shoes.

"I would have stayed with you," Tems said. "If I could."

This was his old charisma coming out again, trying to worm his way back into her heart, telling her things that he didn't mean. Sometimes, people don't change. And once upon a time, she might have believed him, would have thought that he was someone who understood her solely because they had run through the same gauntlets together, had faced the same hardships together.

Now she just straightened and turned toward the cell door. She knew where her heart belonged, and she knew what she wanted to do.

"Goodbye, Tems," she said over her shoulder, and closed the door behind her.

The next night, Sydney found herself parking her rental car in front of a quiet house on an unassuming street in a suburb of Houston, Texas.

This time, Sauda hadn't sent her. Sydney was here on her own, and as she sat in the darkness of the car, she wondered if she was doing the right thing, if she should be opening this wound at all.

She reached into her bag and pulled out Niall's letter, the one he had hoped to give Quinn after his retirement.

Her thumbs glided across the sealed envelope. She'd found it in his desk drawer after helping Sauda sort through stacks of his files, had jotted down Quinn's address from it. Niall's handwriting was painstakingly neat, a contrast to his usual scrawl. The letter was even stamped and ready to go.

When Niall had first mentioned it to her, she had felt a tide of overwhelming envy and resentment, of her futile yearning for the love of a father that she never had. Now, all she felt was grief—and underneath it, a determination to set things right, however much she could, for a man that had been the closest thing to a father she'd ever known.

Now she was here, alone, more nervous than she ever was at the start of any official mission.

Make me proud, kid.

She looked back toward the house. Even now, there was a small part of her that wanted to be selfish, to wallow in her grief at losing Niall, a part of her that wanted to keep this letter for herself. That because Quinn had never known or understood her father, maybe she didn't deserve Niall's love as much as Sydney did.

She wiped tears from her face. She had been in and out of these crying sessions all day—perhaps she would never really be free from them.

What was it that Winter had said in his interview in Honolulu?

Griefis love. It's the price we pay for the gift of someone meaningful in our lives.

She knew Winter would do it, would give the letter to its rightful owner, and that no matter what, he would find a way to absorb the hurt to his open heart.

She wasn't sure if she was as good a person. But she could feel the pull of his influence on her all the same. Tems was right. Winter had changed her, in his own way.

She took a deep breath and composed herself. Then she stepped out of the car.

The only sound in the night was the clip of her boots on the stone walkway up to the house. Sydney rang the doorbell, then took a step back and waited. A few seconds passed, followed by the muffled sound of voices from inside.

Then the door opened, and Sydney found herself looking into the face of a slender young woman that reminded her immediately of Niall. The same soulful eyes, the same thick hair.

It had to be Quinn.

She gave Sydney an uncertain smile. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"I, ah—" Sydney began, her voice hoarse. She held out the letter to Quinn, handing over her heart. "I think this is for you."

Quinn frowned slightly. Behind her, Sydney heard the sound of a man, followed by a baby's cheerful gurgle.

Quinn took the letter, then gave Sydney a questioning look.

"Your father wanted you to have it," Sydney said.

Quinn's expression shifted, morphing from confusion to shock, to pain, then to a wary hope. Her eyes went down to the letter and back up to Sydney.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"A colleague," Sydney said. "And a friend."

When Quinn's hand tightened on the letter, Sydney took another step back. She didn't belong in this moment anymore. "Sorry to interrupt your night," she said politely.

And before Quinn could say anything more to her, she turned around and walked back to her car. Behind her, she could sense the woman standing there, filling with questions she didn't know how to ask, unsure how to handle the tide of emotions that the mention of her father had brought back.

Imperfect. The word echoed in Sydney's mind as she reached her car. When she glanced back at the house, the door had closed.

Imperfect. But we all did the best we could.

Then she got back into the car, took a deep breath, and drove off into the night.