In his elegant impeccable suit, Jack looked a bit like the Maltese Falcon, a cold, black figure with a carved stare that vowed intrigue and death; people's paths veered in an unconscious instinct to avoid him. But when Vaughn saw him, he felt his face light up from inside; the din and glare of the crowded airport faded, the late hour didn't seem late, and the rain pelting the windows was a pulse instead of a storm. In the moment Jack's eyes met his, Vaughn no longer had to hold himself aloof, and he blended into the living world again in welcome.