Title: Seventeen Again
Author: Dream Writer 4 Life
Rating: PG-13/K+
Genre: General/Humour/Romance/Drama/Angst/Action/Adventure...pretty much everything
'Shippers' Paradise: S/V, F/Will, W/OC
Spoilers/Timeline: After Phase One with hints of events throughout the first two seasons; basically AU
Summary: Syd receives her next long-term undercover assignment: infiltrate a high school and bust its drug ring. Not exactly super spy stuff. Twists, turns, humour, and angst galore: basically a normal day in high school.
Disclaimer: I own nothing "Alias"-related. Period. End of story. Wait, not it's not! Keep reading! Everything you don't recognize is either real or out of my own twisted imagination. And believe me, you don't want that. I do not condone drug use in any form.
Author's Note: Welcome to my first novel-long Alias story! Hope you enjoy your trip to (or back into) high school.

This Chapter: The agents get their aliases and decide to join the band.
Soundtrack: "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana

Seventeen Again

Chapter 1: Smells Like Teen Spirit

"What? No way! You have got to be kidding me!"

"I assure you, Agent Bristow, I couldn't be more serious."

"But this is crazy! Why? Why me? I just finished dealing with SD-6, and now you're sending me on another long-term assignment? You should be glad I'm not quitting the agency!"

"This is your job. I am your boss, and I give you assignments—"

"Vaughn gives me assignments."

"I give the assignments to Vaughn to give to you. You're just going to have to accept this. Your father and Agent Vaughn will assist you on this mission. Here's the quick information on your alias." He handed her a thick manila folder stuffed with papers and personal artifacts. "Your alias is Jane Porter. She moved to Glenfield during the summer from LA. She's seventeen. Her interests are up to your interpretation, because I believe you and Agent Vaughn will have to choose extra-curricular activities to participate in together."

Sydney sighed, leafing through the folder's contents with a preoccupied air. She thought this entire operation was crazy. Her? Posing as a seventeen-year-old? What was Kendall on when he thought of this? And Vaughn! He was even older than she was! Who in their right mind would believe he was a senior in high school? But she had no real basis for objection; if they were made, they would have plenty of time and opportunities for extraction. She exhaled loudly, resigning herself to the situation. "Will the administration be aware of the CIA's presence?"

Kendall averted his eyes, staring off into the maze of desks and streams of bustling employees. "No." Sydney's eyes widened in disbelief, her arms dropping to her sides. "We thought that it would hamper the success of the mission."

"And how would that happen?"

"By playing favorites! An ignored assignment here or inappropriate conversation there could arouse suspicion and shatter your credibility as a teenager."

"You know last time I heard, teachers still played favorites. Now they're even called teachers' pets."

He shot her a look down his nose. "You know what I mean, Miss Bristow." She nodded placidly and relaxed her stance. He continued, "Jack will be posing as the new Chemistry teacher, and you and Agent Vaughn will be in his class together. Once a week he will conduct a study session that is mandatory for the best and worst students in each class. You will both attend on a regular basis. You will discuss updates and such at that time."

"But what if we're not the best or worst students?"

Kendall met her eyes again. "Oh, you will be. Believe me." Syd continued to look uncertain. "You will leave for Chicago in two days. We have set up a meeting between you, Agent Vaughn, and your father at a safe house in Moreno Valley. You will discuss your aliases. Everything else you will need is either in the folder or will be at the safe house. Is everything clear?"

She nodded, slipping the folder into a hidden compartment in her jacket and zippering it shut. She was about to leave the bullpen when a thought occurred to her. "What's my story for Francie and Will? What should I tell my friends?"

Kendall smiled widely, such an unusual sight that she nearly choked on her own tongue. "Don't worry. Everything has been taken care of."

Clothing was flying everywhere; the floor of her room was barely visible beneath the massive amounts of brightly colored and patterned articles of apparel that littered it. A blue crop top that Syd did not even know she had flew at her face; she caught it with a surprised grunt, and Francie's face appeared from out of the depths of Syd's closet. "Oh! Hey Syd! I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner! I had to find out through—" The rest of her friend's sentence was cut off by a tower of dresses that had chosen that moment to topple onto her head.

Sydney started laughing as she began to dig out her best friend. "What in the world are you talking about?"

Francie's head appeared under a black mini dress, smiling from ear to ear. "You know, you're trip with Michael — Oh, no. I wasn't supposed to say anything." Her smile faltered slightly but came roaring back upon seeing Syd's confused grin. "Oh well. Guess the cat's out of the bag." She leaned closer, visibly giddy with excitement. "Michael's taking you on a trip to France! For a year! Do you know what this means, Syd? This means that he loves you! He might propose to you! Oh, one of us will finally be married! We have so much to do: a dress, flowers, and of course the restaurant will cater everything. Unless y'all aren't planning a wedding at all. Are you eloping? Is that what this is for? It's really not a surprise at all! You just want to get away from us so you won't be bothered. Well, if that's the way it is, Sydney Bristow, then I don't want any part of it!"

"Seriously, France. Calm down. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Why are you digging through my closet as if you were drowning? What don't I know?"

Francie stood up, Sydney's collection of dresses pooling at her feet, and dusted herself off. "Weren't you listening to me?"

"Sorry. I tend to tune out the psychotic ramblings of my best friend."

Sticking out her tongue mockingly, she took a seat on the corner of her friend's bed as the latter began rearranging her garments. "Well, what I said was Michael is taking you to France for a year! Isn't that awesome? We won't be able to talk or see each other, but I know you're in safe hands. If he ever tries to put a move on you and you have to beat him with a stick to get him off of you, call me and I'll hop onto my broomstick and fly over there in, like, two seconds: he'll be a dead man."

A small smirk threatened to lift one corner of Syd's mouth as she thought of the moves Vaughn had put on her in the short amount of time they had been together. "That's okay, Fran. I don't think I'll be needing your flying broomstick anytime soon." A box of photos fell and she caught it halfway to the floor. Replacing it on the top shelf, she turned back to her friend with a look of genuine interest. "So What did Michael say about France? What about work? I — we — can't just up and leave the bank on one day's notice!"

Francie began toying with the corner of the bedspread, picking off imaginary lint. "I wasn't supposed to tell you this much. I don't think I should say any more." One look from her best friend and she grinned brightly. She had never been able to keep a large secret for long; one of the reasons why Syd absolutely knew she could not be trusted with the true nature of her job. "Well, he said he called in for a temporary transfer for both of you so you wouldn't have to take a lifetime's worth of vacation leave. Isn't that so sweet? I mean I knew he was amazing, but I didn't know he was this amazing."

'So this is how they broke the news to Will and Francie. I wonder if Will knows the truth; maybe he was part of the task force! Oh, that would be so nice' "When did you find out about this? I just talked to Michael before we left the bank."

Her best friend leapt off the bed at the mention of time. She stopped Syd's feeble reorganization efforts by throwing herself back into the closet. "He actually left just before you got home; I'm surprised you didn't run into him on the way in. But anyway, he told me to keep it a secret and to pack for you: only what you absolutely needed, though, because he's going to buy you a whole new wardrobe once you get there. Isn't that awesome? You get to go shopping for clothes in France: Gare de Lyon, the Champs-Èlysèes, Armani Well, that last one's Italian, but still! Designer labels, Syd, real designer labels! I am so totally and completely jealous. Not to mention those sexy French boys. Do your extremely envious friend a favour and bring her home one."

"You have Will, Fran."

"Eh, what's another one or two on the side?"

"Francie!"

"Kidding, kidding!"

"Don't be jealous, Fran," Syd continued, a bit preoccupied as she extracted her handy-dandy pillow-sized suitcase on wheels from under her bed. Packing would have been a lot easier if she knew what a modern seventeen-year-old wore; as it was, she did not even remember what a modern twenty-eight-year-old wore. She had to pack for five days at the most: she, Vaughn, and her father had to settle in, buy new clothes, and figure out what the hell they were doing and how they were going to do it. Francie started throwing entire outfits at her friend, pulling her attention back. "We still have to work, you know. Now at least we can't go on any business trips."

"It's not called 'working' when you are in a beautiful foreign country surrounded by a gorgeous culture, exquisite language, hotter-than-Los-Angeles-on-a-July-day-hot Frenchmen, and a boyfriend who is probably going to propose and ask you to bear his children!"

All Sydney could mutter was an exasperated and helpless, "Fran!" before zippering her suitcase. She plunked down on the bed next to it, bouncing slightly on the springy mattress. Fran gracefully glided to a rest beside her best friend and slid an arm around her shoulder, hugging her close. "I'm gonna miss you, Fran."

"I'll miss you, too, Syd."

They smiled at each other serenely.

France clapped a hand reassuringly onto Syd's knee, breaking the moment. "Well, Michael's going to be back any minute to pick you up. Now, promise me you'll act surprised, 'cause otherwise he just might kill me."

That smirk resurfaced upon Syd's cheeks, conveying the fact that she might know something that no one else did. "Don't worry. I have the feeling I'll be in for a ton of surprises."

Vaughn picked Sydney up with a large and genuine smile, leaving behind a sobbing Francie and sober Will. In a hushed and hurried whisper, Will had told his friend that he knew where she was going and wished her good luck. Smiles of masked knowing and worry were exchanged between the three CIA employees as the couple sped off towards the "airport". The airport happened to be a small CIA safe house located in Moreno Valley, a suburb of LA, where Jack Bristow was supposed to be waiting for them. Not even bothering to remove their luggage (there were most certainly appropriate changes of clothing waiting for them), Vaughn and Sydney went inside and were met with a strange sight. Instead of the grey-haired, tight-lipped, stoic Senior Agent Bristow they found a shorter, portlier agent sitting at the table in the reasonably furnished living room.

He stood up with a large smile spreading across his round face. "Hey guys. Surprised to see me?" He asked, opening his arms to receive Sydney's glad hug.

Her former handler beat her to the question that was waiting to be asked. "Surprised? More like a little confused. There was only supposed to be three undercover agents on this mission. What are you doing here, Eric?"

Weiss motioned towards the door they entered through while he retook his seat. "I escaped the Ops Centre by stowing away in your suitcase. Didn't you wonder why it was so heavy? Not. What do you think? They thought that you guys might need a crowbar to pry you two apart and, well, I'm that crowbar. Don't get any kinky ideas, now: I'm not into more than one person at a time."

Stifling a laugh-turned-snort, Syd finally took in the table. There were four semi-established stacks of paper near the centre, but that was all that was clearly discernable among the discombobulated chaos. Papers, photos, newspaper clippings, brightly-colored folders, manila folders, and Post-its were scattered among writing utensils of every make and colour: markers, highlighters, pens, pencils, crayons even. Only Weiss could turn a meeting into a Kindergarten playroom. "Weiss, is my father hiding under this mess or is he not here yet?"

He smiled sarcastically but did not have time to reply. Jack Bristow strode in from the next room carrying a tray of glasses and a pitcher. "I'm right here, Sydney. I requested that Agent Weiss come along on this mission; we need at least one jock on this escapade." Ignoring the questioning looks from all three younger agents, he frowned down at the table. "Agent Weiss, at least try to be organized. For our sake."

Mumbling an apology, Eric cleared away the papers across the table from his seat, allowing the tray to be placed in their stead. Jack motioned for Sydney and Vaughn to take a seat and they separated, moving to opposite sides of the space. At the last moment Weiss sat down in Vaughn's seat, prompting a wrinkle or twenty to break out on his friend's head. Eric just smiled slyly and raised his eyebrows. Sydney was oblivious to the two children; she was engrossed in the mass amount of paperwork in front of them.

She accepted a glass of water from her father's outstretched hand and passed it along to Vaughn. "Would somebody like to clue me in on what all this stuff is?"

"Details on our covers," Her father answered curtly, moving the tray to a side table for extra room. "We need to be briefed on each other's covers so that there is no overlap from our personal lives to those that we will impersonate. I have instructed Agent Weiss to assemble stacks for us, but I see he was unable to do so."

"Hey! I started! See?" He gestured to the four aforementioned stacks, which stood no more than a quarter-inch above the sea of dead trees. He dug them out and passed them to their respective owners proudly, and they all started to sift through the forlorn pit, exclaiming a random name from time to. When the papers were evenly distributed (and Syd realized that the real identity of the surface was a worn-down card table), they could finally begin "sharing" and "discussing". Weiss had a harder time absorbing his information because he had only received the assignment a mere two hours before; the rest of them had an entire day. So, of course, Vaughn made his friend go first.

Eric felt like a child again in English class, called upon to recite a newly learned passage by Shakespeare. It was only appropriate. He picked up his paper and held it in front of his face with both hands, studying it while he read. "I am Gregory Stone, a seventeen-year-old three-sport athlete transferring in from Everglades High in Miami, Florida. Boy, am I gonna have a hard time explaining away my lack of a tan."

"We have self-tanner among our supplies, Agent Weiss."

"Well, that's good. I'm in football, swimming, and baseball. I live with my mother Audrey Stone and father Bruce Stone in Sugarville. Extra curriculars besides sports: unknown. Guess I'm the jock, guys."

"Correct. You will be the CIA's eyes and ears in the world of sports. See if there's any steroid use, drug trafficking, anything like that."

Weiss nodded and slid his pen from behind his ear; they each had to take notes on the other agents for study and memorization. Jack took the initiative and decided to go next. He did not need the aid of his stack of papers.

"I am Victor Tull from Des Moines, Iowa. I taught Chemistry at Sim City High School for ten years before moving to Angers to teach at Glenfield. I have never been married and am forty-two years old. We will be able to keep in contact because I will be teaching ninth hour Chemistry, the one class that you will have in common. It was a risky decision, but I felt it was necessary for the success of the mission."

Weiss suddenly paused in his scribbling to look up. "Where are our class schedules? Don't you think we should have those as well? They just might come in handy one of these days."

The older agent straightened up in his seat and looked down his nose at the former. Eric immediately regretted opening his mouth at all. "Have you ever heard of registration, Agent Weiss?" He had learned his lesson; pressing his lips into a thin line he allowed Jack to continue. "That is when students — new and old alike — arrive at the school to receive locker assignments, class schedules, and pay their fees. This year it is on August 12."

"We have to pay for things?" Sydney repeated, her voice rising an octave in worry. "If we pay with a check, we'd each have to set up checking accounts. If we pay with a credit card, we have the same problem. And won't they be suspicious if we all pay with cash?"

Vaughn laughed sarcastically, shifting in his seat. She offered him a mask of confusion, her eyebrows raised and knotted together. He cleared his throat, fighting the bemused smirk that was threatening to overtake his features. "Are you kidding? Do you even remember the objective of this mission? We're taking down drug traffickers. I'm pretty sure they're used to cash by now."

"Good point, buddy," Weiss responded, clapping his friend on the shoulder, apparently attempting to slip into his jock role. With one withering look from Vaughn he backed off. "Well, let's get on with this. Syd, you're up."

Sydney had memorized her alias long ago and spit out the facts as if she had actually lived them.

"My name is Jane Porter. I am from Los Angeles, California, where I have lived since I was born. I am a seventeen-year-old senior in high school, and I reside with my mother and father, Christine and Matthew Porter, in Sugarville. At my previous high school I was a straight-A student with no extra-curriculars. This year that will change; I plan to take up as many extra-curricular activities as my schedule allows. My parents are extremely well-off and take many business trips, leaving me home alone often." She allowed herself an immensely quick meaningful glance at Vaughn. He did a double take, but her eyes were already glued to a spot on the off-white wall between her father and Weiss. "I have no siblings. Vaughn?"

Still slightly confused as to the meaning of Syd's look, he took a moment to straighten his papers and look them over one last time before beginning. Upon glancing up, the first thing he saw was Jack's most famous face: the if-so-much-as-one-single-hair-even-blows-out-of-line-I-will-not-hesitate-to-kill-you-in-the-slowest-way-imaginable face. Apparently he had gotten Sydney's message loud and clear. "Enough procrastinating, Agent Vaughn," Jack stated, barely moving his lips. "We have much to do tonight before we leave. Let's get on with this."

"Yes sir," The younger agent stammered out, still a hint of confusion exhibiting itself in the arch of his eyebrows. "I am Michel Tibot, a nineteen-year-old from Paris, France—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second," Syd interjected. "Why is Vaughn from France? Why would a person from France move to a suburb of Chicago? It's too conspicuous."

The senior Bristow sighed in exasperation as he folded his hands on top of the table. "If you had let him finish his introductory monologue, you would have found out. Agent Vaughn, please continue."

Apologetic smile met apologetic smile as Syd and Vaughn locked eyes; she was the first to blush and look away, only to catch Weiss's sly and knowing smirk. Fixing his gaze above the head of Jack Bristow Vaughn continued, "I have been studying English almost as long as I have been doing drugs. Pot, crystal meth, coke, heroin, acid, ecstasy, and various steroids have been found in my possession. I have been expelled from four public schools, two private schools, and five juvenile facilities. I've been arrested three times, sent to jail once, and ordered to take counseling more times than I can count. My parents are divorced with my father living in Sugarville, so my mother sent me there to straighten me out. She figured that getting me away from gang-filled inner cities and into a wholesome American suburb would help me. Little does she know that Glenfield isn't as wholesome as it seems: there are over thirty gangs in the town of twenty-eight thousand people, and I plan to join the top of the line."

There was a pregnant pause after his soliloquy: the younger agents did not quite know how to respond to such a heavily detailed alias. Putting aside the fact that he had to remember one number from another, the hoops that the CIA had obviously had to jump through in order to compile all of those police, school, and psychologists' records was almost humbling. It solidified Sydney's resolve and determination that this mission should succeed. Vaughn's — no wait, Michel's personal predicament deserved not only her pity, but her help as well. That required action. If this was typical of what was to be found where they were going It was not just the present state of the country that they were fighting for; their future was at stake as well. For the time being, though, Eric and Syd only nodded their heads, jotting down their final notes on their fellow agent before turning their attention back to Mr. Bristow.

The latter rose from the table and left the room without a word. He returned shortly with a stack of three course books (each about half an inch thick), six large envelopes, and three small white envelopes. Upon handing them to their respective recipients he explained, "Although your courses and course schedule have already been pre-arranged, Kendall thought it necessary for you to understand what is offered, what you're getting to. The thicker envelopes are registration information, a map of the school, and all the other precursory paperwork they send to new arrivals. Vaughn, yours is thicker because there's a copy in French. The second envelope is a list of the extra-curricular activities offered by the school. You will actually pick your clubs and such on Activities Night, which you three are required to attend. The third envelope, well, I'm not quite sure what that is."

Even though curiosity killed the cat, it did not kill the three CIA agents who eagerly tore open that third envelope. Expecting to see a cheesy but friendly note from the principal or dean, they were strangely surprised to see that the letter and subsequent paperwork were from a certain Mr. James L. Guter, director of bands at Glenfield Community High School. It was a standardized welcome to the school and an invitation to join the "award-winning Wildcat marching, concert, and jazz bands". Not quite knowing what to think about it, all three put it aside for the time being and turned to the almost overwhelming amount of paperwork before them.

They filled out the registration packets in silence and discussed their possible classes and the activity list with minimal enthusiasm. By the time that the paperwork was getting wrapped up, it was close to midnight and more than one pair of eyelids was drooping, so when Vaughn suggested they brew a pot of coffee Sydney jumped at the opportunity. The pair entered the sparsely furnished kitchen without so much as a word; Vaughn set about brewing a pot while Syd quietly searched through the cupboards to find four mugs. When the liquid had been poured and the first gulp had seared a welcome trail down her throat, she smiled up at him sweetly.

"So Michel just exactly how big of a stretch is this whole drug addict thing?"

He laughed through his nose as he added a sugar cube to his coffee and watched it bob for a moment before it dissolved and sank. "I have no idea how I'm going to do this. I mean, correctly portraying a teenager of today without an adjustment period is hard enough. Now add to that I'm gonna be hazed into a gang, pretend that I'm doing drugs, and hide from the administrators There's no grace period, Sydney; I can't 'adjust' like you can. I can only use the excuse 'I'm French' for a certain amount of time before it becomes old."

"I think the phrase is 'done', Vaughn. 'You're done' or 'it's done' "

"Yeah See what I mean? This is going to be Hell."

"Hey," She replied, her soft tone demanding his gaze. "At least we can date without the entire CIA breathing down out necks and watching our every move. They don't care if we see each other while we're on assignment as long as we keep up appearances."

Vaughn sighed, dragging his eyes back to the steaming mug in his hands, attempting to stare straight to the bottom. "Syd, why would a straight-A wonder girl have anything to do with a doped-up druggie?"

Finishing her cup, she crossed the room to stand by his side under the pretense that she was pouring herself another mug. She settled back against the cabinets, resting her elbows on the countertop, and bit her lip in thought. With a twinkle glowing like a warming ember in her eyes she looked up at him and replied slowly, "Well, like you said, we don't know exactly how these teenagers act nowadays. Who knows? Maybe the lines between popular and geeky — between cliques — isn't as clear cut as they were back when we were in school. Now it may be standard procedure to see a stoner hooking up with the head cheerleader or a known drama geek to date the captain of the football team."

He snorted shortly into his mug, almost splashing the hot liquid down his shirtfront. He took both of their mugs and set them down on the counter behind them. Cradling her face in the palm of his hand, he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, his feather-light touch almost tickling her. "Have I told you how great you are recently?" She smiled as she leaned into his embrace, cupping a hand around the back of his neck to bring his head down for a quick but heated kiss.

It was not quick enough, though. When they pulled apart, a throat cleared from the direction of the doorway, and Weiss was visible leaning against the doorframe with an annoyed look on his face. Both blushed as they shoved away from the other and came to rest on opposite sides of the small room. Ignoring both of them, Eric grabbed one of the mugs awaiting him on the counter and helped himself to a cup of liquid caffeine. "Seriously, guys. No room or corner is safe from you two, is it? You need a designated room where you two can just go at it like rabbits at any time of day. If I have to, I'll build it myself. That way I can make sure that it doesn't have windows. While I don't mind seeing you—" he pointed to Syd "—in the nude, you, Monsieur Mikey, I do mind seeing in your birthday suit. I do not need to be complaining to Barnett for the rest of my natural life, thank you very much."

Sydney scoffed loudly and pretended to throw her coffee at him as she wedged herself between the two men, all three crowding together in the small space. After a brief silence she asked, "What do you guys think about this band thing? Should we join?"

"I can't do marching band," Weiss sighed, dropping the mug into the sink and opening the refrigerator in one movement. "Varsity football players can't be in the marching band 'cause that's when they do the halftime shows."

"So? I think it'd be fun," Vaughn replied, this time picking a random spot on the wall to aimlessly stare at. "You could do concert band. And who knows? Maybe we would make jazz band. Although I don't really like jazz "

"I hate to bring this up, guys," Sydney stated reluctantly, trying in vain to hide a hopeless laugh and smile, "but can any one of us actually play a musical instrument? Can any of us even read music? 'Cause both of those things could throw a monkey wrench into our plans."

There was a silence for a while as they considered.

Vaughn was the first to speak. "I used to play the guitar, so I guess I can play that."

"Not for marching or concert band, you can't."

"Fine. I'll join the drum line, then. I played in a garage band when I was sixteen."

"Sounds like a plan, buddy," Weiss said, this time slapping his friend on his backside. As a reflex, Vaughn's fist registered a severe uppercut to the stomach, causing Weiss to double over in pain while Sydney stifled her laughter with her hands.

"Sorry!"

"That's okay. Just don't tell anyone on the football team that you can beat me up," Eric replied, slightly breathless. After his recovery and many profuse apologies from Vaughn, he redoubled his search for food in the cabinets. "I suppose I can try to remember how to play the tuba. I Well, I kinda played it in my high school band."

Another profound silence overtook the room as the other agents stared at him in disbelief. "You You w-were You were in—"

"You were in the band? For real?" Sydney cried, her shoulders rounding as she slumped into Vaughn. "That leaves me. I can play the piano and sing, but I can't play an actual instrument. Not even a drum: I couldn't keep the beat if my life depended on it."

"Well it just might, Syd," Vaughn said matter-of-factly.

She sighed and tucked an errant stand of hair behind her ear as she thought. "What's the easiest instrument to play, then? I assume we're joining the band, by the way."

"Yeah, well, we kinda have to. It's in our schedule," Weiss pointed out, finally giving up his search and leaning against the opposite counter. "They just sent those letters as a courtesy. Kendall told me before I left. Oh, and the flute/piccolo is pretty much the easiest instrument to play. And with your linguistic ability, it'll literally take no time at all."

"What the hell does linguistics have anything to do with anything?"

Eric sighed in exasperation. "Haven't you ever heard that music is a language? Well, it really is. You already know how to read it. Now you gotta learn how to speak it."

"Um, yeah, okay Weiss "

"Are you three quite done in here?" Her father had appeared at the doorway, standing in a manner that conveyed the fact that he had been standing there for a time. The three younger agents averted their eyes, feeling like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Jack motioned behind him with a nod of his head. "It's later, we're all tired, and we've got a large day ahead of us. There's one bed and two couches in the bedroom. I suggest you all get some sleep."

"But where will you—"

"There's a cot in the other room. I'll be fine." After a moment's hesitation, Sydney gave her father a peck on the cheek and led the way into the bedroom, claiming dibs on both the bed and first use of the bathroom. Weiss and Vaughn followed as reluctantly as a lamb being lead to slaughter; they knew they would not get to use the bathroom for at least an hour.

TBC . . .

Chapter Two: Field Trip to Wal-Mart
Chapter Three: Black, Red, Green, or Blue?

Hope you enjoyed the first of many apparitions of the Exposition Fairy! Please leave feedback!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life