Disclaimer: I do not own Alias or its affiliates in any way.

Rating: PG-13- may up that In future chapters.

I am tired of seeing the same old Syd/Vaughn Syd/Sark Jack/Irina fics. NOTHING wrong with them, but I wanted to see a Dixon-centered fic- not many of those are out there, although he is DA BOMB. His character is so hard to figure out, please help me in any way you can.

Marcus Dixon sat in the shadowy, warm recess of his car, in a dark, deserted alleyway, one of the holes of LA- a vile section. Idly, he watched the few street vagrants that dared to walk the streets at such an hour. The tiny, confined space of the vehicle was filled with the heavy scent of sweat and ashes, filling him with a vague sense of nausea which he tried to ignore; but it intensified in spite of his efforts. He rolled down the window, leaned out and vomited onto the cobblestones.

This is what hell must feel like, he thought, managing to sit up, supporting himself against the steering wheel. Wiping his mouth, he glanced at the clock.

3:11 in the morning.

With a sigh, he flipped down the visor and stared at his reflection musingly. The skin on his face and around his mouth was slack and streaked with dirt and sweat; his normally warm brown skin looked mottled and gray. Even his hair was coated with a thin layer of sooty dust.

Reflexively, he reached up to his hair with his hand; then he froze, raising both up to eye level. They were both covered with tiny blisters, some which had broken open, the blood and water making rivulets in the soot that had turned them black. He immediately felt his gorge rise again, and heaved, emptying his stomach of any remnants. He then wrapped his hands in his handkerchief, ripping it in half with his teeth, and slowly pulled out of the parking lot.

******************************************

"Michael?"

"Mmmph?"

Sydney Bristow sat up in her bed, pulling the covers up around her shoulders and flipping on the bedside light, her face furrowed. She flipped open her cell phone, and then the bedroom light, slipping noiselessly into the hall to check her caller I.D. she placed it back on the table, her face troubled. Vaughn slid up silently behind her, hair tousled, eyes sleepy, dressed in only a pair of pajama bottoms. "He still hasn't called?"

"No." Sydney shook her head, trying in a desperate attempt to clear the night's images from her mind. After Diane's jeep had exploded, ricocheting across the parking lot in a ball of flames, Dixon had gone nearly ballistic. In spite of Sydney and Vaughn's attempts to hold him back before the police arrived, he'd managed to get close enough to the fire to singe his hands, forearms, and forehead in a superhuman attempt to get to his wife.

When he finally was restrained by police, it took a horrible three hours of intensive questioning by both the police and CIA agents before either he, Vaughn, or Sydney had been released for the night. After questioning, he bolted to his car, ignoring orders to stop, and drove off into the night. He managed to lose the police within minutes, and no one had seen him since.

"Vaughn...God." in those two words, all of Sydney's unspoken fears surfaced. When the police had returned to the station, their faces grim, Sydney knew that they thought there was any way Marcus Dixon would not have killed himself. She turned and braced both hands against his warm, bare chest, leaning into him. "I don't want to start crying again," she said against his skin, her voice muffled.

Vaughn stroked her hair. "I'm sure he'll turn up," he said in a hushed tone.

"Its not even that so much as...." she looked up at him "Is there any doubt in your mind who did it?"

Vaughn sighed.

"There's no way Sloane wouldn't have got to him, the sonofabitch...not after what happened to Emily....God, I want him DEAD."

Vaughn hoisted himself up to the countertop, taking Sydney with him. "Don't worry," he said consolingly. "The CIA is doing everything it can and-"

They were interrupted when Francie padded into the kitchen, looking like a little girl in her pink tank top and matching pajama shorts, her hair in pigtails. "I thought I heard some noise in here," she said.

When she saw Sydney, who was nestled across Vaughn's chest, she moved across the kitchen quickly, wrapping her arms around Sydney's neck. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said, Sydney having told her and Will most of the story on their post-midnight return from the restaurant.

She gently stroked Sydney's chin, and Sydney hugged her back gratefully, entirely missing the predatory flash in her eyes. "I'll make us some tea, okay?"

She moved away from Sydney and began heating water on the stove in a small kettle. "He was such a nice guy, too," she said. "I met him at your Halloween party last year, remember? Whatever terrorist bastard did that should be shot."

Will came out as well, rubbing his eyes. "You said it," he remarked, giving Sydney a signifigant look. Although he couldn't discuss the full ramifications of the "accident" in front of Francie, his suspicions were the same as everyone else's. Vaughn returned to Sydney's bedroom long enough to pull on a shirt, and the four sat close together on the couch, unable to sleep, sipping the sweet, hot peppermint tea that Francie had made.

The knock on the door startled them all, but it was Will who made it there first, pulling it open. "Oh...hi, Mr. Dixon," he stammered, stepping back when he noted the man's appearance. In between his crumpled, stained suit, his bleeding hands and blistered face, his bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, and the vague, cold, disquiet expression he wore, Dixon looked completely opposite from the impeccable agent that had reported to work that morning.

He looked like a battered man.

"Good morning, Mr. Tippen," he said, low. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but is Sydney-"

"Dixon?" Sydney ran down the hall, stopping short at the sight of her partner standing in the doorway. "God, Dixon...I'm glad to see you." She put her arms around him, trying to offer some comfort, but she fond him rigid and unmoving, though he half-heartedly tried to return her hug with one hand. She led him into the house. Vaughn immediately rose from the couch, Francie having retreated tactfully to her bedroom.

"Dixon," he said, reaching out grab the man's shoulder. "I'm so sorry- you gave us quite a scare-"

Dixon nodded quickly, as if to ward off any further conversation. "I'm fine," he said, and Vaughn dropped his hand. "I thank you. Sydney, my kids- "

"Are still with your sister-in-law," Sydney finished for him. "Don't worry, I called her and told her you had an emergency and couldn't pick them up tonight, she..doesn't know anything else, and neither do the boys..I though that you might want to-"

"Yes," Dixon cut her off abruptly, sagging on the couch. "Thank you," he said again, his tone completely desolate, his body looking like it lacked even the most basic strength. He buried his face in his hands, making no noise, but Sydney saw his shoulders fall rise rapidly, one, two, three times. Then he lifted his head. His eyes were dry, but so vacant that they frightened Sydney.

"Sydney," he said, woodenly. "I have no business asking this, but may I use your shower? I need to wash up before I get the boys, or I'll scare them to death-" he gestured to his clothes, face and hands. "I really don't see myself going home right now, and-"

"Of course." Sydney jumped to her feet. "You know where it is, right?"

"I'll get you something to wear," Vaughn volunteered, heading for the bedroom.

"There's no way anything of yours will fit him, man. Let me-" and Will hurried out behind him, glad to have something to do.

Dixon headed for Sydney's bathroom and stepped in the shower, increasing the heat till the water pounded down on his body like hot, slippery needles. He turned his hands up to the flow, welcoming the stinging pain that made his fingers throb as the blisters broke, and the blood and soot washed away. Finally, he slid down to the tub floor, threw his head back, and let out a blood-chilling scream that could be heard only faintly over the sound of the water.

Dixon stayed in that position for an innumerable amount of time, until the water grew icy and the flow grew weak. He looked up when he heard tapping on the door, then hoisted himself to his feet, climbed out, and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked to the door and pulled it open.

Vaughn was on the other side, holding a small stack of clothing in his hands. "Um...I hope you don't mind wearing a hockey jersey, but you're pretty much bigger in the shoulders than Will or I, and-"

Dixon accepted the pile quickly, interrupting Vaughn. "Thanks, it should be fine." He closed the door, and emerged from the bathroom a couple minutes later, dressed in Vaughn's Islanders jersey and a loose pair of Will's sweats. He walked into the living room, where the rest of them were still assembled. All conversation halted when he came into the room.

Vaughn was the one who broke the uncomfortable silence by saying, "Everything fit okay?"

"Yes. Thanks again. Syd, I'm going to go now- I'd better get to my sister- in-law's."

"Of course." Sydney stood up to walk him to the door, then caught a glimpse of his hands. "Dixon....your hands..."

He looked down at them. The blood was gone, but the skin was split in many places, and the blisters had formed tiny open sores due to the scouring the water had given them. "It's...nothing. I'll be fine."

"Mr. Dixon, you really should put some ointment or something on them- they could get infected, you know," Francie added, appearing from the shadows, her eyes glowing strangely. Sydney looked at her, startled by the expression on Francie's face as she hurried to the kitchen.

Francie returned with a thick tube of ointment, which she twisted open and squeezed a small amount onto his palms. "Just rub them together," she said. "I use this stuff when I get cut in the restaurant all the time." She turned back to the kitchen, no one noticing the tiny sneer on her face.

"Thank you..for everything." Dixon said quietly to Sydney at the door.

"Call me, okay?"

"I will." He turned and headed for the walk.

"And....Dixon?"

He turned around.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He gave her an attempt at a half-smile, though his eyes were painful to look into, wracked with guilt and sadness. "I think so....I've got to go. The boys...."

She nodded and waved him down the walk, watching as his headlights disappeared into the dim light of the early morning. Relieved, she went to her bedroom, climbing into the warm, clean-smelling space next to Vaughn, and drifted of into a troubled sleep, peppered with disturbing images of her mother and Sloane.