These are the first three chapters in what will eventually be a full-length fic. I have ten written, but I'll be posting them bit-by-bit to allow myself time to catch up in the writing. Also, it's my first fic, so be nice!
Disclaimer: I OWN ALIAS AND EVERYTHING ABOUT IT! Oh… no wait, that's untrue. I own nothing but the computer this was written on. I particularly don't own the idea of them bringing a baby into the show… sigh… I find that unfortunate.
Notes: In this story, there is no Nadia. I just don't have the energy for two Bristow girls right now; spies are so demanding of their own storylines!
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Chapter One
My name is not Michael Vaughn.
Sydney groaned, her eyes closed tight, her head pounding. She struggled to open her eyes, but found she could not. Not blind- her eyes were covered. She was blindfolded. She wiggled her fingers, feeling the rope that bound them to the chair on which she was sitting. Struggling to move her feet, she found them bound as well. Well, at least this was a familiar position.
The last thing she remembered was being in a car with her boyfriend, Michael Vaughn. Smiles, laughter… they were engaged; she was going to marry the man she loved, the man who loved her more than anything else in this world.
My name is not Michael Vaughn.
Why did this one line keep running through her head? Of course it wasn't real, it was a fragment from some disturbed dream she had been having after she passed out. Passed out? She felt like she had been hit by an anvil, like the roadrunner from those old Bugs Bunny cartoons. Hit…
Something clicked in her memory, but Sydney deliberately ignored it, feeling with all of her senses that someone was nearby. She relaxed her body as much as possible, dropping her head to her shoulder, hoping to appear unconscious. Whoever her abductors were, they could not know she was awake until she was ready for them—until this damn headache dissipated. Steps echoed on concrete a short distance away.
"It's like you dropped a present on my front step. Though I believe a bow would have been a wonderful finishing touch." A British accent—a familiar voice. Sark. "Regardless, I have so many plans for our dear Sydney. She will be the star in our new project, I think. I just cannot imagine how you managed to get her here."
A voice mumbled back, too distant even for Sydney's sharp hearing.
"Yes," came Sark's reply. "I do believe torture will be necessary. After all, we wouldn't want our prisoner growing too… soft while she is here." All this time his voice had been growing steadily nearer, stopping directly above Sydney. She struggled not to spit up at his face. She let her breath out slowly, relying on her steady breathing not to betray her racing heart.
She felt Sark's breath on her face, knowing he was only inches from her. She craved a fight, but she was not ready, mentally or physically.
"I believe our prisoner here is faking," Sark drawled slowly. "I think she's awake and gearing to try and kick me in the balls."
Sydney kept her head tilted. Keep breathing. Just keep breathing. If they keep talking, you will find out more about this place… where am I, how did I get here? Is Vaughn okay; was there some kind of accident? She felt the same way she had upon waking up in Tokyo two years back. Dazed and confused, with no sense of how much time had lapsed or what had happened to her.
"Let's not pretend we haven't all been tempted." Another voice responded to Sark dryly. Sydney struggled not to cry out. She would know that voice anywhere. It was the voice that had lulled her to sleep when she was crying, the weight of the world on her shoulders. It was the voice that had had told her everything would be okay, countless times. It was the voice that had said I love you. It was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Vaughn.
Despite the adrenaline coursing through her body, Sydney could not have moved to save her life. She was frozen to the chair.
"She's not awake," Vaughn continued, his voice easy. Not Vaughn, this isn't Vaughn, there's some mistake. "Look at her, so still. If she could hear my voice, she would react. After all, I am supposed to be her true love." He chuckled at this, a cold sound that sent chills up Sydney's spine.
"Maybe so," came Sark's reply. Sydney heard him get up from beside her and turn away as he spoke. "But it's not like you are the first to betray her." His hand reached behind her, touching the back of her head. She bit back a scream.
"What are you doing?" Vaughn asked sharply. NOT Vaughn. This is some sick joke.
"Why keep her blindfolded? She has been transported, she will have no idea where we've brought her when she awakens."
"Fine. But I don't want her to know I'm here… not yet. Let her believe I died in that car accident." As Sark's hands pulled the blindfold away, a rush of memories flooded back to Sydney. Driving down the highway. Laughter, smiles, two people in love. Then… It's no accident that I was the one you came to when you walked in the CIA with your story about SD-6… For starters, my name isn't Michael Vaughn. A split second later, a car slammed into the side of the car. That was the last thing Sydney remembered.
"What about him?" Came Sark's voice.
"Leave him. Let her see him when she wakes up. Let her lose all hope."
Vaughn isn't… Vaughn? Impossible!
"Fine. Play it how you want. This is your op." The voices echoed as the two men walked away, and Sydney finally trusted herself to open her eyes. But first she took a deep breath and forced all thoughts of Vaughn and betrayal from her mind. Somehow, she had to believe, he was not betraying her—he was undercover, on a mission to uncover secrets from Sark. He would come to her and tell her the truth when he could. Even so, his last words to her before the accident echoed through her mind.
She lifted her head slowly, painfully, and looked around. She was in a large, nearly empty room. The walls were gray and the lighting dim. A table holding a polygraph machine and several vials of liquid stood in front of her.
As Sydney continued to scan the room, she noticed a body slumped over in the opposite corner from her. She squinted at it, her vision dancing as she struggled to make him out. But even through blurred eyes, she didn't need to struggle hard to make out the form of her best friend.
Will Tippin.
