Disclaimer: "Alias" is not mine, it belongs to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

The Game of Life

Sequel to "The Game of the Century"

Chapter One: Not Like This

Sydney Vaughn paused at the door to her mother's office, taking a deep breath before knocking. "It's Sydney!" she called.

"Please come in, darling," her mother responded.

Sydney walked through the door, a smile spreading across her face in spite of itself at the sight of the eight-year-old boy seated across from her mother, paging through a comic book. "Hi, honey," she said.

"Hi, Mom," he responded with a half-smile. He had his daddy's green eyes; they took her by surprise every time he looked at her. "Is Emily okay?" he asked, naming his four-year-old sister.

"She's fine, sweetheart," Sydney said, ruffling the boy's hair. He hated when she did that, but she could never seem to resist. "She can't wait to see you. She and your dad are outside in the car, why don't you go wait with them while I talk to your grandma?"

"Okay," he said with a shrug, stuffing the comic book into his backpack. "Bye, Grandma."

"Come give me a hug," Irina said, and Sydney watched as he made his way around the desk to hug her mother, feeling an odd mixture of happiness and repulsion at the sight. Irina was so sure that Jack Vaughn would follow in his mother's footsteps and run the Organization one day. The thing was, Sydney was sure of the same thing. She just wasn't as happy about it as Irina was.

"Tell your father I'll just be a minute," Sydney instructed as Jack moved past her to the door.

"Okay!" he called over his shoulder.

"He's an angel," Irina said, staring after her grandson with a fond smile.

"With you, maybe," Sydney said, a half-smile spreading over her own face. "At home, he's a hellion."

"You and Michael are too hard on him," Irina chided.

"Maybe." It was a conversation the two had had countless times before. "We just don't know what to do with him. He's brilliant, but he's always in trouble at school. He won't do his homework unless Michael stands over his shoulder--"

"He's just trying to get a little attention for himself, darling," Irina told her gently. "You and Michael are wrapped up with Emily so much of the time--"

"We're doing the best we can," Sydney interrupted, her voice soft.

"I know you are, sweetheart," Irina said, offering her a sympathetic smile. "So Emily's okay?"

"Yes," Sydney said, rubbing her temples tiredly. Emily suffered from a severe form of asthma; they had rushed her to the hospital the night before after a serious attack. "She gave us quite a scare, though."

"I can see that," Irina said with a frown. "Sydney, you look awful. When's the last time you had a full night's sleep?"

"I don't remember," Sydney admitted, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. Between work-- she and Michael were practically running the Organization, now that Irina was thinking about retiring in the next few years-- and the children, she felt as if there was rarely a moment she could relax.

"Your hands are shaking again," Irina observed with a frown. "You should think about seeing my doctor. Taking something to calm your nerves."

"I saw him, and he prescribed something, and it makes me into an utter zombie," Sydney responded. "I have to stay alert in case Emily needs me."

"You should take a vacation," Irina suggested. "Just you and Michael. I'm sure Mrs. Simmons would stay with the children," she said, naming the woman Sydney employed as a nanny.

"Maybe." Her mother owned a number of sumptuous vacation homes in various spots around the world; the thought of escaping to one with Michael sounded like Heaven, only-- "I just get so worried about Emily, and I don't feel like we spend enough time with Jack anyway--" she sighed. "But maybe." She stood, kissing her mother's cheek. "I should go. Thanks so much for looking after Jack, Mrs. Simmons had a few days off."

"My pleasure, sweetheart," Irina said with a smile. "Take care of yourself and that gorgeous husband of yours. Try and get some sleep."

"I'll try," Sydney promised. "What time is the meeting tomorrow, again?"

"Nine a.m.," Irina said with a frown. "But darling, are you sure you're feeling up to it? I can run things, if you'd like."

"I'll be fine," Sydney said, running a hand back through her hair. "I want to have a word with Sark, he's been behaving atrociously lately."

"Well, you've cut his duties to practically nothing, Sydney," Irina said with a disapproving frown.

"I'll give him more responsibility when I feel he deserves it," Sydney snapped, then instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry, Mother. I'm just so tired."

"It's perfectly understandable, dear," her mother said with a sympathetic smile.

Sydney nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow." She turned to leave the room, making her way out of her mother's headquarters and to the Mercedes waiting across the street.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she apologized, climbing into the passenger seat and turning to kiss her husband on the cheek. A glance over her shoulder showed her Emily, dozing in the backseat. "What an angel," she said, smiling at Michael. "Was she asleep the whole time I was inside?"

"Mm-hmm," Michael said, turning to gaze at his sleeping daughter. "Poor little girl, she had a rough night."

Sydney turned her attention to her son, who paged through the same comic book he'd read in Irina's office. "Jack, you have to put that away and start your homework as soon as we get home."

"I know, I know," he grumbled.

Sydney turned around to settle herself in her seat, and Michael reached over to smooth her hair with his hand. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice too low for the children to hear.

"I'm fine," she said, attempting a smile. He leaned over to kiss the top of her head before starting the car.

Sure, she was fine. Except this wasn't the way their lives were supposed to be. They were supposed to be taking down her mother's organization, not running it. Not living in a house and driving a car that the Organization paid for.

The thing was? When she looked back over the past ten years, she couldn't pinpoint a single moment that she would have played out differently. And now she was in so deep, she wasn't sure she could ever get out.

She wasn't sure she even wanted to.