Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned in this story belong to J.J. Abrams.  Minor appearances made by some of my own creation.

Distribution: Ask me first and let me know where so I can visit.

Feedback: Yes, please, it really makes my day.

Spoilers: None from Season 2.  I'm trying to be really good about not reading the major ones, but I caved and had to read a little one about Vaughn in Ep. 3.

Summary: Post-ATY.  Held prisoner by her mother, Sydney learns what happens to Vaughn.  There's actually a lot more to the story, but I can't give it away just yet.  Drama/Romance (that's a hint)/a little Action & Adventure.

Author's Note: Okay, before you completely pass on this one because it's ANOTHER post-ATY fic, please give it a chance, anyway, especially if you've liked anything else I've ever posted here.  I think it's going pretty well so far and I hope you'll think so, too.  I know the premise has been done before because there are only so many ways everyone can be related, but the plot is completely my own, as always.

P.S. I'm starting this one exactly a month before the Season 2 Premiere in the hopes that I can finish it by then. Anyway, here you go and I hope you enjoy.

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"Mom?" Sydney's voice trembled.

The woman in the shadows stepped out into the light. Sydney's lips parted in surprise. It was true. Her mother, Laura Bristow AKA Irina Derevko, was The Man.

"It is good to see you again, Sydney." It was odd to hear the slight Russian accent coming out of her mother's mouth. Had she ever slipped up when I was a kid? Sydney tried to remember, but her memories of her mother were so hazy. I should have paid more attention.

"I wish I could say the same." Sydney replied stiffly.

Irina Derevko pressed her lips together in a thin line. She had not expected Sydney to make this easy for her and as usual, her daughter did not disappoint her.

Sydney had a blank expression on her face as her mother--no, I need to think of her as Irina--sat down in the chair Khasinau had previously occupied. She turned a speculative gaze on her daughter.

"I can't believe my little girl is all grown-up!" Irina remarked in a soft voice. "You're beautiful, Sydney, just as I knew you would be."

Sydney said nothing. The compliment didn't please her, considering the source, so it didn't warrant a response.

"I suppose I look very different to you." Irina mused with a brief smile. "Many years have passed."

"Is this where I'm supposed to say you haven't changed a bit, Mom?" Sydney said, sarcasm oozing from her voice. "Sorry, but you're not my young, beautiful mother I remember." Her anger made her cruel, but she knew her comment would hit at Irina's vanity. The mother she remembered always used to fuss and primp in front of the mirror right before her father was due home from work. In her mind's eye, Sydney could see her mother brushing her long dark lustrous hair and applying a rose-colored lipstick just as her father's car was pulling into the driveway. Laura would rush to greet him and they would kiss and he would tell her she looked beautiful as always.

"Does it make you feel good to hurt me, Sydney?" Irina's voice was hard.

"Well, you're not exactly welcoming me into your home." She gestured with her chin towards the restraints keeping her tied to the chair.

"That cannot be helped." Irina waved her hand dismissively. "I know you, Sydney. You would try to escape if I released you."

Sydney bristled. "Don't say you know me! You know nothing about me!"

"On the contrary, I know a great deal about you." Her mother contradicted her with a cool glance. She stood up and Sydney watched as Irina extracted a thick photo album from a nearby bookshelf. She then returned to her chair and opened the cover.

"Here is a picture of your first ballet recital. You were eight years old. Your father was in Tokyo, if I remember correctly, so your nanny was the person who watched you dance in your first performance." Irina turned the album so that Sydney could see the photo. She struggled to keep her features composed as she recognized the photograph of her and four other little girls in pink leotards and tutus. She had the same photo in an album back home.

"You were very upset at your father for missing the recital and you didn't even care that he brought you back a genuine Japanese kimono to make up for it." Irina gazed at her daughter, marveling that it was like looking at a younger version of herself, the imperturbable expression on Sydney's face mirroring her own. "You ignored him the whole time he was home, but after he left again, you got all dressed up and pranced around for your nanny." She pointed to the photograph of Sydney in full kimono regalia, her costume authentic right down to the wooden slippers on her feet and the chopsticks in her hair.

"How on earth would you have that photo?" Sydney demanded to know. "Mrs. Tennyson took those--" She stopped short and stared at her mother. "Did she work for you?" The words came out ragged. It pained her to think of that sweet old woman as being the pawn of someone as ruthless and calculating as Irina Derevko. Mrs. Tennyson had been like the grandmother figure in every storybook she had ever read, but if it turned out she had only been a plant in order to further her mother's contemptible agenda, then it would be just another lie to add to the pile she was unfortunately accumulating and that sickened her.

"How else would I have been able to keep tabs on you after I'd gone?" Irina replied blithely, not realizing how enraged Sydney was becoming. "Now here is the picture of when you scored your first soccer goal…"

"…and the class spelling bee when you won first prize…"

"…and your first junior high school dance…"

"…and your valedictory speech at your high school graduation--"

"Stop it! Stop it!" Sydney screeched when she could stand it no longer. "I don't want to hear anymore how you were spying on me through my nanny! Or should I call her your watchdog?" She felt tears sting at her eyes because she was so angry to have been a victim of deceit at such an early age. "Was she even British or was that a lie, too?"

Why she would ask such a non sequitur of a question was beyond her comprehension, but she blamed it on stress and exhaustion and a certain other something she was afraid to even think about for fear of it becoming real to her.

To her credit, Irina didn't bother to lie to her. "No, she was not British, Sydney. She was Russian." Irina's manner had suddenly become subdued.

"Was she KGB?"

"No." Irina shook her head. "She was just an ordinary citizen."

"But if she worked for you, didn't she know who you were?" Sydney was confused.

"Yes, Sydney, she knew who I was." Her mother looked her squarely in the eye. "But that was because she was my mother, Aleksandrina Derevko."

Sydney became very still as she absorbed this new tidbit of information. Margaret Tennyson AKA Aleksandrina Derevko had been her grandmother and she'd never even known it! The little woman with the white hair and the wide smile had been Sydney's one constant as she was growing up. Her father was never around for more than a few weeks at a time, but she could always count on Mrs. Tennyson for a kind word or a quick hug. Now to find out that she had held back such an important connection between them somehow tainted the memories Sydney had of her, forever tarnishing them.

Sydney was feeling so utterly frustrated at that moment, she wanted to scream and scream at the top of her lungs until she went hoarse. The lies never seemed to stop coming where Irina was concerned. How long was she to be subjected to this torture?

"She left when I went away to college." Sydney finally said, not wanting to let Irina see how deeply the news had affected her. "But of course you already knew that." Her voice was cold.

"Yes," Irina acknowledged. "She came back to Russia. I bought her a house and she lived there until she died two years ago."

Sydney lowered her head at the mention of her grandmother's death. Maybe in time, Sydney could come to recognize that the love which had been showered upon her as a child had been a very real and tangible thing, but for now, all she could think about was how Irina and her mother had duped her into believing in a person who had been nothing but a fraud. 

"She loved you with all her heart, Sydney, and she wanted very much to tell you who she was, but it was impossible." Irina said to her. "If your father had found out, he quite possibly would have trumped up some charges and had her thrown in prison just to get back at me."

Sydney's eyes grew stormy. "My father would not have done that!" She flung at Irina. "He may not be Father of the Year, but he would not have put my grandmother in jail on false accusations!"

Irina raised an eyebrow at her outburst. "You defend your father quite staunchly, Sydney, but we both know he isn't the most ethical man in the world."

"He does what he has to do to serve his country and protect his family." She said stonily.

"Yes, I will grant you that." Irina agreed. "Jack would do anything to protect you."

Talking about her father made Sydney wonder what he was doing at that moment. He must have been frantic with worry when neither she nor Vaughn had shown up at their appointed meeting place. She knew he was doing everything in his power to find her right now.

"Why did it matter to you what happened to me after you left?" Her voice was tight. "You never cared about me or Dad. We were just your smoke screen so that you could play Little Miss KGB!" She said bitterly.

Irina gave her a long, hard stare. "Yes, I was a KGB operative, Sydney, and my main objective was to infiltrate the CIA through a union with one of its officers."

"But you, Sydney, were not part of the plan." Irina continued. "I was not supposed to become pregnant as it would only complicate matters when I would have to leave my post."

"Well, I'm so sorry I came along to complicate your life!" Sydney said acerbically.

"But you didn't, Sydney, that's what I'm trying to tell you." Her mother gave her an imploring look. "I didn't realize it until I held you in my arms for the first time, but you completed my life. I knew right then that I wasn't put on this earth to be a spy. I was here to be your mother."

Sydney struggled to remain unmoved. "That's a very pretty speech, Irina, but after everything I know you've done, you can't expect me to believe you."

"Sydney, leaving you was the hardest thing I ever had to do." Irina said gravely. "It nearly killed me to leave you behind, but I had no choice. The KGB thought your father was becoming suspicious and when they planned to extract me, I was given very little time to prepare."

"Are you saying you would have taken me with you?" Sydney was incredulous.

"I would have tried had it not been for the method in which they chose for me to disappear." She responded. "You hadn't taken your swimming lessons yet, Sydney. You were supposed to start the next summer." Irina gave her a helpless look. "I couldn't take you with me."

"Because I would have drowned when your car went into the river." Sydney finished for her, a lump rising unexpectedly in her throat.

"But I never stopped wanting you with me." Irina said with a fervent look on her face. "Everything I've done has led up to this moment when we could be reunited!"

"Oh, so now you're going the motherly devotion route, is that it?" Sydney narrowed her eyes. "Isn't that a little hard to pull off since you abandoned me when I was six years old?"

Irina gave her a look of exasperation. "Sydney, why can't you believe I'm sincere?" She asked sharply.

"Because everything you've ever done in your life wasn't for real." Sydney's voice was steely. "You were a fraud from the moment you wormed your way into my father's life and you left it the same way. You're nothing but a liar and a traitor and a murderer--"

"Enough!" Irina suddenly boomed at her, thoroughly incensed and unwilling to listen to her daughter's insults any longer. "I thought I could talk to you and make you understand, but you are clearly in no mood to listen to me now." She lifted the phone, said a few words in Russian, and then hung up. She crossed the room over to Sydney and proceeded to undo her bindings.

"I will never listen to anything you have to say." Sydney said witheringly as two burly men with very large guns appeared in the doorway.

"Take my daughter to her room." Irina ordered, waving her hand dismissively.

"Don't call me that!" Sydney barked at her, whirling around.

Irina froze in place and gave her a long look. "Did you find something objectionable in what I said?" Her voice was dangerously soft.

"Don't call me your daughter." Sydney said through gritted teeth. "My mother was Laura Bristow, but she was a woman who apparently never existed. Therefore, I don't have a mother." Sydney turned on her heel and her two escorts followed her out. She did not see the tremble of the older woman's mouth or her flinch when Sydney's words hit her.

Sydney was finally able to take stock of where she was behind held prisoner. They were in a house, a quite large one from what she could tell. The walls were made of white stucco and there were copper-colored Spanish tiles inlaid into the hardwood floor. The décor was simple, but surprisingly warm and inviting. It looked like a home, not a house, if that made any sense.

Irina's goons forced her up a sweeping marble staircase with a smooth, wide banister that led up to the second floor. One of them motioned at her with his gun to turn right and she obeyed, stopping when they did outside of a solid oak door. Sydney noted that it was the only room in this particular wing of the house that had a lock which opened from the outside. Goon #1 unlocked the door and Goon #2 shoved her into the room with a rather unceremonious push. The door closed behind her and they made a big deal of making a lot of noise as they were locking her inside. Sydney rolled her eyes and forgot about them.

She was finally alone. Sydney let her shoulders slump and she heaved a great big sigh. Her muscles suddenly felt like jelly and she sank onto the surprisingly comfortable bed. She took a moment to survey her surroundings.

The room she had been given was luxuriously appointed with a beautiful brass bed, the mattress firm with just a little give, which was exactly the way she liked it. A fluffy down comforter had been laid upon white silk sheets and the snowy pillows looked very appealing to her at that moment. A large intricately carved wooden armoire sat against one wall and the bathroom took up the opposite side. A matching dresser stood across from the bed, various little bottles and tubes neatly arranged across the top along with a silver hairbrush and comb. An ornate gilt-edged mirror was hung over the dresser, for her to use if she wished to apply her makeup.

If this room had been anywhere except in what was apparently her mother's home, she would have been thrilled with it. She liked the way the yellow flowers in the vase by the window matched the little yellow and blue sprigs in the wallpaper. She liked the thick woolly white rug that had been placed on top of the hardwood floor to ward off the early morning chill against her bare feet. She liked the overstuffed armchair sitting next to the window, a perfect spot in which to curl up with a good book. It was obvious that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make this room attractive and comfortable and under different circumstances, Sydney would have appreciated it.

But she knew that it was Irina who had done all of this for her and so she couldn't enjoy any of it. She thinks if she makes this feel like a home that I'll start to believe I belong here. Why can't she realize that I will never feel at home as long as she's a part of my life?

Sydney suddenly caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror opposite the bed and quickly closed her eyes when she saw the vision staring back at her. She looked like a mess. Her eye makeup was running, her lipstick had smeared and her jaw was tender and swollen from when they'd knocked her out. She suddenly felt a deep-seated urge to scrub herself clean--down to the bone if necessary, she thought with a slight exaggeration--just so that she could feel like herself again.

Sydney got up off the bed and wandered into the bathroom. Mommy Warbucks had struck again. Marble countertops, double basins with gold-plated fixtures, a deep porcelain tub with jacuzzi features and a shower big enough to hold four people very comfortably without worry of being poked in the back by pointed elbows.

All Sydney cared about at that moment was that there was enough hot water in the shower. She peeled off her grimy clothing, leaving it in a heap on the floor, and ripped off the electric blue wig so that she could wash her hair. She then stepped into the bronze-tiled shower, making the water as hot as she could stand it. She stood under the spray for a long while, not moving, not thinking, not doing anything, just letting it wash over her.

But then the water reminded her. It trickled into her ears and dribbled into her eyes, mingling with the tears she didn't even know were flowing. That picture of Vaughn's face in the window of the door kept flashing through her mind. He had looked desperate and panicked. She remembered feeling as if her heart had stopped when she realized he was trapped in a place from which she couldn't save him. Now that was more a reality than she cared to fathom.

She quickly dispensed with the actual washing of her hair and person and then stepped out of the shower. The room was full of steam, but she was able to make out the fluffy white bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and she wrapped it around herself. Then she grabbed one of the thick white towels on the countertop to soak up the water in her hair.

There was a blow dryer sitting next to the stack of towels. Sydney plugged it in, but when she looked up, the mirror was still fogged from the steam of her shower. She made no move to wipe it away, however. She didn't want to see what she had become just yet. She didn't want to see the lonely and alone woman she was fearful of seeing. She set the dryer back on the counter and decided to let her hair dry naturally.

As she turned, she kicked at the pile of clothing that was still lying on the floor. Crouching down, Sydney gathered the bundle in her arms. Vaughn had gotten such a kick out of seeing her in her Eurotrash clubbing ensemble. He had seen her as exotic (such as in Denpasar) and workmanlike (the Vatican) and of course, in bright red Bozo hair, but her latest disguise happened to tickle him for some reason (Sydney was the sure the mesh and the leather bra had something to do with it). He had been the one to ask her if she would put together his own outfit, so that he wouldn't look totally out of place when they appeared together at the club. She had been the one to suggest the long leather duster, which went so completely against type that she almost giggled when she remembered the utterly skeptical look he had given her.

"That's not really my style, you know." Vaughn said doubtfully.

"Oh, I'm well aware of that." She said with a straight face. "But I think you can pull it off."

"I don't know, Syd." He still looked unsure.

"Oh, come on, Vaughn." She said coaxingly. "Wear the coat and we'll mousse up your hair and glue a little stud earring--"

"An earring!" He blurted out in an alarmed manner.

She had laughed out loud then. "Vaughn, trust me, you will look so incredibly hot that you'll have to beat the girls off with a stick."

Vaughn appeared thoughtful then and he gave her an impish look. "If you were one of the girls in the club, would you notice me?" His face was so guileless, she couldn't tell if he was being serious or if he was just playing with her.

"Definitely." Sydney replied truthfully and she was very much afraid she blushed when she did so. Vaughn looked satisfied and let her do her bidding.

Her eyes threatened to spill over again and she hurriedly thrust the clothes into the clothes hamper and walked back into the bedroom. Her curiosity got the better of her and she opened the door to the armoire. Inside were a multitude of outfits--jeans, tops, sweaters, dresses, undergarments--and all, strangely enough, in her size. How on earth would her mother--Irina--know her dress size? Had she been followed at the mall without knowing it? Um, excuse me, could you tell me what size jeans that girl who just left here bought? My daughter is exactly her size. Just the thought of someone doing that creeped her out.

Knowing that Irina had picked out an entire wardrobe for her with the thought that Sydney would someday have the opportunity to wear even a stitch of it unsettled her stomach and she closed the armoire door with a firm push. Maybe she could just lounge around in her bathrobe all day. It wasn't as if she wanted to impress anybody, after all. No, she wouldn't even get the chance to impress him anymore.

Sydney drifted over to the window. She pulled aside the curtains to find iron bars on the outside of the window frame. Her mouth quirked. Obviously, Irina didn't trust her well enough not to jump.

She was surprised to see that the house was situated high on a mountaintop. It overlooked a lush green valley below, the fields neatly partitioned into rectangular blocks, a small house sitting on each parcel of farmland. If she strained her eyesight, she could just make out a city skyline in the distance. Was that Taipei? Who knew? Truth was, she could be thousands of miles away from Taipei and her father and Will (…and Vaughn) and they wouldn't know where in the world she was.

Sydney pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window and closed her eyes. Had she ever felt so alone? She remembered feeling this way after her mother's memorial service. The mourners had left the house a long time ago and her father had gone off on his own to brood. A distant relative of her father's--an aunt, maybe--had been chosen for the task of staying with Sydney until a nanny could be hired. Sydney had never even known the woman existed until they met two days before, so she certainly wouldn't go to a stranger for comfort. Instead, she had gone up to her room, closed the door and curled up on her bed to cry and wail that her mother was gone and never coming back.

Never coming back…she simply couldn't work herself around the idea that she would never see Vaughn again. He was her rock, her steady hand, her guiding light. She didn't know if she could exist in a world where he wasn't a part of it.

Grief tightened its hold over her heart. Where was it written that she was always destined to lose the men she loved? It had started way before Danny, she realized, when she lost a huge part of her father on the day her mother disappeared and was presumed dead. He never treated her in the same way after her mother "died" and she knew it was because when he looked at her, he always saw Laura.

Then came Noah, whom she had loved and lost and then lost again because she had been naïve enough to place her trust with a black-hearted, cold-blooded assassin and he had turned on her. And her sweet Danny, who had never done anything wrong except leave a phone message on her answering machine, an innocent action that would ultimately seal his fate.

And now Michael Vaughn. Her body shuddered as the scene played over and over in her mind. The crushing force of all that water slamming him against the door. Her frantic banging on the glass as she desperately tried to save him. And then nothing.

Sydney let out a little sob without realizing it and the tears started coming as if they would never stop. She was crying for his mother, who would surely be grief-stricken to lose both her husband and her son before their time. She was crying for his lost future and the woman he would never marry and the children he would never have. She was crying because she had loved him and had not known it until it was too late.

Eventually the tears dried up because she had no more left to give and she was left with a blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes. Sydney looked out the window towards the city so far away. She wondered if they had found his body yet. If they had, what would they do with him? Throw him into the river? Leave him outside of the morgue as an anonymous dead man? The thought of him being buried under a nameless headstone horrified her and she knew she had to do right by Vaughn. She could do this one last thing for him to honor his memory and in doing so, she hoped somehow he would know that he had been loved by her.

As much as it would pain her to do so, Sydney knew she had to go to Irina and beg her to ship Vaughn's body back home to his mother. If Irina would do that for her, then Sydney would do just about anything to thank her. Unfortunately, she knew what Irina would demand in return for her humanitarian gesture towards Vaughn and once Sydney signed her life over to her mother, she knew she could kiss her old life goodbye. 

But she didn't care. If it meant Vaughn would have a proper burial amongst his family and friends and co-workers, then she could deal with anything. Of course, she would miss Will and Francie like crazy. And Dixon, too, even though they'd left things on a strained note. She wondered what kind of story her father would dream up that would make her disappearance sound even halfway believable. She wasn't sure anyone could be that good a storyteller, but if anyone could, she knew it would be Jack

Of course, her father's tenacity was the stuff of legend and she knew he wouldn't give up on her short of seeing her lifeless body laid out on a slab. So she knew he was working on a plan to find her and so she just had to hold on until he did. She could stand being in her mother's company as long as she kept up the hope that her father was somewhere out there looking for her.

Sydney knew she didn't have a lot of time to waste. For all she knew, they already had Vaughn somewhere and she had to act quickly before they did something unspeakably wrong to him. She went over to the bedroom door and began to pound on it, yelling for someone to let her out.

A few moments later, she heard the key turn in the lock and she stepped back from the door. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she saw who was standing in the doorway.

"You?"

To be continued…(if you think I should! Please review and let me know!)