EvilPrincess
Cadet
Hi all! This is my first fanfic posting at AllAlias.com. Let me know what you think, please!
A/N: This is a completely AU fic. I love wondering what would have been different if Sydney had gone away with her mother, so this is how my imagination made things work out. I’ll try to regularly update, but I make no promises!
A/N2: I LOVE REVIEWS!!!
A/N3: I don’t own Alias or The Princess Bride, more’s the pity.
Chapter 1
Jack Bristow walked quickly through the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, his stride smooth and casual---predatory---despite the fact that his very presence in said office would be enough to kill him, if the wrong people found out. But then, Agent Bristow of the Ruthless Nature and Stormy Face (as he was known behind his back around the CIA office) had never been a very cautious person. It was clear, today, to everyone who knew him that he was once again on the war path, in search of Director Devlin, a man who had once been his friend, but now was mostly just an obstacle he was always trying to overcome.
Devlin was glad that he had informed the security guards to phone him if they saw Jack Bristow come to call. It was always much safer meeting the incensed agent somewhere public---where he would be (slightly) less inclined to yell or break things. Although he usually bore his old friend’s dressing-downs with patience, today he was in a bad mood. So, instead of waiting in his office for Jack to come complain about his new handler, Devlin had decided to make Jack come to him.
Jack Bristow was a man with little to lose and revenge to gain. Revenge on the world for taking his daughter, Sydney, away from him in the car accident staged by his KGB wife when she decided to leave. He was never in a good mood, he was always focused on the target, and he would mow over whoever was in his way. Rules were merely guidelines which, if they became troublesome, could be gotten around. He was also the best agent---a double agent, in fact---that this CIA office had to offer.
Agent Bristow had no friends; in his mind, friends were just people who could become a liability. The closest he had to one was a younger man named Michael Vaughn. Vaughn and Bristow were the CIA’s two double agents within SD-6, which made them valuable assets. It also meant that they spent a lot of time together; enough for a grudging respect to form between them.
Jack was a game strategist; maybe he could help Devlin figure out how a captured agent who probably worked for The Man, but whom they knew absolutely nothing else about, could be made to cooperate. Poor Agent Weiss, a good man and a solid, dependable worker, had been run through the wringer, so to speak, trying to deal with the troublesome agent.
“DEVLIN!” Devlin winced. The ire in Jack’s bellow was even greater than usual. Devlin turned around from where he stood facing the one-way mirror looking at the prisoner, expecting to see Jack standing in front of him. The thick steel door was still closed. Devlin was almost impressed; he hadn’t known Jack had such a set of lungs on him. Then the door opened, and Agent Jack Bristow, long-time CIA agent, double agent at SD-6, and widower, stood before him in all his rage.
“Hello, Jack,” Devlin greeted pleasantly.
“Devlin, you idiot,” Jack fumed. “Your new ‘handler’---” his voice dripped with disdain “---called me today at my home” this was said in a growl “requesting a meeting. When I got to the assigned meeting point, having wasted twenty minutes making sure I wasn’t tailed, that buffoon Lambert informed me that he decided we needed to meet. Get to know each other. Bond.”
Devlin sighed. Lambert wasn’t exactly the CIA’s number one choice for a handler, but then, finding a handler for Jack Bristow had become a nearly impossible task. “Jack, we both know that Lambert’s not a good enough agent to be the handler of a key double agent,” he said patiently. “I could assign you a better handler, except---wait, didn’t you scare them all off?”
“If those were your definition of good handlers, Devlin, then the CIA’s in more trouble than I thought it was.”
Devlin bit back a retort. It was a waste of time playing games of wit with Bristow. He always won. Instead, he tried changing the topic. “Look, Jack, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. Care to help me out with a little problem, and we can try to figure out the situation with you handler later?”
Jack grunted, which Devlin could only take to assume meant “yes.” “What’s going on?”
“A CIA team managed to apprehend an agent two days ago who we believe is working for Irina Derevko.” The CIA had only recently learned the identity of the new crime organization leader who was previously referred to only as “the Man.”
Jack could see where this was going. “You can’t get her to talk.” Then, under his breath, “And you wonder why I consider your agents incompetent.”
Devlin ignored the last bit. “No, we can’t. We don’t even know her name.”
“Who do you have working on her?”
“Weiss.”
“Weiss is already a handler, don’t you think this is a bit much to be putting on his plate?”
“Jack, right now we’re just trying to make first contact. You know how friendly and approachable Weiss is. Hopefully we’ll be able to pull him off by the time Vaughn gets back from his vacation.”
“So what’s been tried so far?”
Devlin grunted. “Weiss went in there and gave her a whole long spiel about how she should cooperate, and how that would get her comfortable surroundings. She replied in Russian---I had an agent translate it, she said---get this---‘Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.’” At Jack’s incomprehending look, he rolled his eyes. “It’s a quote from The Princess Bride, Jack. So, after we spent twenty minutes hunting down an agent who could translate that for us, we realized she had told us nothing. So, then Weiss started telling her how we knew she could speak English; that any half-decent agent had to speak English. She replied, in English with an extremely heavy Russian accent, and she sounded like she was struggling to speak English: ‘No, a half-decent agent can get by not speaking English. But to be a great spy, one must know that and many other languages, non?’”
He looked at Jack to see his reaction, and was startled to see him nodding thoughtfully. “Anyways, that got Weiss really excited, since he thought he was finally getting through to her. They spent the next three hours with him asking her questions, and her being totally open and helpful, taking a long time with her answers because of her thick accent and the struggle to translate. So, after those three hours, Weiss gets up and heads to the door. He turns around and says ‘thanks for cooperating.’ She replies, in perfectly unaccented English, ‘You’re welcome! Thanks for the chance to work on my Russian accent.’ And, of course, as soon as we began to check the things she told him, we found that she had been making everything up.”
“Tell me this again, Devlin---we know absolutely nothing about this agent?”
“Female, natural brown hair, brown eyes, height 5’11’’, weight 120, approximately 18 years old, agent for The Man---Irina Derevko. No matches in our photo database.”
Jack looked about to speak, when there was a nervous knock on the door. “What?” barked Devlin.
Haladki, an obnoxious, obsequious worm (only in the figurative sense, although he had some extremely slimy physical attributes, as well), popped his head in. “Uh, sir, Mr. Bristow, you should probably come see this.”
“What’s going on?”
“Agent Weiss got tired of sitting in a room with the prisoner, and he broke all protocol, sir---I tried to stop him---and had the prisoner led from the holding room.”
“What!?” Devlin exploded. What was Weiss thinking? “Where did he take her?”
“Uh he got exasperated and said that he didn’t believe she could be a certified field agent, because she’s so young. Also, our reports said that she didn’t put up much of a fight when she was captured, so Weiss decided to take her to the training room and make her fight some real agents.”
Devlin looked at Jack, who, to his surprise, was nodding approvingly. “This way, he can see two things: one, how good her skills are, which from the report don’t sound very impressive, and two, how well she responds to………physical persuasion. It was probably as good a choice as any, and I’d like to see how it turns out,” Jack said.
And, despite the fact that Devlin was supposed to be Jack’s superior, both Devlin and Haladki followed Agent Bristow as he led the way to the training room.
* * * * * *
The training room was crowded by the time they got there. They came in through a side door near the back of the room, which was why the prisoner’s back was facing them; she had oriented herself so that she had a clear line of vision through the main door. Classic spy technique.
Jack studied her closely, his well-trained powers of observation taking in every detail. She was slim, but athletic, with strong arm and leg muscles. He surmised that she was a runner. She was dressed casually in a black tank top, and form-fitting black pants which allowed maximum movement. She wore no shoes, but stood on the balls of her feet, bouncing almost imperceptibly. She was ready for anything. The only other thing he could tell was that she had brown hair a little longer than shoulder-length. *Like Laura’s* was his unwelcome thought.
As Jack watched, Agent Weiss entered through the main door. He had changed into a gym outfit of standard CIA t-shirt and shorts. He walked onto the mat, looking ready for a fight. Jack listened as the prisoner’s scornful laughter echoed around the room. “You want me to fight you?” She turned deliberately away from him even as she spoke. “You seem a decent fellow. I’d hate to kill you.”
That sounded to Jack like a quote, and he turned to Devlin inquisitively, thus missing the first opportunity to see her face, hearing Weiss’ rejoinder. “You don’t seem like a decent fellow. I’d hate to die.”
Devlin rolled his eyes. “Another Princess Bride quote. Seriously, Jack, watch a comedy every once in a while, will you?”
Jack didn’t bother gracing that comment with an answer. Instead, he turned back to the action, and his heart stopped.
It wasn’t that he was impressed by the way she gracefully spun back around to face Weiss, catching his punch mid-throw and throwing him to the ground with a loud “oomph,” although in other circumstances he would have been.
It wasn’t that he was awe-struck by the way that she began tossing agents around the room as they rushed at her, first individually and then in groups, although Devlin and the other observers were open-mouthed.
It wasn’t that he was struck by her incredible beauty, although few men who saw her weren’t.
It was the fact that he knew her face, knew it as well as his own. The fact that that face haunted him in dreams. The fact that a younger version of that face had been one that he lovingly remembered with tears in his eyes.
As she spun around to face another attacker (the agents were still acting in good sport, although the guards at the doors were looking nervous and beginning to aim guns at the calm woman who had suddenly become a fighting machine), her eyes met his. She froze, barely reacting as her distraction gave a lucky agent the chance to land a punch in her stomach. She stared at him for a long moment before abruptly turning away. Striding with a quick, fluid pace through the main doors (prompting the startled guards to hurry after her and make sure she didn’t escape), she fled from the usually-stoic agent who was staring after her, his eyes carefully hiding his hidden, turbulent emotions. Shock---she was alive! Hurt---after all this time, she hadn’t even acknowledged him. Fear---now that she was reentering his life, would Laura be far behind? Fury---how could Laura allow her to become a spy? And, above all those feelings, one which stood out the most. Ecstasy---she was alive!
“Jack?” Devlin’s concerned voice broke through his reverie. “Are you all right?”
Jack turned to the man who was once his friend, and looked at him for a long moment in silence. “Her name is Sydney Bristow,” he said calmly and coolly, before turning on his heel and striding through the door his daughter had passed through moments before.
Chapter 2
Sydney sat quietly in the interrogation room waiting for her father to arrive. She knew he would; while it was possible that some fathers might flee from the new problems presented when they learned that their supposedly-dead daughter was in fact a terrorist, she knew he wouldn’t. It seemed to be a Bristow family trait to charge head-on into danger. They weren’t reckless, per se, but they were passionate, and allowed that passion to drive them.
As she expected, the door opened only minutes after she had settled herself. She tried to do as she was told, tried to compartmentalize her emotions, to choke down the rising trepidation, anxiety, nervousness, whatever you would call it that she felt when faced with the situation of meeting her father after twelve years of grief and separation.
She still saw that instant only a short time ago when she had seen him for the first time in all those years. She had felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she had allowed herself to go all-out, to really feel alive for the first time in several days. She loved to fight, and she was very, very good at it. Although, to be honest, she was very good at all aspects of her job as a spy. Anyways, she had been about to turn and face a new opponent when she had turned and caught sight of him.
Her mother had not allowed her to have any pictures of her father when she was growing up. She said that they needed to forget him, that the living should look to the living and not expect solace from the dead. She said that they did not need the constant reminder of what they had lost that a picture would provide. Despite that, despite not having a physical picture of her father to look at, Sydney had never forgotten his face.
That was why now, twelve years later, she could perform a fairly accurate observation of how he had changed. He had grayed a lot; more than she had expected. He had more frown wrinkles around his mouth, and less laugh wrinkles around his eyes. His eyes. They were so haunted when she looked into them, but in that instant when they saw each other, she could have sworn that she saw joy in those eyes. He was no less fit than he had been that long time ago, although the pristine suit he wore today was much more formal than the usual casual dress clothes he had worn around his family.
She wondered what differences he saw when he looked at her.
Sydney was slightly surprised by the nervousness she felt. She was worried that she would be rejected, that he wouldn’t be willing to let her back into his life. The past twelve years of her life had been a lie; now that she knew that, she could only pray that the one rock from her old life was still as much an anchor as she remembered. And, considering the fact that she had only been six when he had “died” and they had fled the country, she remembered quite a lot. She remembered riding high on his shoulders. She remembered him wearing a ridiculous beard and red outfit in his Santa imitation at Christmas. She remembered him tucking her into bed, reading her, not anything young and silly, but classics that she was far too young to understand. She remembered how much she loved him.
So, when the door opened and her father entered the room, she didn’t allow herself time to think. She didn’t let herself slide into one of her aliases as she sometimes did to get herself out of tough situations she wanted to deal with. Instead, she stood quickly from her chair, launching herself at his stiff form and throwing her arms around him.
They stood like that for several minutes, with her clinging to him, before she felt her heart break. She felt the tears slip from her eyes as she felt the sting of his rejection. She was about to pull away, to turn around and become Kate Jones, or maybe Nadia Derevko, both strong women who could tell him that it had all been a mistake, when she felt him hesitantly put his arms around her. Gently at first, then stronger, he hugged her back, and she could almost imagine that the past twelve years hadn’t happened, and that he was still her daddy comforting her as a child.
After several more minutes of enjoying his company (and hoping he was enjoying hers), Sydney reluctantly pulled away. She quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed her nose. She was careful not to look at him, afraid what she might see. She hurried over to her chair and sat down before finally letting herself look up at him. She was surprised to see that he had been crying, too. His eyes were red, and the emotion in them was so open, so blatantly laid bare, that she knew that he was trusting her completely---trusting that she would not abuse his trust.
They sat that way for several long minutes, neither knowing what to say to the other. Finally Sydney broke the silence in a scratchy voice. “You were dead. I still remember.. . that night, mum came in my room---said we had to go.. . that you had died, that we had to flee the country, that we were being hunted. So she drove us over a bridge into the water, then pulled me out and took me to where a boat was waiting to take us away. To Russia.”
Jack nodded, listening but at the same time not. He had known, after all, that Laura had survived the accident and fled. What had remained unclear was whether she had rescued Sydney as well, or whether she was truly as heartless as she had seemed, and she had left her daughter to die. Either possibility had seemed likely.
Sensing that she had finished talking for the moment, he told her, in an unsteady voice, “You were dead, too. Your.. . mother did a good job staging your death. I didn’t know that you were alive until, well, five minutes ago. It wasn’t until a year after both of you died---a year after my world crashed---that the CIA told me. That your mother was KGB. That there was a high likelihood that she was alive. But they didn’t know about you. I looked, S-Sydney, I swear I did, and when I found.. . nothing.. . it broke me. I loved---love you so much.”
“I love you, too, daddy,” Sydney said in a small voice, wincing at how she sounded like a five year old again.
They sat for several more minutes of silence, but reveling at how much joy a reunion could bring. Eventually, Jack forced himself to ask the questions he knew the CIA wanted answered. “S-Sydney,” he still couldn’t say her name without stuttering it “what are you doing here?” He felt a sudden hope. “You didn’t come to see.. . me, did you? I saw the way you fought in there. A pair of CIA agents couldn’t possibly have subdued and captured you. You came of your own free will.”
She looked uncomfortable (more uncomfortable than she already looked). “You’re right. I did come here to see someone. Someone I need to find………” She trailed off.
He felt a stabbing disappointment at that, and a stirring of jealousy. “Who? Who are you looking for? I don’t understand.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I think we need to start a little earlier in the story,” she said softly. “You have to understand, Mo---Ir---Laura told me that she was KGB when I was nine. By then, I had mourned you, but I had started to open up to other people again. I think she waited till I was comfortable to knock me off my feet again. By that point, I had no one, no friends. She was my world. So when she told me she was loyal to Russia, I became loyal to Russia. And, when I was thirteen, and she told me she was loyal to The Man, I became loyal to The Man. Laura was the woman who could do no wrong, in my eyes. I wanted to be just like her.”
Jack looked stricken by her words. Laura had manipulated their daughter. She had played upon her love and trust to force her into the world of espionage. He was furious.
“And I was. I was an avid student, I studied literature because she did. And, when I was sixteen, I announced to her that I was going to be a spy like she was. She was horrified, to say the least. She told me she had never planned on me becoming an agent, that she wanted me to live a normal life.” In a completely teenage gesture, Sydney rolled her eyes. “It was too late for that, though. I mean, she had taught me martial arts at a young age as a matter of course. The same applied for languages. And I had grown up around some of the best experts in the business. Sark---you know about Sark?”
Jack nodded. How could they not? He was the brilliant young man who had suddenly appeared when he slaughtered the leaders of FTL, then murdered the leader of K-Directorate.
“Sark was around all the time after I turned twelve. He taught me about disguises, stealth, everything he knew. I think he thought I was a charming child. There were others, too, who taught me when I asked. So, when Mo---Laura absolutely refused to make me an agent, I didn’t listen. I had planted a bug in the conference room days before I told her of my decision---” at Jack’s shocked look, she said defensively, “What? I was a kid, and I had a way of spying on my mother. What else was I supposed to do? Anyway, I started pre-empting her agents. I would listen in on the mission specs, then beat her agents to the punch. After this happened a couple of times, she relented. I had proven my skills, and she couldn’t refuse just because I was her daughter.”
Jack thought she should have tried a little harder, though. He would have tied her up in her room rather than let her become an agent.
“I was very successful, as I’m sure you must know. I became her best agent; people never suspected that the young girl was a spy waiting to steal their most prized possessions. It was easy, it was fun. I loved it. And then came the day I found out.” Her voice broke, and she stared down at her hands for several long moments before continuing.
When she did continue, she didn’t come straight out with what she wanted to say. “Did you ever learn Mo---Laura’s real Russian name?”
“No. She covered her tracks too well.” Jack remembered full well how appalled he had been when he had been unable to find even a trace of her true identity.
She nodded. “While you were married to mom, there were a number of CIA agents who were.. . killed in cold blood. Cruelly. Efficiently. They were people who had gotten in the KGB’s way at one time or another, or simply agents who were getting close to things they were never supposed to find. The woman who killed these agents was named Irina Derevko.”
At his swift inhalation of breath, she knew he recognized the name. Irina Derevko was The Man. He closed his eyes as he waited for the ax to fall, waited for her to confirm that his wife, the woman he had loved, really had been a cold-blooded murderer.
“Irina Derevko’s alias in America was Laura Bristow.”
There. She had done it. She had betrayed her mother to the American government. For years, Irina had been so careful to avoid either she or Sydney being photographed. She had scrupulously constructed aliases for them which would keep them off the CIA’s radar. She had ensured that for years the CIA---and other espionage organizations---hadn’t even known The Man’s real name. And now, with a few simple words, Irina’s own daughter was giving the CIA intimate details of her life.
“How---how did you learn all of this?” Jack choked out.
“The bugs I planted in the conference rooms. I listened as she admitted that she had murdered those agents simply because she had been ordered to. She told Khasinau all the details---how some had begged, while others defied her to the end. It was like---it was like she was reciting the details of a book, Dad!” she cried. “Like it didn’t matter to her what she had done. I was---am---horrified.”
That makes two of us, thought Jack. How could he have been so blind, to let her do these terrible things behind his back? He had never suspected her of deceit of any kind.
“So you decided to come here and help the CIA bring her down?” he surmised. He was a little surprised that her anger at her mother was enough for her to take an action which would likely mean the death penalty for the woman who had raised her.
“No!” Sydney said vehemently. “I have no loyalty to the U.S., to the CIA.”
He frowned. “Then, why are you here, Sydney?” He felt like a stern father interrogating his teenage daughter. It didn’t occur to him that that was actually what was happening.
“I.. .remembered the names of the agents Irina killed,” she said shortly. “I did a search of them, I had to learn everything there was to know about them.” She paused for a long time. “They were all people, you know? Normal people. Most were married; some had been divorced. And one left a child behind.”
His breath caught, and he said the name in his mind even as she articulated it.
“Michael Vaughn. Such a simple name, to contain the worlds of pain he must have felt when his father was murdered, taken from him at such a young age. By my mother.” She shook her head. “Irina didn’t raise me religious. I’ve always thought it better to believe in myself than to hope a higher power will save me. But I do have a strong set of beliefs. One is that debts must be repaid. Lives taken must be repaid by lives given.”
He was afraid he saw where she was going with this. “Sydney---”
She cut him off. “Children inherit the crimes of their parents, don’t they?” she asked rhetorically. “I would say that Michael Vaughn is owed a large debt by the Derevko family. I’m here to try to repay that debt.” She stared at the table in front of her, looking so like a lost child that Jack had to resist the urge to gather her in his arms and try to protect her from the world.
“Sydney, the things your mother has done---they’re not your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t blame yourself for what she did while she was married to you? That you feel no guilt that you didn’t catch her, didn’t realize what she was doing?” His silence told her his answer. Tears were pouring down her face as she cried, “Then how do you think I feel? I lived with this woman for seventeen years, worked for her for one, without even suspecting the evil hiding behind her façade. If my blindness doesn’t land the burden of her debts right on my shoulders, I don’t know what could.”
He sighed. She was wrong. He knew it in his heart, but he didn’t know how to tell her with words. True, he blamed himself for not having discovered his wife’s guilt, but still---she shouldn’t blame herself! “So you’re here to help him by helping the CIA? Doing what, exactly?”
She looked him straight in the eye as she answered. “You and Michael Vaughn are the CIA’s two double agents within SD-6, one of the stronger branches of the Alliance. I know that Vaughn’s entire life is devoted to bringing down SD-6, ever since his fiancé was executed for learning the truth. I want to help destroy SD-6.”
He stared at her incredulously. “How? Sydney, I don’t even think you should be a spy. How do you propose to help us bring down SD-6? You have no connection to that place.” He said that last with a confidence he forced himself to feel. He didn’t know if what he had just said was true, or whether she had in fact worked for the Alliance, as well.
“I don’t have much of a connection to it,” she agreed. “But it will be easy enough for me to become an agent there. I mean, I’m sure that it’s helpful for the CIA having a game strategist and an agent to report to it, but another agent can only help. I know that Vaughn has been having trouble sabotaging missions because he has his partner looking over his shoulder. Well, now that his partner is dead, he’ll be needing a new one. A double agent team would be much more effective.”
Jack was shaking his head. “Sydney, this is crazy talk! Even if you have the skill to be an SD-6 agent---” the doubt in his tone caused her to turn bright red in fury “---it would take you years to earn the head of SD-6’s trust enough to be an effective double agent.”
Sydney was glaring at him. “First of all,” she spat, “never doubt my skills as an agent. I’ll remind you that I’ve retrieved more Rambaldi artifacts than all the CIA agents combined. I can outfight any SD-6 agent. Heck, if we want to talk about really good, useful skills, I can defuse a nuclear bomb in under 30 seconds.”
He gaped at her, and she thought for a moment before realizing what she had said. She turned an even deeper red, but this time in embarrassment. “Well, the last was only the once,” she mumbled.
“Where?” he asked in a strangled voice.
She looked at him from under her lashes. “Grand Central Station.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment. “I don’t even want to think about what that means,” he muttered. Then he looked back up at her. “But what I said was still true. Fine, you could get the job if you wanted. But it would take you so long to get the boss’s trust that---”
She interrupted him, her embarrassment replaced by a victorious grin. “I know that joke I played on him last Christmas might put him a little on his toes, but I don’t think that’s enough for Uncle Arvin to stop trusting me!” she protested playfully.
He froze. “Uncle Arvin?” he gasped. This girl was just full of surprises.
“Of course. We see him once a year; last year it was Christmas. We’re great friends.”
He frowned uncertainly. “You do know you would be betraying him by being a double agent?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
Her playful look was gone in an instant. “He killed Vaughn’s fiancé for learning the same thing I just learned about my mother. There can be no trust between liars,” she said in a hard voice.
Jack slumped back in his chair, feeling defeated. He had just gotten his daughter back, and now, at the first opportunity, she was going to fling herself gung-ho into a dangerous environment because she thought that would make the son of the man her mother killed feel better. He had one last hope: “I’ll have to talk to Director Devlin about it.”
She looked at him, and the laughter in her eyes told him that she knew he knew he was out of excuses. “Very well.”
He gazed at her longingly before standing and walking to the door. “Wait---” he heard her call from behind him. He turned, gaze inquiring.
“A man named McKennas Cole tried to break into SD-6 on behalf of The Man a short while ago,” she said. “I assume you know about that. He never reported in; I don’t suppose you know where he is?” Her voice was carefully uninterested. Jack felt his heart squeeze. His daughter couldn’t possible feel anything for that man could she? He was an insane, sadistic freak.
“He’s in CIA custody.” Why did I tell her that?
“Good,” she said with a grin. At his perplexed look, she explained, “He calls me Pigtails. I’ve always hated that. And, about a year ago, he tried to get me to go on a date with him. I told him I’d break both his knee caps if he ever talked to me again.” She looked smug. “The sleaze got what he deserved.”
Jack simply nodded, feeling more flummoxed by the moment. And, upon her last charming sentence, he left the room, closing the door behind him and thinking that that room contained the only person he loved in this world. He leaned against the door for several long moments, feeling his strength solidify and his usual cool demeanor slowly return. When he felt properly fortified, he narrowed his eyes. Time to find Devlin.
Chapter 3
Eric Weiss was normally a very placid guy. He didn’t let things ruffle his feathers, so to speak. He found simple pleasure in the joys of getting drunk and of playing with a yo-yo. He tried not to let himself get too stressed about work, because he knew once you started down that path you were lost to the terrible world of sleepless nights and unending worry.
He was afraid that he had started down that path.
It was nine o’clock at night and he was still at work. Everyone else had left except the night-shift guards, but somehow he found himself still sitting at his desk and trying to grapple with this new situation. He had been shocked, to say the least, to learn that Jack Bristow had a daughter. Somehow he couldn’t picture a woman ever marrying the man, let alone having a child with him. He had always taken comfort in the fact that no matter how riled up he and Mike---Michael Vaughn---got about a situation at SD-6, Jack Bristow would always take care of the situation with his cool collection and biting, sarcastic remarks.
But now things were different.
Jack had a daughter, for one thing. For another, she was a butt-kicking terrorist with a love of The Princess Bride. For another, he told himself, wishing he had a beer, her mother---Jack’s wife (Jack had been horrified to realize he was still officially married to the woman)---was The Man. Irina Derevko. The murderer of Mike’s father. For another, he sighed to himself, wishing he had a yo-yo, Sydney Bristow was here because she felt some strange obligation to help Mike because her mother killed his father. Weiss didn’t think Mike would appreciate her help; in fact, he was afraid that Mike would try to kill her once he learned the connection she had to his father’s death. Although, to be honest, he knew that Sydney would be able to kick his agent’s butt without breaking a sweat.
Of course, that would probably put them off on the wrong foot, since she had decided to be Mike’s partner, and somehow she had convinced Devlin to approve her as a CIA agent within SD-6.
He growled to himself. Mike was the first agent he had ever handled; before Mike came along a year or so ago, he had just been a paper-pusher. He had tried to do as he had been told, had tried not to get involved with his agent, but he couldn’t help it. Mike was so broken when they met; fresh back from a meeting with an amateur dentist who had never heard of anesthetics, he had just learned that SD-6 was in fact not part of the CIA. The entire life he had thought he was living had been a lie, and his ignorance had led to the death of his fiancé, Alice. Weiss hadn’t been able to keep himself from pitying his agent. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that Michael Vaughn did not appreciate pity. It also didn’t take long for Weiss’ pity to morph into awe and respect at his agent’s dedication and skill. Despite his best attempts to avoid emotional ties, he had found himself becoming a good friend to Mike; the only person Mike could really talk to (other than Jack Bristow, and nobody could talk to Jack Bristow).
He was worried about the effect the appearance of Jack’s daughter would have on his friend’s equilibrium. He rubbed his eyes. At least they had several days to figure out what to do. Mike was on a vacation in Santa Barbara; after his last mission, in which his partner, Dixon, had died, and he had been captured and had barely escaped with his life, even Arvin Sloane acknowledged that he deserved some time off. He was due back at the end of the week.
He turned off his computer. What were Sydney’s intentions? She was a terrorist who had worked against the CIA for at least a year, who even acknowledged that she had no loyalty to the CIA, but for some reason people had decided to trust her. Weiss had never thought he would think this, but maybe Jack was letting his emotions get in the way of his work. She was probably out to betray them all!
He began to walk out of the office when he stopped. She was in the building with him, after all. Why shouldn’t he have a conversation with her, to try to find out her real intentions? *Even though she probably thinks I’m a complete fool* he thought glumly. When he had attempted to punch her from behind on the training mat earlier that day, he hadn’t dreamt that he would soon find himself lying flat on his back, all the breath knocked out of him and a roaring headache beginning to form. Then, of course, there was that fiasco earlier that day with the Russian accent.. .
*STOP* he commanded himself. He couldn’t let her intimidate him; after all, she was the one locked up in a cage. He took a deep breath and went to see the prisoner.
* * * * *
She had been moved from the interrogation room to a high-security holding cell. Weiss had to walk through several barred gates before he found himself standing in front of her cell. There was a thin but extremely strong layer of glass which separated them. He got an eery feeling that he was Clarice meeting Hannibal in the Silence of the Lambs. He found himself inanely wondering whether she was able to smell his fear.
She was seated on the floor with her back facing him, and she was breathing deeply. After a moment, she stood and turned to face him. “A meditation my mother taught me,” she said in her sweet voice. “All the benefits of sleep in a fraction of the time.”
He began to nod, but he caught himself and stopped. *Don’t let her distract you!* “I want to know what your intentions are toward Mike.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Mike? I assume you mean Michael Vaughn? You are, after all, his handler, are you not, Agent Weiss?” She seemed perfectly calm in the face of his suspicion.
“How did you know that?” he demanded. The fact that Mike even had a handler was a huge secret; if she was able to learn the identity of his handler, then she---and by extension, The Man, and whoever else found out---held the power to reveal Mike’s double agent status.
She laughed slightly, a pleasant sound. “Please, Weiss,” she said. “Have enough respect for me to know that I did my research before I came here. As to my intentions towards your---friend?” She seemed to want his confirmation that he thought of Mike as a friend. He nodded reluctantly. “I merely want to help him. I’m sure you’ve read the transcript of my conversation with my father. I told no lies. My sole purpose here is to help him get the life he wants, and deserves.” Her words and tone held the ring of truth.
He stared at her uncertainly. “What happened to you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re---different than you were earlier today. Your entire attitude has changed.”
She considered his question briefly, wondering how much to tell him. She decided on the complete truth; for some reason, she found herself wanting this man to like her. Not just because he was Vaughn’s friend, but because he seemed like a nice man in his own right. “I’m a spy, Agent Weiss. In the past year I’ve assumed so many aliases, it’s hard to keep them straight. However, I do keep a store of them, of sorts, which I can draw upon if I ever find myself in a situation for which one of them is more suited than Sydney Bristow.”
He looked confused. “So... who am I talking to right now?”
“Kate Jones.”
“Why do you feel the need to hide behind your aliases? I would rather talk to Sydney Bristow than any non-existent alias.”
Her face shifted in an instant, her cool composure losing to an expression of shame, disgust, and unhappiness. “Because, Agent Weiss,” she spat, and he knew he was talking to Sydney now, “after all my aliases, sometimes it’s hard to know exactly who I am. And, with the things I’ve learned in the past few weeks, the things I feel about what I’ve learned, I don’t know that I want to be Sydney Bristow.” He was shocked to see tears falling slowly down her face.
In moments, she had converted his feelings toward her from fear and anger to---sympathy?
“But I’ll promise you right now, Weiss, as Sydney Bristow, that I would never, never hurt Vaughn. I’m here to make up for the fact that he was hurt. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where my true loyalty lies, Agent Weiss, especially now that I’m becoming a double agent. But those that I am loyal to, I would never betray. I’ve committed myself to helping Agent Vaughn bring down SD-6. I would die to see that goal fulfilled.”
He gazed into her passionate eyes and believed every word. He wondered sadly how someone so young could be so old.
Finally he nodded. “Thank you for that. Mike is... a very good agent, but sometimes I worry that his obsession with bringing down SD-6 will kill him. It’s good to know there’ll be someone else there to help him.”
She nodded. “I’ll take care of him,” she promised.
He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I guess I’ll let you go now.”
He turned to leave, but stopped when she called, “Wait!” He turned. “Stay with me for a while, please? I’m not used to being so alone.”
“Um... OK,” he said hesitantly. He wondered if he was going to get in trouble for conversing with the prisoner. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” she suggested.
His eyes widened, and he had another flash to his Clarice-Hannibal picture of this situation. “How about we make a deal? Whatever you ask me, you have to answer, too.”
She smiled at him, and it was the first genuine smile he had seen on her face. “You’re cleverer than you look, Agent Weiss,” she said, and he wasn’t sure whether he had just been complimented. “Very well. What’s your favorite movie?”
He thought about lying and saying a very manly movie, but he suspected she would know if he was lying. “The Thomas Crown Affair,” he admitted. He was glad to see that she nodded approvingly. “You?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “The Princess Bride. Oh, and I was wanting to commend you for being able to quote that at me. Very impressive for a twenty-something CIA agent.”
“Thanks... I think.”
“Favorite childhood memory?”
“My first kiss. I was five, and she was four. She left me for a boy with a skateboard, a day later, though.”
She laughed. “Mine is of my sixth birthday. Every birthday, we would go to the zoo and I would play with the animals. My sixth was the first year I was able to ride the ponies, with my parents on both sides of me waiting to catch me if I fell. And I knew that they would always be there for me.” She was suddenly sobered. “Of course, my next birthday was spent running for my life as someone found my mother and me hiding in Russia.”
He felt a resurgence of pity for her. He couldn’t imagine living a life on the run; in fact, the fact that he was a handler and not a field agent meant that he didn’t even need to conceal his identity from the people he loved. He knew how Mike hated living a double---or, in his case, triple---life, and he could imagine that Sydney hated it as much. “OK,” he said cheerfully. “My turn to ask a question.” Over her protestations that that wasn’t the deal, he shook his head. “No, no, I get to have a turn. Let’s see...I know Mike is always dying his hair for his missions. How many hair colors have you had, and what was your favorite?”
She grinned. “You just had to ask vain old me about my hair color, didn’t you? I try to be relatively conservative with my hair colors. You know, I like to stick to good old bright pink, or blue. I’ve probably had dyes and wigs of five colors or so. My favorite is my natural brown. How about you? How many wacky hair colors have you tried, Mr. Secret Agent Man?”
He smirked. “Well, when I was about fifteen, I had my hair dyed green. After my mother’s dressing-down when she saw me, I’ve stuck to my natural color, too. Although, I must say, choosing between my natural beauty with either green or brown hair would be difficult.” He fluttered his eyelashes at her in what he clearly thought was an alluring way. She laughed.
They were still sitting there an hour later, when Weiss looked at his watch and realized that it was probably time to go home. He had enjoyed her company immensely, and he liked to think that she had appreciated his, as well. He had expected her to be clever, sarcastic like her father, and probably a curmudgeon. He hadn’t expected her to be funny or to be able to provide more Monty Python quotes than even he could manage.
He reluctantly stood to leave. “Well, good night,” he said.
“Good night,” she replied softly. “And, Agent Weiss, thank you.”
“For what?”
“I know you didn’t have to come speak with me. In fact, you would probably get in trouble if your supervisors learned that you had spent the past hour down here. But, it’s good to know there’s a nice, funny, smart guy Vaughn can depend on, and who, I think, I’ve become friends with. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me, and to let me get to know you.” She blushed slightly, looking embarrassed, and retreated to a corner of her cell, lying on her bed, listening to his footsteps as he walked away.
* * * * * *
*I’m a nice, funny, smart guy? Vaughn, look out. You’re gonna love this gal, and I don’t know if even you can withstand the emotional rollercoaster that would involve!*
Chapter 4
Sydney Bristow glided through the front doors of Credit Dauphine, SD-6’s front company, as if she did it every day. She was dressed primly in a dress suit, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were determined. She made her way to the executive elevator, her stride aggressive. She knew that, by now, she had been spotted by five security cameras on the ground floor of the bank. She also knew that the cameras would find no match for her picture in their database, so the people at SD-6 wouldn’t be alerted as to her arrival. Sloane was the only person at the SD-6 office who knew what she looked like; by the time he got involved in trying to identify her, she’d already be within SD-6.
The guard in the executive elevator moved his hand to the blatantly displayed gun at his side. “This is the executive elevator,” he growled. “Take a different one.”
She smiled at him. He was put off by that smile; so young a face should not know how to look so predatory. While he was still off guard, she stepped quickly into the elevator, knocking his hand away from his gun, pulling it out of its holster, and discharging the ammunition in one smooth motion. She dropped the gun on the ground. When the guard had quit cursing and looked back up at her, she was still smiling that frightening smile.
“If I had wanted to kill you, I could have,” she told him quietly. He knew she was right; she had moved so quickly his eyes hadn’t been able to follow. She had moved quickly enough that no one on the ground floor of the building had noticed what she had done. “Arvin Sloane’s a good friend of mine. He’ll want to see me.” When the guard still hesitated, she grabbed his right arm in her left hand, slowly squeezing a pressure point. He gasped in pain. “Of course,” she said pleasantly, “even if I were here to kill Sloane or destroy SD-6, you’d let me down. You have no choice.” That wasn’t true, of course. How many times had her mother told her you always have a choice, even if there are no good ones? Still, it gave the pained guard the impetus he needed to use his key to lower them into the basement, then deeper. SD-6 was located, appropriately, nearly as close to the bowels of the earth as an elevator could go.
* * * * *
Michael Vaughn sighed as he entered Credit Dauphine. Officially, he still had two days of vacation which he should be spending lounging on a beach somewhere. Since Alice’s death, though, he hadn’t felt comfortable taking time off. It felt too much like he was taking a break from his quest to avenge her. So, here he was, back fighting the good fight two days early.
The security guard of the executive elevator was in his usual place, although he looked decidedly more disturbed than usual. “Hey, George,” Vaughn greeted. “What’s going on?”
“A woman forced her way into SD-6 a few minutes ago,” the guard replied. “Those moves she used, I didn’t even have time to think before she had disarmed me. The guards in SD-6 should be taking care of her right now, though.”
Vaughn looked thoughtful on the quick ride down to SD-6. He hadn’t thought that anyone would be stupid enough to try to break into SD-6 at a time like this; after Cole’s attack, SD-6 was on its guard even more than usual. Then the doors of the elevator opened, and he was greeted by chaos.
Three guards were down in various states of disrepair. Every agent and desk-worker at SD-6 were positioned in a semi-circle facing the elevator doors; most were pointing weapons. The center of the mess was a young brunette with her back to him. Vaughn crept forward slowly and stealthily, preparing to take her from behind, thanking God that she hadn’t seemed to notice his arrival, preoccupied as she was. That is, he thought that until he heard her call to him, “Whoever’s behind me, please don’t come any closer. Burst my personal bubble and I’ll have to fight you, guns or no guns. Then what would we have? A mess with bits of me and bits of you strung all over this tidy office. I don’t think Mr. Sloane would appreciate that.”
Vaughn was spared having to respond when he heard Sloane’s voice. Clearly, the crime cell leader had just emerged from his office. He was shorter and older than most of the workers at SD-6; nevertheless, he made his presence clear when he barked in a clear, strong voice, “Vaughn, stand down.” Then, to the woman, “I find that terrorists who break into my office rarely know what I would appreciate.” He was quickly pushing his way through the crowd of confused and angry workers.
Vaughn was intrigued; the woman tensed when she heard his name. She scoffed at that last bit by Sloane, though, “Oh, Uncle Arvin, I’m hardly some terrorist who doesn’t know anything about your preferences.”
“Sydney?” Sloane choked. “What the he---what are you doing here?” He took in the carnage around her, where the guards were still unconscious.
“Relax,” she said with a grin. “I come in peace.” He still looked unconvinced. “Look, if I were trying to perform another half-thought out SD-6 infiltration plan like that idiot Cole, I wouldn’t have come here unarmed.” Sloane looked less dubious at this; in fact, his eyebrow quirked in amusement as he looked pointedly at his guards. “Hey,” she said defensively. “I told them not to touch me.”
Sloane sighed. “Gentlemen, ladies, you can put down your weapons. Sydney, let’s talk in my office, please.”
She nodded. “Of course.” She began to walk away, but then turned to the man who had tried to creep up behind her. “Agent Vaughn, eh? Nice to meet you,” she said to the confused agent. He slowly took her offered her hand, marveling at her firm grip. Well, that and her beautiful countenance. And the way that little thing, who could only be 19 or so, had taken out three highly trained guards. And the fact that she knew Sloane on a friendly basis, something he hadn’t thought possible. At his flummoxed look, she smiled. “Well, be seeing you...” she said in a soft voice, her voice trailing off as she walked away.
He only stared after her in shock.
* * * * * *
Shock that only increased when, an hour later, she and Sloane came out of his office, she smiling and looking like the cat that ate the canary, and Sloane beaming like a proud uncle. Which...she had seemed to say he was. The two walked unhurriedly to the conference room, and Sloane left her there. When he came out, he called, “Agent Vaughn? Come to the conference room, please.”
Vaughn was getting even more perplexed. What did this fascinating young woman have to do with him? He followed Sloane obediently. When the three of them were alone in the conference room, Sloane pushed the button which solidly closed the thick plastic wall-doors.
“Michael Vaughn, I’d like you to meet Sydney Bristow,” Sloane said, his oily voice doing its best imitation of pride and encouragement.
Vaughn gaped. “Sydney Bristow as in---Jack Bristow?”
Sydney smiled. “He’s my father. We’ve been...somewhat estranged these past twelve years.” Vaughn could tell by the way she didn’t look him in the eye that there was more to it than that.
Vaughn stood rock still as his mind raced. Jack had never told him he had a daughter. True, Jack never told him anything about his personal life, but Vaughn had thought that had been because Jack didn’t have a personal life. Sloane seemed to be expecting him to speak, but Vaughn couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Sloane frowned. “Since Dixon’s unfortunate death, we’ve been looking for a replacement partner for you, Agent Vaughn. Sydney’s it.”
Vaughn’s eyes widened. *NO!* He had so hoped that now that Dixon had died---*don’t think about that, it’ll only distract you*---he could work solo ops, which would give him the chance to betray SD-6 without a partner looking over his shoulder. Now, Sloane wanted him to work with this girl, who hadn’t even worked for SD-6 two hours ago?
“But, Mr. Sloane, I really feel that I’m ready to start taking solo missions,” he protested desperately, ignoring the annoyed look Ms. Bristow shot at him.
Sloane looked unconvinced. “You’ve proven your skills in the field time and again, Agent Vaughn,” he said placatingly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to go into the field without back-up. Sydney here is, from what I’ve heard, a terrific agent who can teach all of us here at SD-6 a thing or two about the spy business.”
Vaughn stared. From what he’d heard? What on earth did that mean? Sloane hadn’t even seen her in action and he was going to foist her off on him? He hadn’t even seen her, and he thought that she would be able to teach SD-6 about the spy game?
Sydney turned to Arvin. “Why don’t you let me talk to him?” she asked. “I’ve been in enough situations with people I’ve been told were impressive but who turned out to be incompetent that I know how hard it is to just blindly trust your life to someone.”
Sloane looked like he was about to agree, but the last thing Vaughn wanted was to have a one-on-one discussion with this girl, if he could help it. He had the uneasy feeling of a mouse being examined by a cat waiting to pounce. He was afraid that if he gave her the chance to examine him, to really examine him, she would somehow be able to divine his true identity, and that was a risk he must not take.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said curtly. “I don’t doubt Agent Bristow’s abilities. I just...am not quite comfortable with the idea of getting a new partner so soon after Dixon.”
Sloane nodded. “I understand that, Agent Vaughn, but I’m afraid I need you out in the field, and I’m not letting you out alone. I’m confident that you and Sydney will learn to work together.”
He nodded grudgingly. “Fine. Do you have a mission for us?”
Sloane shook his head. “No. You’re back early from your vacation, remember? I just thought that since you were here you’d like to be introduced to your new partner.” He looked at Vaughn with those piercing eyes of his, which seemed to stare straight into his soul. “Sydney, would you leave us alone, please? I’d like to speak with Agent Vaughn.”
She frowned slightly in curiosity. “Sure. Actually, I need to go take care of my lodging situation anyways, so if you won’t be needing me again today...?”
He smiled. “No. Go ahead, get settled in. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Goodbye, Agent Vaughn.”
He mumbled something that sounded like “goodbye,” watching as she left through the now-open doors. He then turned to face Sloane, who was watching him through narrowed eyes.
“You should know, Agent Vaughn,” he said in slow, deliberate tones, “that Sydney is very special to me. I look upon her almost as my own daughter. I do not doubt her skills as an agent; I think you’ll be impressed. However, I would like to ask that you do your best to look out for her.”
Vaughn was once again caught off-guard. “Uh...of course. I mean, she’s my partner, right? I’ll defend her as I would any partner.”
“You’ll defend her like you will Dixon, Agent Vaughn?” Sloane hissed. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough.”
Vaughn told himself to take several deep breaths. Dixon’s death had not been his fault. He knew that, had told himself that over and over again for the past week until he had almost convinced himself it was true. Dixon had gotten himself trapped in a place Vaughn couldn’t possibly access, and his opponents had quickly and efficiently done away with him.
“Very well, then, Mr. Sloane, I’ll take better care of her than I did of Dixon. I can only promise to do my best.” With that, without waiting to hear his boss’s reply, he stormed out of the office, afraid that if he had to look at him one more minute he would reach over and strangle him.
Sloane watched him go with a faraway expression. It had been a risk, blaming Vaughn for Dixon’s death when he knew it wasn’t true, but he had been right that blaming him would make him even more determined to see that his next partner was well-protected. And Sloane would go to any lengths to ensure that she was well protected.
* * * * * *
Vaughn strode into the warehouse in which he and Weiss held all of their secret meetings. He had impatiently waited at home until he had gotten the “wrong number” phone call for Joey’s Pizza which signified that they were to have a meet. Now, he stormed into the building, his whole body tense with anger. “Weiss, you will not believe this! I think Sloane was finally going to be willing to trust me on solo missions, which we both know would had made my life a helluva lot easier. Well, instead, he’s decided to make some teenage girl who he ‘looks upon as a daughter’ my new partner. Isn’t that grand?” He paused for breath, looking around for Weiss. His handler was never late.
Suddenly he heard a sound from off to the side, behind a stack of crates. He spun around. “Why, hello to you, too, Agent Vaughn,” came the sarcastic reply in a feminine voice he was getting to know all too well.
A/N: This is a completely AU fic. I love wondering what would have been different if Sydney had gone away with her mother, so this is how my imagination made things work out. I’ll try to regularly update, but I make no promises!
A/N2: I LOVE REVIEWS!!!
A/N3: I don’t own Alias or The Princess Bride, more’s the pity.
Chapter 1
Jack Bristow walked quickly through the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, his stride smooth and casual---predatory---despite the fact that his very presence in said office would be enough to kill him, if the wrong people found out. But then, Agent Bristow of the Ruthless Nature and Stormy Face (as he was known behind his back around the CIA office) had never been a very cautious person. It was clear, today, to everyone who knew him that he was once again on the war path, in search of Director Devlin, a man who had once been his friend, but now was mostly just an obstacle he was always trying to overcome.
Devlin was glad that he had informed the security guards to phone him if they saw Jack Bristow come to call. It was always much safer meeting the incensed agent somewhere public---where he would be (slightly) less inclined to yell or break things. Although he usually bore his old friend’s dressing-downs with patience, today he was in a bad mood. So, instead of waiting in his office for Jack to come complain about his new handler, Devlin had decided to make Jack come to him.
Jack Bristow was a man with little to lose and revenge to gain. Revenge on the world for taking his daughter, Sydney, away from him in the car accident staged by his KGB wife when she decided to leave. He was never in a good mood, he was always focused on the target, and he would mow over whoever was in his way. Rules were merely guidelines which, if they became troublesome, could be gotten around. He was also the best agent---a double agent, in fact---that this CIA office had to offer.
Agent Bristow had no friends; in his mind, friends were just people who could become a liability. The closest he had to one was a younger man named Michael Vaughn. Vaughn and Bristow were the CIA’s two double agents within SD-6, which made them valuable assets. It also meant that they spent a lot of time together; enough for a grudging respect to form between them.
Jack was a game strategist; maybe he could help Devlin figure out how a captured agent who probably worked for The Man, but whom they knew absolutely nothing else about, could be made to cooperate. Poor Agent Weiss, a good man and a solid, dependable worker, had been run through the wringer, so to speak, trying to deal with the troublesome agent.
“DEVLIN!” Devlin winced. The ire in Jack’s bellow was even greater than usual. Devlin turned around from where he stood facing the one-way mirror looking at the prisoner, expecting to see Jack standing in front of him. The thick steel door was still closed. Devlin was almost impressed; he hadn’t known Jack had such a set of lungs on him. Then the door opened, and Agent Jack Bristow, long-time CIA agent, double agent at SD-6, and widower, stood before him in all his rage.
“Hello, Jack,” Devlin greeted pleasantly.
“Devlin, you idiot,” Jack fumed. “Your new ‘handler’---” his voice dripped with disdain “---called me today at my home” this was said in a growl “requesting a meeting. When I got to the assigned meeting point, having wasted twenty minutes making sure I wasn’t tailed, that buffoon Lambert informed me that he decided we needed to meet. Get to know each other. Bond.”
Devlin sighed. Lambert wasn’t exactly the CIA’s number one choice for a handler, but then, finding a handler for Jack Bristow had become a nearly impossible task. “Jack, we both know that Lambert’s not a good enough agent to be the handler of a key double agent,” he said patiently. “I could assign you a better handler, except---wait, didn’t you scare them all off?”
“If those were your definition of good handlers, Devlin, then the CIA’s in more trouble than I thought it was.”
Devlin bit back a retort. It was a waste of time playing games of wit with Bristow. He always won. Instead, he tried changing the topic. “Look, Jack, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. Care to help me out with a little problem, and we can try to figure out the situation with you handler later?”
Jack grunted, which Devlin could only take to assume meant “yes.” “What’s going on?”
“A CIA team managed to apprehend an agent two days ago who we believe is working for Irina Derevko.” The CIA had only recently learned the identity of the new crime organization leader who was previously referred to only as “the Man.”
Jack could see where this was going. “You can’t get her to talk.” Then, under his breath, “And you wonder why I consider your agents incompetent.”
Devlin ignored the last bit. “No, we can’t. We don’t even know her name.”
“Who do you have working on her?”
“Weiss.”
“Weiss is already a handler, don’t you think this is a bit much to be putting on his plate?”
“Jack, right now we’re just trying to make first contact. You know how friendly and approachable Weiss is. Hopefully we’ll be able to pull him off by the time Vaughn gets back from his vacation.”
“So what’s been tried so far?”
Devlin grunted. “Weiss went in there and gave her a whole long spiel about how she should cooperate, and how that would get her comfortable surroundings. She replied in Russian---I had an agent translate it, she said---get this---‘Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.’” At Jack’s incomprehending look, he rolled his eyes. “It’s a quote from The Princess Bride, Jack. So, after we spent twenty minutes hunting down an agent who could translate that for us, we realized she had told us nothing. So, then Weiss started telling her how we knew she could speak English; that any half-decent agent had to speak English. She replied, in English with an extremely heavy Russian accent, and she sounded like she was struggling to speak English: ‘No, a half-decent agent can get by not speaking English. But to be a great spy, one must know that and many other languages, non?’”
He looked at Jack to see his reaction, and was startled to see him nodding thoughtfully. “Anyways, that got Weiss really excited, since he thought he was finally getting through to her. They spent the next three hours with him asking her questions, and her being totally open and helpful, taking a long time with her answers because of her thick accent and the struggle to translate. So, after those three hours, Weiss gets up and heads to the door. He turns around and says ‘thanks for cooperating.’ She replies, in perfectly unaccented English, ‘You’re welcome! Thanks for the chance to work on my Russian accent.’ And, of course, as soon as we began to check the things she told him, we found that she had been making everything up.”
“Tell me this again, Devlin---we know absolutely nothing about this agent?”
“Female, natural brown hair, brown eyes, height 5’11’’, weight 120, approximately 18 years old, agent for The Man---Irina Derevko. No matches in our photo database.”
Jack looked about to speak, when there was a nervous knock on the door. “What?” barked Devlin.
Haladki, an obnoxious, obsequious worm (only in the figurative sense, although he had some extremely slimy physical attributes, as well), popped his head in. “Uh, sir, Mr. Bristow, you should probably come see this.”
“What’s going on?”
“Agent Weiss got tired of sitting in a room with the prisoner, and he broke all protocol, sir---I tried to stop him---and had the prisoner led from the holding room.”
“What!?” Devlin exploded. What was Weiss thinking? “Where did he take her?”
“Uh he got exasperated and said that he didn’t believe she could be a certified field agent, because she’s so young. Also, our reports said that she didn’t put up much of a fight when she was captured, so Weiss decided to take her to the training room and make her fight some real agents.”
Devlin looked at Jack, who, to his surprise, was nodding approvingly. “This way, he can see two things: one, how good her skills are, which from the report don’t sound very impressive, and two, how well she responds to………physical persuasion. It was probably as good a choice as any, and I’d like to see how it turns out,” Jack said.
And, despite the fact that Devlin was supposed to be Jack’s superior, both Devlin and Haladki followed Agent Bristow as he led the way to the training room.
* * * * * *
The training room was crowded by the time they got there. They came in through a side door near the back of the room, which was why the prisoner’s back was facing them; she had oriented herself so that she had a clear line of vision through the main door. Classic spy technique.
Jack studied her closely, his well-trained powers of observation taking in every detail. She was slim, but athletic, with strong arm and leg muscles. He surmised that she was a runner. She was dressed casually in a black tank top, and form-fitting black pants which allowed maximum movement. She wore no shoes, but stood on the balls of her feet, bouncing almost imperceptibly. She was ready for anything. The only other thing he could tell was that she had brown hair a little longer than shoulder-length. *Like Laura’s* was his unwelcome thought.
As Jack watched, Agent Weiss entered through the main door. He had changed into a gym outfit of standard CIA t-shirt and shorts. He walked onto the mat, looking ready for a fight. Jack listened as the prisoner’s scornful laughter echoed around the room. “You want me to fight you?” She turned deliberately away from him even as she spoke. “You seem a decent fellow. I’d hate to kill you.”
That sounded to Jack like a quote, and he turned to Devlin inquisitively, thus missing the first opportunity to see her face, hearing Weiss’ rejoinder. “You don’t seem like a decent fellow. I’d hate to die.”
Devlin rolled his eyes. “Another Princess Bride quote. Seriously, Jack, watch a comedy every once in a while, will you?”
Jack didn’t bother gracing that comment with an answer. Instead, he turned back to the action, and his heart stopped.
It wasn’t that he was impressed by the way she gracefully spun back around to face Weiss, catching his punch mid-throw and throwing him to the ground with a loud “oomph,” although in other circumstances he would have been.
It wasn’t that he was awe-struck by the way that she began tossing agents around the room as they rushed at her, first individually and then in groups, although Devlin and the other observers were open-mouthed.
It wasn’t that he was struck by her incredible beauty, although few men who saw her weren’t.
It was the fact that he knew her face, knew it as well as his own. The fact that that face haunted him in dreams. The fact that a younger version of that face had been one that he lovingly remembered with tears in his eyes.
As she spun around to face another attacker (the agents were still acting in good sport, although the guards at the doors were looking nervous and beginning to aim guns at the calm woman who had suddenly become a fighting machine), her eyes met his. She froze, barely reacting as her distraction gave a lucky agent the chance to land a punch in her stomach. She stared at him for a long moment before abruptly turning away. Striding with a quick, fluid pace through the main doors (prompting the startled guards to hurry after her and make sure she didn’t escape), she fled from the usually-stoic agent who was staring after her, his eyes carefully hiding his hidden, turbulent emotions. Shock---she was alive! Hurt---after all this time, she hadn’t even acknowledged him. Fear---now that she was reentering his life, would Laura be far behind? Fury---how could Laura allow her to become a spy? And, above all those feelings, one which stood out the most. Ecstasy---she was alive!
“Jack?” Devlin’s concerned voice broke through his reverie. “Are you all right?”
Jack turned to the man who was once his friend, and looked at him for a long moment in silence. “Her name is Sydney Bristow,” he said calmly and coolly, before turning on his heel and striding through the door his daughter had passed through moments before.
Chapter 2
Sydney sat quietly in the interrogation room waiting for her father to arrive. She knew he would; while it was possible that some fathers might flee from the new problems presented when they learned that their supposedly-dead daughter was in fact a terrorist, she knew he wouldn’t. It seemed to be a Bristow family trait to charge head-on into danger. They weren’t reckless, per se, but they were passionate, and allowed that passion to drive them.
As she expected, the door opened only minutes after she had settled herself. She tried to do as she was told, tried to compartmentalize her emotions, to choke down the rising trepidation, anxiety, nervousness, whatever you would call it that she felt when faced with the situation of meeting her father after twelve years of grief and separation.
She still saw that instant only a short time ago when she had seen him for the first time in all those years. She had felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she had allowed herself to go all-out, to really feel alive for the first time in several days. She loved to fight, and she was very, very good at it. Although, to be honest, she was very good at all aspects of her job as a spy. Anyways, she had been about to turn and face a new opponent when she had turned and caught sight of him.
Her mother had not allowed her to have any pictures of her father when she was growing up. She said that they needed to forget him, that the living should look to the living and not expect solace from the dead. She said that they did not need the constant reminder of what they had lost that a picture would provide. Despite that, despite not having a physical picture of her father to look at, Sydney had never forgotten his face.
That was why now, twelve years later, she could perform a fairly accurate observation of how he had changed. He had grayed a lot; more than she had expected. He had more frown wrinkles around his mouth, and less laugh wrinkles around his eyes. His eyes. They were so haunted when she looked into them, but in that instant when they saw each other, she could have sworn that she saw joy in those eyes. He was no less fit than he had been that long time ago, although the pristine suit he wore today was much more formal than the usual casual dress clothes he had worn around his family.
She wondered what differences he saw when he looked at her.
Sydney was slightly surprised by the nervousness she felt. She was worried that she would be rejected, that he wouldn’t be willing to let her back into his life. The past twelve years of her life had been a lie; now that she knew that, she could only pray that the one rock from her old life was still as much an anchor as she remembered. And, considering the fact that she had only been six when he had “died” and they had fled the country, she remembered quite a lot. She remembered riding high on his shoulders. She remembered him wearing a ridiculous beard and red outfit in his Santa imitation at Christmas. She remembered him tucking her into bed, reading her, not anything young and silly, but classics that she was far too young to understand. She remembered how much she loved him.
So, when the door opened and her father entered the room, she didn’t allow herself time to think. She didn’t let herself slide into one of her aliases as she sometimes did to get herself out of tough situations she wanted to deal with. Instead, she stood quickly from her chair, launching herself at his stiff form and throwing her arms around him.
They stood like that for several minutes, with her clinging to him, before she felt her heart break. She felt the tears slip from her eyes as she felt the sting of his rejection. She was about to pull away, to turn around and become Kate Jones, or maybe Nadia Derevko, both strong women who could tell him that it had all been a mistake, when she felt him hesitantly put his arms around her. Gently at first, then stronger, he hugged her back, and she could almost imagine that the past twelve years hadn’t happened, and that he was still her daddy comforting her as a child.
After several more minutes of enjoying his company (and hoping he was enjoying hers), Sydney reluctantly pulled away. She quickly wiped her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed her nose. She was careful not to look at him, afraid what she might see. She hurried over to her chair and sat down before finally letting herself look up at him. She was surprised to see that he had been crying, too. His eyes were red, and the emotion in them was so open, so blatantly laid bare, that she knew that he was trusting her completely---trusting that she would not abuse his trust.
They sat that way for several long minutes, neither knowing what to say to the other. Finally Sydney broke the silence in a scratchy voice. “You were dead. I still remember.. . that night, mum came in my room---said we had to go.. . that you had died, that we had to flee the country, that we were being hunted. So she drove us over a bridge into the water, then pulled me out and took me to where a boat was waiting to take us away. To Russia.”
Jack nodded, listening but at the same time not. He had known, after all, that Laura had survived the accident and fled. What had remained unclear was whether she had rescued Sydney as well, or whether she was truly as heartless as she had seemed, and she had left her daughter to die. Either possibility had seemed likely.
Sensing that she had finished talking for the moment, he told her, in an unsteady voice, “You were dead, too. Your.. . mother did a good job staging your death. I didn’t know that you were alive until, well, five minutes ago. It wasn’t until a year after both of you died---a year after my world crashed---that the CIA told me. That your mother was KGB. That there was a high likelihood that she was alive. But they didn’t know about you. I looked, S-Sydney, I swear I did, and when I found.. . nothing.. . it broke me. I loved---love you so much.”
“I love you, too, daddy,” Sydney said in a small voice, wincing at how she sounded like a five year old again.
They sat for several more minutes of silence, but reveling at how much joy a reunion could bring. Eventually, Jack forced himself to ask the questions he knew the CIA wanted answered. “S-Sydney,” he still couldn’t say her name without stuttering it “what are you doing here?” He felt a sudden hope. “You didn’t come to see.. . me, did you? I saw the way you fought in there. A pair of CIA agents couldn’t possibly have subdued and captured you. You came of your own free will.”
She looked uncomfortable (more uncomfortable than she already looked). “You’re right. I did come here to see someone. Someone I need to find………” She trailed off.
He felt a stabbing disappointment at that, and a stirring of jealousy. “Who? Who are you looking for? I don’t understand.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I think we need to start a little earlier in the story,” she said softly. “You have to understand, Mo---Ir---Laura told me that she was KGB when I was nine. By then, I had mourned you, but I had started to open up to other people again. I think she waited till I was comfortable to knock me off my feet again. By that point, I had no one, no friends. She was my world. So when she told me she was loyal to Russia, I became loyal to Russia. And, when I was thirteen, and she told me she was loyal to The Man, I became loyal to The Man. Laura was the woman who could do no wrong, in my eyes. I wanted to be just like her.”
Jack looked stricken by her words. Laura had manipulated their daughter. She had played upon her love and trust to force her into the world of espionage. He was furious.
“And I was. I was an avid student, I studied literature because she did. And, when I was sixteen, I announced to her that I was going to be a spy like she was. She was horrified, to say the least. She told me she had never planned on me becoming an agent, that she wanted me to live a normal life.” In a completely teenage gesture, Sydney rolled her eyes. “It was too late for that, though. I mean, she had taught me martial arts at a young age as a matter of course. The same applied for languages. And I had grown up around some of the best experts in the business. Sark---you know about Sark?”
Jack nodded. How could they not? He was the brilliant young man who had suddenly appeared when he slaughtered the leaders of FTL, then murdered the leader of K-Directorate.
“Sark was around all the time after I turned twelve. He taught me about disguises, stealth, everything he knew. I think he thought I was a charming child. There were others, too, who taught me when I asked. So, when Mo---Laura absolutely refused to make me an agent, I didn’t listen. I had planted a bug in the conference room days before I told her of my decision---” at Jack’s shocked look, she said defensively, “What? I was a kid, and I had a way of spying on my mother. What else was I supposed to do? Anyway, I started pre-empting her agents. I would listen in on the mission specs, then beat her agents to the punch. After this happened a couple of times, she relented. I had proven my skills, and she couldn’t refuse just because I was her daughter.”
Jack thought she should have tried a little harder, though. He would have tied her up in her room rather than let her become an agent.
“I was very successful, as I’m sure you must know. I became her best agent; people never suspected that the young girl was a spy waiting to steal their most prized possessions. It was easy, it was fun. I loved it. And then came the day I found out.” Her voice broke, and she stared down at her hands for several long moments before continuing.
When she did continue, she didn’t come straight out with what she wanted to say. “Did you ever learn Mo---Laura’s real Russian name?”
“No. She covered her tracks too well.” Jack remembered full well how appalled he had been when he had been unable to find even a trace of her true identity.
She nodded. “While you were married to mom, there were a number of CIA agents who were.. . killed in cold blood. Cruelly. Efficiently. They were people who had gotten in the KGB’s way at one time or another, or simply agents who were getting close to things they were never supposed to find. The woman who killed these agents was named Irina Derevko.”
At his swift inhalation of breath, she knew he recognized the name. Irina Derevko was The Man. He closed his eyes as he waited for the ax to fall, waited for her to confirm that his wife, the woman he had loved, really had been a cold-blooded murderer.
“Irina Derevko’s alias in America was Laura Bristow.”
There. She had done it. She had betrayed her mother to the American government. For years, Irina had been so careful to avoid either she or Sydney being photographed. She had scrupulously constructed aliases for them which would keep them off the CIA’s radar. She had ensured that for years the CIA---and other espionage organizations---hadn’t even known The Man’s real name. And now, with a few simple words, Irina’s own daughter was giving the CIA intimate details of her life.
“How---how did you learn all of this?” Jack choked out.
“The bugs I planted in the conference rooms. I listened as she admitted that she had murdered those agents simply because she had been ordered to. She told Khasinau all the details---how some had begged, while others defied her to the end. It was like---it was like she was reciting the details of a book, Dad!” she cried. “Like it didn’t matter to her what she had done. I was---am---horrified.”
That makes two of us, thought Jack. How could he have been so blind, to let her do these terrible things behind his back? He had never suspected her of deceit of any kind.
“So you decided to come here and help the CIA bring her down?” he surmised. He was a little surprised that her anger at her mother was enough for her to take an action which would likely mean the death penalty for the woman who had raised her.
“No!” Sydney said vehemently. “I have no loyalty to the U.S., to the CIA.”
He frowned. “Then, why are you here, Sydney?” He felt like a stern father interrogating his teenage daughter. It didn’t occur to him that that was actually what was happening.
“I.. .remembered the names of the agents Irina killed,” she said shortly. “I did a search of them, I had to learn everything there was to know about them.” She paused for a long time. “They were all people, you know? Normal people. Most were married; some had been divorced. And one left a child behind.”
His breath caught, and he said the name in his mind even as she articulated it.
“Michael Vaughn. Such a simple name, to contain the worlds of pain he must have felt when his father was murdered, taken from him at such a young age. By my mother.” She shook her head. “Irina didn’t raise me religious. I’ve always thought it better to believe in myself than to hope a higher power will save me. But I do have a strong set of beliefs. One is that debts must be repaid. Lives taken must be repaid by lives given.”
He was afraid he saw where she was going with this. “Sydney---”
She cut him off. “Children inherit the crimes of their parents, don’t they?” she asked rhetorically. “I would say that Michael Vaughn is owed a large debt by the Derevko family. I’m here to try to repay that debt.” She stared at the table in front of her, looking so like a lost child that Jack had to resist the urge to gather her in his arms and try to protect her from the world.
“Sydney, the things your mother has done---they’re not your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”
“Are you trying to tell me you don’t blame yourself for what she did while she was married to you? That you feel no guilt that you didn’t catch her, didn’t realize what she was doing?” His silence told her his answer. Tears were pouring down her face as she cried, “Then how do you think I feel? I lived with this woman for seventeen years, worked for her for one, without even suspecting the evil hiding behind her façade. If my blindness doesn’t land the burden of her debts right on my shoulders, I don’t know what could.”
He sighed. She was wrong. He knew it in his heart, but he didn’t know how to tell her with words. True, he blamed himself for not having discovered his wife’s guilt, but still---she shouldn’t blame herself! “So you’re here to help him by helping the CIA? Doing what, exactly?”
She looked him straight in the eye as she answered. “You and Michael Vaughn are the CIA’s two double agents within SD-6, one of the stronger branches of the Alliance. I know that Vaughn’s entire life is devoted to bringing down SD-6, ever since his fiancé was executed for learning the truth. I want to help destroy SD-6.”
He stared at her incredulously. “How? Sydney, I don’t even think you should be a spy. How do you propose to help us bring down SD-6? You have no connection to that place.” He said that last with a confidence he forced himself to feel. He didn’t know if what he had just said was true, or whether she had in fact worked for the Alliance, as well.
“I don’t have much of a connection to it,” she agreed. “But it will be easy enough for me to become an agent there. I mean, I’m sure that it’s helpful for the CIA having a game strategist and an agent to report to it, but another agent can only help. I know that Vaughn has been having trouble sabotaging missions because he has his partner looking over his shoulder. Well, now that his partner is dead, he’ll be needing a new one. A double agent team would be much more effective.”
Jack was shaking his head. “Sydney, this is crazy talk! Even if you have the skill to be an SD-6 agent---” the doubt in his tone caused her to turn bright red in fury “---it would take you years to earn the head of SD-6’s trust enough to be an effective double agent.”
Sydney was glaring at him. “First of all,” she spat, “never doubt my skills as an agent. I’ll remind you that I’ve retrieved more Rambaldi artifacts than all the CIA agents combined. I can outfight any SD-6 agent. Heck, if we want to talk about really good, useful skills, I can defuse a nuclear bomb in under 30 seconds.”
He gaped at her, and she thought for a moment before realizing what she had said. She turned an even deeper red, but this time in embarrassment. “Well, the last was only the once,” she mumbled.
“Where?” he asked in a strangled voice.
She looked at him from under her lashes. “Grand Central Station.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment. “I don’t even want to think about what that means,” he muttered. Then he looked back up at her. “But what I said was still true. Fine, you could get the job if you wanted. But it would take you so long to get the boss’s trust that---”
She interrupted him, her embarrassment replaced by a victorious grin. “I know that joke I played on him last Christmas might put him a little on his toes, but I don’t think that’s enough for Uncle Arvin to stop trusting me!” she protested playfully.
He froze. “Uncle Arvin?” he gasped. This girl was just full of surprises.
“Of course. We see him once a year; last year it was Christmas. We’re great friends.”
He frowned uncertainly. “You do know you would be betraying him by being a double agent?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
Her playful look was gone in an instant. “He killed Vaughn’s fiancé for learning the same thing I just learned about my mother. There can be no trust between liars,” she said in a hard voice.
Jack slumped back in his chair, feeling defeated. He had just gotten his daughter back, and now, at the first opportunity, she was going to fling herself gung-ho into a dangerous environment because she thought that would make the son of the man her mother killed feel better. He had one last hope: “I’ll have to talk to Director Devlin about it.”
She looked at him, and the laughter in her eyes told him that she knew he knew he was out of excuses. “Very well.”
He gazed at her longingly before standing and walking to the door. “Wait---” he heard her call from behind him. He turned, gaze inquiring.
“A man named McKennas Cole tried to break into SD-6 on behalf of The Man a short while ago,” she said. “I assume you know about that. He never reported in; I don’t suppose you know where he is?” Her voice was carefully uninterested. Jack felt his heart squeeze. His daughter couldn’t possible feel anything for that man could she? He was an insane, sadistic freak.
“He’s in CIA custody.” Why did I tell her that?
“Good,” she said with a grin. At his perplexed look, she explained, “He calls me Pigtails. I’ve always hated that. And, about a year ago, he tried to get me to go on a date with him. I told him I’d break both his knee caps if he ever talked to me again.” She looked smug. “The sleaze got what he deserved.”
Jack simply nodded, feeling more flummoxed by the moment. And, upon her last charming sentence, he left the room, closing the door behind him and thinking that that room contained the only person he loved in this world. He leaned against the door for several long moments, feeling his strength solidify and his usual cool demeanor slowly return. When he felt properly fortified, he narrowed his eyes. Time to find Devlin.
Chapter 3
Eric Weiss was normally a very placid guy. He didn’t let things ruffle his feathers, so to speak. He found simple pleasure in the joys of getting drunk and of playing with a yo-yo. He tried not to let himself get too stressed about work, because he knew once you started down that path you were lost to the terrible world of sleepless nights and unending worry.
He was afraid that he had started down that path.
It was nine o’clock at night and he was still at work. Everyone else had left except the night-shift guards, but somehow he found himself still sitting at his desk and trying to grapple with this new situation. He had been shocked, to say the least, to learn that Jack Bristow had a daughter. Somehow he couldn’t picture a woman ever marrying the man, let alone having a child with him. He had always taken comfort in the fact that no matter how riled up he and Mike---Michael Vaughn---got about a situation at SD-6, Jack Bristow would always take care of the situation with his cool collection and biting, sarcastic remarks.
But now things were different.
Jack had a daughter, for one thing. For another, she was a butt-kicking terrorist with a love of The Princess Bride. For another, he told himself, wishing he had a beer, her mother---Jack’s wife (Jack had been horrified to realize he was still officially married to the woman)---was The Man. Irina Derevko. The murderer of Mike’s father. For another, he sighed to himself, wishing he had a yo-yo, Sydney Bristow was here because she felt some strange obligation to help Mike because her mother killed his father. Weiss didn’t think Mike would appreciate her help; in fact, he was afraid that Mike would try to kill her once he learned the connection she had to his father’s death. Although, to be honest, he knew that Sydney would be able to kick his agent’s butt without breaking a sweat.
Of course, that would probably put them off on the wrong foot, since she had decided to be Mike’s partner, and somehow she had convinced Devlin to approve her as a CIA agent within SD-6.
He growled to himself. Mike was the first agent he had ever handled; before Mike came along a year or so ago, he had just been a paper-pusher. He had tried to do as he had been told, had tried not to get involved with his agent, but he couldn’t help it. Mike was so broken when they met; fresh back from a meeting with an amateur dentist who had never heard of anesthetics, he had just learned that SD-6 was in fact not part of the CIA. The entire life he had thought he was living had been a lie, and his ignorance had led to the death of his fiancé, Alice. Weiss hadn’t been able to keep himself from pitying his agent. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that Michael Vaughn did not appreciate pity. It also didn’t take long for Weiss’ pity to morph into awe and respect at his agent’s dedication and skill. Despite his best attempts to avoid emotional ties, he had found himself becoming a good friend to Mike; the only person Mike could really talk to (other than Jack Bristow, and nobody could talk to Jack Bristow).
He was worried about the effect the appearance of Jack’s daughter would have on his friend’s equilibrium. He rubbed his eyes. At least they had several days to figure out what to do. Mike was on a vacation in Santa Barbara; after his last mission, in which his partner, Dixon, had died, and he had been captured and had barely escaped with his life, even Arvin Sloane acknowledged that he deserved some time off. He was due back at the end of the week.
He turned off his computer. What were Sydney’s intentions? She was a terrorist who had worked against the CIA for at least a year, who even acknowledged that she had no loyalty to the CIA, but for some reason people had decided to trust her. Weiss had never thought he would think this, but maybe Jack was letting his emotions get in the way of his work. She was probably out to betray them all!
He began to walk out of the office when he stopped. She was in the building with him, after all. Why shouldn’t he have a conversation with her, to try to find out her real intentions? *Even though she probably thinks I’m a complete fool* he thought glumly. When he had attempted to punch her from behind on the training mat earlier that day, he hadn’t dreamt that he would soon find himself lying flat on his back, all the breath knocked out of him and a roaring headache beginning to form. Then, of course, there was that fiasco earlier that day with the Russian accent.. .
*STOP* he commanded himself. He couldn’t let her intimidate him; after all, she was the one locked up in a cage. He took a deep breath and went to see the prisoner.
* * * * *
She had been moved from the interrogation room to a high-security holding cell. Weiss had to walk through several barred gates before he found himself standing in front of her cell. There was a thin but extremely strong layer of glass which separated them. He got an eery feeling that he was Clarice meeting Hannibal in the Silence of the Lambs. He found himself inanely wondering whether she was able to smell his fear.
She was seated on the floor with her back facing him, and she was breathing deeply. After a moment, she stood and turned to face him. “A meditation my mother taught me,” she said in her sweet voice. “All the benefits of sleep in a fraction of the time.”
He began to nod, but he caught himself and stopped. *Don’t let her distract you!* “I want to know what your intentions are toward Mike.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Mike? I assume you mean Michael Vaughn? You are, after all, his handler, are you not, Agent Weiss?” She seemed perfectly calm in the face of his suspicion.
“How did you know that?” he demanded. The fact that Mike even had a handler was a huge secret; if she was able to learn the identity of his handler, then she---and by extension, The Man, and whoever else found out---held the power to reveal Mike’s double agent status.
She laughed slightly, a pleasant sound. “Please, Weiss,” she said. “Have enough respect for me to know that I did my research before I came here. As to my intentions towards your---friend?” She seemed to want his confirmation that he thought of Mike as a friend. He nodded reluctantly. “I merely want to help him. I’m sure you’ve read the transcript of my conversation with my father. I told no lies. My sole purpose here is to help him get the life he wants, and deserves.” Her words and tone held the ring of truth.
He stared at her uncertainly. “What happened to you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re---different than you were earlier today. Your entire attitude has changed.”
She considered his question briefly, wondering how much to tell him. She decided on the complete truth; for some reason, she found herself wanting this man to like her. Not just because he was Vaughn’s friend, but because he seemed like a nice man in his own right. “I’m a spy, Agent Weiss. In the past year I’ve assumed so many aliases, it’s hard to keep them straight. However, I do keep a store of them, of sorts, which I can draw upon if I ever find myself in a situation for which one of them is more suited than Sydney Bristow.”
He looked confused. “So... who am I talking to right now?”
“Kate Jones.”
“Why do you feel the need to hide behind your aliases? I would rather talk to Sydney Bristow than any non-existent alias.”
Her face shifted in an instant, her cool composure losing to an expression of shame, disgust, and unhappiness. “Because, Agent Weiss,” she spat, and he knew he was talking to Sydney now, “after all my aliases, sometimes it’s hard to know exactly who I am. And, with the things I’ve learned in the past few weeks, the things I feel about what I’ve learned, I don’t know that I want to be Sydney Bristow.” He was shocked to see tears falling slowly down her face.
In moments, she had converted his feelings toward her from fear and anger to---sympathy?
“But I’ll promise you right now, Weiss, as Sydney Bristow, that I would never, never hurt Vaughn. I’m here to make up for the fact that he was hurt. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where my true loyalty lies, Agent Weiss, especially now that I’m becoming a double agent. But those that I am loyal to, I would never betray. I’ve committed myself to helping Agent Vaughn bring down SD-6. I would die to see that goal fulfilled.”
He gazed into her passionate eyes and believed every word. He wondered sadly how someone so young could be so old.
Finally he nodded. “Thank you for that. Mike is... a very good agent, but sometimes I worry that his obsession with bringing down SD-6 will kill him. It’s good to know there’ll be someone else there to help him.”
She nodded. “I’ll take care of him,” she promised.
He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I guess I’ll let you go now.”
He turned to leave, but stopped when she called, “Wait!” He turned. “Stay with me for a while, please? I’m not used to being so alone.”
“Um... OK,” he said hesitantly. He wondered if he was going to get in trouble for conversing with the prisoner. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” she suggested.
His eyes widened, and he had another flash to his Clarice-Hannibal picture of this situation. “How about we make a deal? Whatever you ask me, you have to answer, too.”
She smiled at him, and it was the first genuine smile he had seen on her face. “You’re cleverer than you look, Agent Weiss,” she said, and he wasn’t sure whether he had just been complimented. “Very well. What’s your favorite movie?”
He thought about lying and saying a very manly movie, but he suspected she would know if he was lying. “The Thomas Crown Affair,” he admitted. He was glad to see that she nodded approvingly. “You?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “The Princess Bride. Oh, and I was wanting to commend you for being able to quote that at me. Very impressive for a twenty-something CIA agent.”
“Thanks... I think.”
“Favorite childhood memory?”
“My first kiss. I was five, and she was four. She left me for a boy with a skateboard, a day later, though.”
She laughed. “Mine is of my sixth birthday. Every birthday, we would go to the zoo and I would play with the animals. My sixth was the first year I was able to ride the ponies, with my parents on both sides of me waiting to catch me if I fell. And I knew that they would always be there for me.” She was suddenly sobered. “Of course, my next birthday was spent running for my life as someone found my mother and me hiding in Russia.”
He felt a resurgence of pity for her. He couldn’t imagine living a life on the run; in fact, the fact that he was a handler and not a field agent meant that he didn’t even need to conceal his identity from the people he loved. He knew how Mike hated living a double---or, in his case, triple---life, and he could imagine that Sydney hated it as much. “OK,” he said cheerfully. “My turn to ask a question.” Over her protestations that that wasn’t the deal, he shook his head. “No, no, I get to have a turn. Let’s see...I know Mike is always dying his hair for his missions. How many hair colors have you had, and what was your favorite?”
She grinned. “You just had to ask vain old me about my hair color, didn’t you? I try to be relatively conservative with my hair colors. You know, I like to stick to good old bright pink, or blue. I’ve probably had dyes and wigs of five colors or so. My favorite is my natural brown. How about you? How many wacky hair colors have you tried, Mr. Secret Agent Man?”
He smirked. “Well, when I was about fifteen, I had my hair dyed green. After my mother’s dressing-down when she saw me, I’ve stuck to my natural color, too. Although, I must say, choosing between my natural beauty with either green or brown hair would be difficult.” He fluttered his eyelashes at her in what he clearly thought was an alluring way. She laughed.
They were still sitting there an hour later, when Weiss looked at his watch and realized that it was probably time to go home. He had enjoyed her company immensely, and he liked to think that she had appreciated his, as well. He had expected her to be clever, sarcastic like her father, and probably a curmudgeon. He hadn’t expected her to be funny or to be able to provide more Monty Python quotes than even he could manage.
He reluctantly stood to leave. “Well, good night,” he said.
“Good night,” she replied softly. “And, Agent Weiss, thank you.”
“For what?”
“I know you didn’t have to come speak with me. In fact, you would probably get in trouble if your supervisors learned that you had spent the past hour down here. But, it’s good to know there’s a nice, funny, smart guy Vaughn can depend on, and who, I think, I’ve become friends with. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me, and to let me get to know you.” She blushed slightly, looking embarrassed, and retreated to a corner of her cell, lying on her bed, listening to his footsteps as he walked away.
* * * * * *
*I’m a nice, funny, smart guy? Vaughn, look out. You’re gonna love this gal, and I don’t know if even you can withstand the emotional rollercoaster that would involve!*
Chapter 4
Sydney Bristow glided through the front doors of Credit Dauphine, SD-6’s front company, as if she did it every day. She was dressed primly in a dress suit, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes were determined. She made her way to the executive elevator, her stride aggressive. She knew that, by now, she had been spotted by five security cameras on the ground floor of the bank. She also knew that the cameras would find no match for her picture in their database, so the people at SD-6 wouldn’t be alerted as to her arrival. Sloane was the only person at the SD-6 office who knew what she looked like; by the time he got involved in trying to identify her, she’d already be within SD-6.
The guard in the executive elevator moved his hand to the blatantly displayed gun at his side. “This is the executive elevator,” he growled. “Take a different one.”
She smiled at him. He was put off by that smile; so young a face should not know how to look so predatory. While he was still off guard, she stepped quickly into the elevator, knocking his hand away from his gun, pulling it out of its holster, and discharging the ammunition in one smooth motion. She dropped the gun on the ground. When the guard had quit cursing and looked back up at her, she was still smiling that frightening smile.
“If I had wanted to kill you, I could have,” she told him quietly. He knew she was right; she had moved so quickly his eyes hadn’t been able to follow. She had moved quickly enough that no one on the ground floor of the building had noticed what she had done. “Arvin Sloane’s a good friend of mine. He’ll want to see me.” When the guard still hesitated, she grabbed his right arm in her left hand, slowly squeezing a pressure point. He gasped in pain. “Of course,” she said pleasantly, “even if I were here to kill Sloane or destroy SD-6, you’d let me down. You have no choice.” That wasn’t true, of course. How many times had her mother told her you always have a choice, even if there are no good ones? Still, it gave the pained guard the impetus he needed to use his key to lower them into the basement, then deeper. SD-6 was located, appropriately, nearly as close to the bowels of the earth as an elevator could go.
* * * * *
Michael Vaughn sighed as he entered Credit Dauphine. Officially, he still had two days of vacation which he should be spending lounging on a beach somewhere. Since Alice’s death, though, he hadn’t felt comfortable taking time off. It felt too much like he was taking a break from his quest to avenge her. So, here he was, back fighting the good fight two days early.
The security guard of the executive elevator was in his usual place, although he looked decidedly more disturbed than usual. “Hey, George,” Vaughn greeted. “What’s going on?”
“A woman forced her way into SD-6 a few minutes ago,” the guard replied. “Those moves she used, I didn’t even have time to think before she had disarmed me. The guards in SD-6 should be taking care of her right now, though.”
Vaughn looked thoughtful on the quick ride down to SD-6. He hadn’t thought that anyone would be stupid enough to try to break into SD-6 at a time like this; after Cole’s attack, SD-6 was on its guard even more than usual. Then the doors of the elevator opened, and he was greeted by chaos.
Three guards were down in various states of disrepair. Every agent and desk-worker at SD-6 were positioned in a semi-circle facing the elevator doors; most were pointing weapons. The center of the mess was a young brunette with her back to him. Vaughn crept forward slowly and stealthily, preparing to take her from behind, thanking God that she hadn’t seemed to notice his arrival, preoccupied as she was. That is, he thought that until he heard her call to him, “Whoever’s behind me, please don’t come any closer. Burst my personal bubble and I’ll have to fight you, guns or no guns. Then what would we have? A mess with bits of me and bits of you strung all over this tidy office. I don’t think Mr. Sloane would appreciate that.”
Vaughn was spared having to respond when he heard Sloane’s voice. Clearly, the crime cell leader had just emerged from his office. He was shorter and older than most of the workers at SD-6; nevertheless, he made his presence clear when he barked in a clear, strong voice, “Vaughn, stand down.” Then, to the woman, “I find that terrorists who break into my office rarely know what I would appreciate.” He was quickly pushing his way through the crowd of confused and angry workers.
Vaughn was intrigued; the woman tensed when she heard his name. She scoffed at that last bit by Sloane, though, “Oh, Uncle Arvin, I’m hardly some terrorist who doesn’t know anything about your preferences.”
“Sydney?” Sloane choked. “What the he---what are you doing here?” He took in the carnage around her, where the guards were still unconscious.
“Relax,” she said with a grin. “I come in peace.” He still looked unconvinced. “Look, if I were trying to perform another half-thought out SD-6 infiltration plan like that idiot Cole, I wouldn’t have come here unarmed.” Sloane looked less dubious at this; in fact, his eyebrow quirked in amusement as he looked pointedly at his guards. “Hey,” she said defensively. “I told them not to touch me.”
Sloane sighed. “Gentlemen, ladies, you can put down your weapons. Sydney, let’s talk in my office, please.”
She nodded. “Of course.” She began to walk away, but then turned to the man who had tried to creep up behind her. “Agent Vaughn, eh? Nice to meet you,” she said to the confused agent. He slowly took her offered her hand, marveling at her firm grip. Well, that and her beautiful countenance. And the way that little thing, who could only be 19 or so, had taken out three highly trained guards. And the fact that she knew Sloane on a friendly basis, something he hadn’t thought possible. At his flummoxed look, she smiled. “Well, be seeing you...” she said in a soft voice, her voice trailing off as she walked away.
He only stared after her in shock.
* * * * * *
Shock that only increased when, an hour later, she and Sloane came out of his office, she smiling and looking like the cat that ate the canary, and Sloane beaming like a proud uncle. Which...she had seemed to say he was. The two walked unhurriedly to the conference room, and Sloane left her there. When he came out, he called, “Agent Vaughn? Come to the conference room, please.”
Vaughn was getting even more perplexed. What did this fascinating young woman have to do with him? He followed Sloane obediently. When the three of them were alone in the conference room, Sloane pushed the button which solidly closed the thick plastic wall-doors.
“Michael Vaughn, I’d like you to meet Sydney Bristow,” Sloane said, his oily voice doing its best imitation of pride and encouragement.
Vaughn gaped. “Sydney Bristow as in---Jack Bristow?”
Sydney smiled. “He’s my father. We’ve been...somewhat estranged these past twelve years.” Vaughn could tell by the way she didn’t look him in the eye that there was more to it than that.
Vaughn stood rock still as his mind raced. Jack had never told him he had a daughter. True, Jack never told him anything about his personal life, but Vaughn had thought that had been because Jack didn’t have a personal life. Sloane seemed to be expecting him to speak, but Vaughn couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
Sloane frowned. “Since Dixon’s unfortunate death, we’ve been looking for a replacement partner for you, Agent Vaughn. Sydney’s it.”
Vaughn’s eyes widened. *NO!* He had so hoped that now that Dixon had died---*don’t think about that, it’ll only distract you*---he could work solo ops, which would give him the chance to betray SD-6 without a partner looking over his shoulder. Now, Sloane wanted him to work with this girl, who hadn’t even worked for SD-6 two hours ago?
“But, Mr. Sloane, I really feel that I’m ready to start taking solo missions,” he protested desperately, ignoring the annoyed look Ms. Bristow shot at him.
Sloane looked unconvinced. “You’ve proven your skills in the field time and again, Agent Vaughn,” he said placatingly. “But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to go into the field without back-up. Sydney here is, from what I’ve heard, a terrific agent who can teach all of us here at SD-6 a thing or two about the spy business.”
Vaughn stared. From what he’d heard? What on earth did that mean? Sloane hadn’t even seen her in action and he was going to foist her off on him? He hadn’t even seen her, and he thought that she would be able to teach SD-6 about the spy game?
Sydney turned to Arvin. “Why don’t you let me talk to him?” she asked. “I’ve been in enough situations with people I’ve been told were impressive but who turned out to be incompetent that I know how hard it is to just blindly trust your life to someone.”
Sloane looked like he was about to agree, but the last thing Vaughn wanted was to have a one-on-one discussion with this girl, if he could help it. He had the uneasy feeling of a mouse being examined by a cat waiting to pounce. He was afraid that if he gave her the chance to examine him, to really examine him, she would somehow be able to divine his true identity, and that was a risk he must not take.
“That won’t be necessary,” he said curtly. “I don’t doubt Agent Bristow’s abilities. I just...am not quite comfortable with the idea of getting a new partner so soon after Dixon.”
Sloane nodded. “I understand that, Agent Vaughn, but I’m afraid I need you out in the field, and I’m not letting you out alone. I’m confident that you and Sydney will learn to work together.”
He nodded grudgingly. “Fine. Do you have a mission for us?”
Sloane shook his head. “No. You’re back early from your vacation, remember? I just thought that since you were here you’d like to be introduced to your new partner.” He looked at Vaughn with those piercing eyes of his, which seemed to stare straight into his soul. “Sydney, would you leave us alone, please? I’d like to speak with Agent Vaughn.”
She frowned slightly in curiosity. “Sure. Actually, I need to go take care of my lodging situation anyways, so if you won’t be needing me again today...?”
He smiled. “No. Go ahead, get settled in. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded. “Goodbye, Agent Vaughn.”
He mumbled something that sounded like “goodbye,” watching as she left through the now-open doors. He then turned to face Sloane, who was watching him through narrowed eyes.
“You should know, Agent Vaughn,” he said in slow, deliberate tones, “that Sydney is very special to me. I look upon her almost as my own daughter. I do not doubt her skills as an agent; I think you’ll be impressed. However, I would like to ask that you do your best to look out for her.”
Vaughn was once again caught off-guard. “Uh...of course. I mean, she’s my partner, right? I’ll defend her as I would any partner.”
“You’ll defend her like you will Dixon, Agent Vaughn?” Sloane hissed. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough.”
Vaughn told himself to take several deep breaths. Dixon’s death had not been his fault. He knew that, had told himself that over and over again for the past week until he had almost convinced himself it was true. Dixon had gotten himself trapped in a place Vaughn couldn’t possibly access, and his opponents had quickly and efficiently done away with him.
“Very well, then, Mr. Sloane, I’ll take better care of her than I did of Dixon. I can only promise to do my best.” With that, without waiting to hear his boss’s reply, he stormed out of the office, afraid that if he had to look at him one more minute he would reach over and strangle him.
Sloane watched him go with a faraway expression. It had been a risk, blaming Vaughn for Dixon’s death when he knew it wasn’t true, but he had been right that blaming him would make him even more determined to see that his next partner was well-protected. And Sloane would go to any lengths to ensure that she was well protected.
* * * * * *
Vaughn strode into the warehouse in which he and Weiss held all of their secret meetings. He had impatiently waited at home until he had gotten the “wrong number” phone call for Joey’s Pizza which signified that they were to have a meet. Now, he stormed into the building, his whole body tense with anger. “Weiss, you will not believe this! I think Sloane was finally going to be willing to trust me on solo missions, which we both know would had made my life a helluva lot easier. Well, instead, he’s decided to make some teenage girl who he ‘looks upon as a daughter’ my new partner. Isn’t that grand?” He paused for breath, looking around for Weiss. His handler was never late.
Suddenly he heard a sound from off to the side, behind a stack of crates. He spun around. “Why, hello to you, too, Agent Vaughn,” came the sarcastic reply in a feminine voice he was getting to know all too well.
