Title: Syd & Michel
Author: Emily, Em, a/k/a "Old Romantic"
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Beta: Tracie a/k/a "auntof3"
Disclaimer: I will not make any money off of this fic, using the characters we all know and love from our favorite TV show, Alias, nor off of the premise behind the movie, "Kate & Leopold". I just like writing! Translations throughout the fic are courtesy of www.freetranslation.com.
Summary: Based on the premise of the movie "Kate & Leopold". Sydney's a double, but Vaughn is not her handler and she's never met Weiss. Takes place very early in Season One, but definitely very AU.
Enjoy!
## ## ##
Prologue:
Sydney Bristow walked across UCLA's expansive campus, and dropped her crumpled paper bag into the garbage can she'd chosen, having entered the number designated for the receptacle on her cell phone just minutes earlier. If all went well, her handler, Joe Woods would be making contact in order to meet to discuss the countermission. Woods was a pretty decent guy; a professional whom she worked well with, who did whatever it took to keep her safe. He was a great husband and father who liked to show off the latest pictures of his two boys and one girl, in their soccer uniforms or at their gymnastics meets. Sydney was a little envious of his family, considering theirs was the kind of family she could only have dreamed of as a child, and he was just the type of dad that she wished her own father could have been replaced by. But things had changed in the previous few months since discovering that the agency she worked for was not part of the CIA, and her relationship with her father was improving, a little bit at a time—starting when she discovered they had something in common as double agents.
She smirked as she walked out into the courtyard of UCLA, wondering just how Woods was going to react to the latest mission Sloane was getting ready to send her on. As ridiculous as it sounded, she was sure he was going to bust a gut laughing, and she only wished she could be there to see his face when he reads her note on the bag.
Sloane had been serious when he discussed it with her and Dixon. And considering the risks, Sloane had asked that only one would volunteer for the op, in case it proved to be deadly. Sydney was the first to speak up and although Dixon balked, neither he nor Sloane argued. Since Danny's death, she'd been taking more risks than ever, not caring how many times she'd cheated death in the few months she'd been back on active duty, and whenever Sloane and Dixon had cautioned her, she'd exploded in rage. So, in short, they'd learned to keep their mouths shut, and just let her have her way.
The mission sounded simple enough anyway, albeit laughable. It seems that Rambaldi kept a journal that was lost sometime late in the 19th century. The last person to have it was a man named Michel Vaughn. And after his death, it disappeared without a trace. Considering that Sloane had almost all of Rambaldi's pieces with no instructions on how to assemble them, finding this journal had become his top priority.
Sydney had an idea that the CIA wouldn't believe Marshall's suggestion into finding the journal. She was sure it was a joke, not to mention, completely impossible.
Seriously, who really believed in time travel?
## ## ##
Chapter 1:
"You have got to be kidding me," Sydney said, completely dumbfounded at what she was hearing. "They really want me to go?"
"Well," Woods answered with a nod. "Yeah." He turned slightly and leaned on the edge of the table in the dark warehouse. "It should be pretty easy. Once you get the journal, simply take pictures of each page with this," he handed her a small camera, "and give SD-6 the journal when you get back."'
Sydney was still confused and scrunched up her face at her handler. "You really believe this is possible? Time travel?"
He shrugged, "I'm open to the possibility. It could be fun."
"Fun? Really? Do you want to do it for me?"
"Not a chance. I'd miss Sally's next meet on Saturday." Sydney shook her head and quietly paced around on the concrete floor. "Are you okay?" he asked her when she didn't seem to want to argue the point anymore.
"I guess I'm in shock. I'd assumed that the CIA would think this was as ridiculous as I do."
"Well, there's the possibility that Marshall's theory will work—"
"Or it'll kill me," she added dryly.
He gave her a look and continued, "I doubt that, and then Sloane would be in possession of something that could be dangerous, and one step ahead of us. We need to stay ahead of him, you know. Oh yeah. Since we can't have you on comms, we don't want you to go alone."
"But you said you couldn't come," she commented with confusion.
He shook his head. "No, I can't. But the agent going with you is completely capable and trustworthy, I promise you."
"Does he know what he's in for?"
Woods laughed. "Well, not yet. But he's heard about your reputation and he actually volunteered for this."
"Great. I have a groupie?"
"Spies don't have groupies."
They both laughed. "So what's this agent's name?"
"Eric Weiss. He'll meet you at the Eiffel Tower at nine o'clock. So after Marshall calls in the bomb threat and they start the evacuation, that's when you and Weiss will go."
"Okay. I guess that's everything then," she said, preparing to leave. "In case I don't make it back, it's been nice working with you."
"Think positive, Sydney. And have a safe, uh...trip."
"Thanks," she smirked, rolling her eyes. "Tell Sally good luck at her meet."
He nodded with a smile. "I will."
## ## ##
Michel Vaughn couldn't sleep. It didn't matter that it was getting late, or that he had enough alcohol in his system to knock him out for an entire ten hours. His mind was racing as usual, preventing him from even considering sleep.
He was standing on the balcony off of his bedroom, thinking about his research on Milo Rambaldi. He'd always been fascinated by him since he was a child, and walked in on his father's work one evening and ended up spending hours questioning him about every detail of Rambaldi's prophecies. Michel had taken over his work after his death and cherished every moment of it as a connection to his late father. But Elizabeth had been right—it was beginning to affect his personal relationships to an unhealthy level. He didn't want to bring up the fact that maybe it wasn't the work that was keeping him from seeing her, but the fact that he didn't care as much about her as he would've liked for a fiancé. He was expected to marry her in a less than a year, but he'd been trying to come up with a good reason to break it off, other than the fact that he didn't love her with his whole heart. Michel Vaughn was nothing if not a noble gentleman.
As a roll of thunder rumbled across the sky, he sighed and picked up his wine glass off of the railing, swirled it around in the glass before taking a swill of the robust red liquid. He wasn't sure what it was that was keeping him awake—his relationship problems or the fact that he didn't know what step to take next with collecting Rambaldi's artifacts. In truth, he'd come to a dead end in the search for the man's creations—what had been scattered all over the world four hundred years earlier was still lost, with the exception of a few pieces that he himself owned.
Strolling over to his desk inside the open patio doors, he picked up the blank page from Rambaldi's journal and stared at it, knowing there must be something special about that page that he just couldn't see. He knew Rambaldi well enough to know he wouldn't just throw a blank page in for no reason. Whatever it was would truly be a revelation.
Hearing a noise outside, Michel set his glass down on the desk, and went to investigate, pulling a knife from his boot for protection. He'd been trained in the French army, and was an excellent marksman who was also victorious in hand-to-hand combat. He could handle himself, and more than once, had to fight off intruders who were trying to steal Rambaldi's works from his home. He wouldn't be surprised if that's what the noise was again.
Armed with his knife, he stealthily stepped back out onto the balcony and checked every dark corner, leaning over the railing to look down the three stories to the well-kept grounds around his estate. When he reached the end of the balcony, he found a black rope with an anchor, hooked onto the railing.
Immediately, he knew that someone was inside, and he ran back into his bedroom through the second set of doors. The "someone" was dressed in tight black pants and a long-sleeved, figure-hugging sweater, and Michel could tell by the feminine shape of the hips that it was obviously not a man. "Vous là-bas! (You there!)" he yelled to get her attention, and she spun around with her eyes wide, and her arms holding the Rambaldi journal.
For a moment, her beauty and the innocence he saw flicker in her eyes took his breath away, before she turned to run from the room with the book in hand. Slipping the knife back into its place on his ankle, he grabbed a coat, chased her down the main stairs and out of the house, down the road from his manor, not able to keep up with her long stride. "Attente!! (Wait!!)" he yelled, but she continued to run away from him.
Without a doubt, he knew he couldn't watch her get away with that book—the one thing he'd worked so hard to possess. It started to rain as he followed her all the way to the Eiffel Tower and chased her up the stairs.
## ## ##
Weiss was waiting for Sydney, checking his watch every minute it seemed, hoping that she would make it back in time. He certainly didn't want to leave without her, and have to return to the CIA in the future and be the bearer of bad news that she was unfortunately stuck in the past. He saw her coming, but he wasn't prepared for her to yell, "Run!! Someone's following me! We have to go!"
Without a moment's hesitation, they both ran as fast as they could up the stairs to their jumping off point, as Sydney put the strap of her bag over her head to better balance herself.
"Who...is it?" Weiss asked between heavy breaths as they climbed.
"I...don't...know...I think...it's...Vaughn." They reached the level that they were supposed to jump from, and hurriedly walked to the edge. "You go first," she told him as she panted to regulate her breathing. "I'll fight him off if I have to...and I'll be right behind you."
"He can't see us jump, Syd—"
"Go!!" she yelled forcefully, and Weiss obediently jumped.
After another glance around and finding that Vaughn was nowhere in sight, she jumped too, and found herself caught by the wrist, dangling precariously caught in someone's grip. She looked up, blinking against the raindrops, right into Michel Vaughn's green eyes.
"Je ne vous permettez pas de fais ceci! (I cannot let you do this!)" he yelled over the rain that was pouring as he tried to keep the water out of his eyes.
"Let me go!!" she argued in shock. Then she remembered to speak to him in French in case he didn't understand, "Me permettre de va!"
"Non! (No!) Cela enregistre vous avez m'appartenez! (That book you have belongs to me!) Je veux qu'il soutient! (I want it back!)"
"Je suis désolé! (I'm sorry!) Je peux't fait cela, et vous me permets d'allez maintenant! (I can't do that, and you have to let me go right now!!)" Sydney's hand started slipping from his, and he tried unsuccessfully to keep a tight grip on her. "Me permettre de va!" (Let me go!)" she repeated. "Please..." she said, slipping back into English, feeling her eyes turn down as she looked for his sympathy.
Vaughn didn't fight to hold her anymore, but he didn't let go, and just watched as she slipped from his fingers, and disappeared into the fog below. The book! He thought about how she still had it when she dropped, and without a further thought for his own safety, he jumped.
## ## ##
"Did you get any pictures?" Weiss asked her as they started to walk back toward her hotel from their landing zone.
"Yeah, a few," she answered absently, her mind still lingering on Vaughn's face that last second before she slipped from his fingers. If she didn't know any better, she was sure that he let her have the book and go. Maybe he ran back down to the ground just to collect his book, after he was sure I committed suicide, she thought to rid herself of the strange feeling in her chest.
As they walked out from behind the bushes that so gratefully covered their unusual entrance, Sydney nearly tripped over something and had to work to keep her balance. One look back at the offensive object in the dark and her heart stopped. "Oh my god."
"What?" Weiss stopped from his position ten feet ahead of her and turned in curiosity.
Her eyes traveled from the boot she tripped over, up the tan pant leg, and the long, dark raincoat to the short, brown hair of the man whose eyes were closed. He was lying on his stomach; his face turned on one cheek and the dimple in his chin was the one clearly identifying mark Sydney recognized as she studied him. "It's Vaughn," she told Weiss as he walked back toward her.
He shook his head. "Oh, my god," he exclaimed too. "Is he dead?"
Sydney knelt quickly and touched his cheek, finding it warm with life, and then slid her fingertips to check his pulse. "No. I think he's passed out." She blinked as she ran her fingers through the short hair above his ears. "He must've jumped," she thought out loud.
Weiss ran a hand through his hair. "Well, how do we get him back?"
"I don't know." She turned her face to look up at her CIA partner.
"Well, we have to figure out a way and fast," he said nervously, causing Sydney to continue to stare up at him curiously as she remained kneeling beside the unconscious body. Weiss started pacing and rubbing his face.
"Weiss, don't freak out about it," she told him. "I'm sure we won't get in trouble for this."
"That's not what I'm worried about."
"Then what's the problem?"
"You don't understand how important this is. He's my--" he clasped his hand across his mouth.
"He's your...what?" she asked when he didn't continue.
He stopped in front of her and gestured with his hands. "One of the reasons I volunteered for this assignment was because Michel Vaughn was my great-great-grandfather."
Sydney stood up beside him in shock and looked from him to Vaughn on the ground. She shook her head perplexedly and focused her eyes back on her partner. "I thought the name 'Weiss' was German."
"It is. But that my father's side. Michel Vaughn was on my mother's side of the family."
"So if we don't get him back..." she let the sentence dangle and Weiss finished it for her.
He nodded as he said, "I will cease to exist. Along with God-knows-how- many more." He ran his hand through his hair again. "This is huge."
Shaking her head, Sydney said only what she knew for sure. "I'm going to have to ask Marshall."
The look in Weiss's eyes showed that he understood and he nodded. "Alright," he conceded with a sigh and leaned over to start to pick up Vaughn by the shoulders. "I can't believe I'm saying this about my great- great-grandfather in Paris in the middle of the night, but...here, grab his legs."
## ## ##
Author: Emily, Em, a/k/a "Old Romantic"
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Beta: Tracie a/k/a "auntof3"
Disclaimer: I will not make any money off of this fic, using the characters we all know and love from our favorite TV show, Alias, nor off of the premise behind the movie, "Kate & Leopold". I just like writing! Translations throughout the fic are courtesy of www.freetranslation.com.
Summary: Based on the premise of the movie "Kate & Leopold". Sydney's a double, but Vaughn is not her handler and she's never met Weiss. Takes place very early in Season One, but definitely very AU.
Enjoy!
## ## ##
Prologue:
Sydney Bristow walked across UCLA's expansive campus, and dropped her crumpled paper bag into the garbage can she'd chosen, having entered the number designated for the receptacle on her cell phone just minutes earlier. If all went well, her handler, Joe Woods would be making contact in order to meet to discuss the countermission. Woods was a pretty decent guy; a professional whom she worked well with, who did whatever it took to keep her safe. He was a great husband and father who liked to show off the latest pictures of his two boys and one girl, in their soccer uniforms or at their gymnastics meets. Sydney was a little envious of his family, considering theirs was the kind of family she could only have dreamed of as a child, and he was just the type of dad that she wished her own father could have been replaced by. But things had changed in the previous few months since discovering that the agency she worked for was not part of the CIA, and her relationship with her father was improving, a little bit at a time—starting when she discovered they had something in common as double agents.
She smirked as she walked out into the courtyard of UCLA, wondering just how Woods was going to react to the latest mission Sloane was getting ready to send her on. As ridiculous as it sounded, she was sure he was going to bust a gut laughing, and she only wished she could be there to see his face when he reads her note on the bag.
Sloane had been serious when he discussed it with her and Dixon. And considering the risks, Sloane had asked that only one would volunteer for the op, in case it proved to be deadly. Sydney was the first to speak up and although Dixon balked, neither he nor Sloane argued. Since Danny's death, she'd been taking more risks than ever, not caring how many times she'd cheated death in the few months she'd been back on active duty, and whenever Sloane and Dixon had cautioned her, she'd exploded in rage. So, in short, they'd learned to keep their mouths shut, and just let her have her way.
The mission sounded simple enough anyway, albeit laughable. It seems that Rambaldi kept a journal that was lost sometime late in the 19th century. The last person to have it was a man named Michel Vaughn. And after his death, it disappeared without a trace. Considering that Sloane had almost all of Rambaldi's pieces with no instructions on how to assemble them, finding this journal had become his top priority.
Sydney had an idea that the CIA wouldn't believe Marshall's suggestion into finding the journal. She was sure it was a joke, not to mention, completely impossible.
Seriously, who really believed in time travel?
## ## ##
Chapter 1:
"You have got to be kidding me," Sydney said, completely dumbfounded at what she was hearing. "They really want me to go?"
"Well," Woods answered with a nod. "Yeah." He turned slightly and leaned on the edge of the table in the dark warehouse. "It should be pretty easy. Once you get the journal, simply take pictures of each page with this," he handed her a small camera, "and give SD-6 the journal when you get back."'
Sydney was still confused and scrunched up her face at her handler. "You really believe this is possible? Time travel?"
He shrugged, "I'm open to the possibility. It could be fun."
"Fun? Really? Do you want to do it for me?"
"Not a chance. I'd miss Sally's next meet on Saturday." Sydney shook her head and quietly paced around on the concrete floor. "Are you okay?" he asked her when she didn't seem to want to argue the point anymore.
"I guess I'm in shock. I'd assumed that the CIA would think this was as ridiculous as I do."
"Well, there's the possibility that Marshall's theory will work—"
"Or it'll kill me," she added dryly.
He gave her a look and continued, "I doubt that, and then Sloane would be in possession of something that could be dangerous, and one step ahead of us. We need to stay ahead of him, you know. Oh yeah. Since we can't have you on comms, we don't want you to go alone."
"But you said you couldn't come," she commented with confusion.
He shook his head. "No, I can't. But the agent going with you is completely capable and trustworthy, I promise you."
"Does he know what he's in for?"
Woods laughed. "Well, not yet. But he's heard about your reputation and he actually volunteered for this."
"Great. I have a groupie?"
"Spies don't have groupies."
They both laughed. "So what's this agent's name?"
"Eric Weiss. He'll meet you at the Eiffel Tower at nine o'clock. So after Marshall calls in the bomb threat and they start the evacuation, that's when you and Weiss will go."
"Okay. I guess that's everything then," she said, preparing to leave. "In case I don't make it back, it's been nice working with you."
"Think positive, Sydney. And have a safe, uh...trip."
"Thanks," she smirked, rolling her eyes. "Tell Sally good luck at her meet."
He nodded with a smile. "I will."
## ## ##
Michel Vaughn couldn't sleep. It didn't matter that it was getting late, or that he had enough alcohol in his system to knock him out for an entire ten hours. His mind was racing as usual, preventing him from even considering sleep.
He was standing on the balcony off of his bedroom, thinking about his research on Milo Rambaldi. He'd always been fascinated by him since he was a child, and walked in on his father's work one evening and ended up spending hours questioning him about every detail of Rambaldi's prophecies. Michel had taken over his work after his death and cherished every moment of it as a connection to his late father. But Elizabeth had been right—it was beginning to affect his personal relationships to an unhealthy level. He didn't want to bring up the fact that maybe it wasn't the work that was keeping him from seeing her, but the fact that he didn't care as much about her as he would've liked for a fiancé. He was expected to marry her in a less than a year, but he'd been trying to come up with a good reason to break it off, other than the fact that he didn't love her with his whole heart. Michel Vaughn was nothing if not a noble gentleman.
As a roll of thunder rumbled across the sky, he sighed and picked up his wine glass off of the railing, swirled it around in the glass before taking a swill of the robust red liquid. He wasn't sure what it was that was keeping him awake—his relationship problems or the fact that he didn't know what step to take next with collecting Rambaldi's artifacts. In truth, he'd come to a dead end in the search for the man's creations—what had been scattered all over the world four hundred years earlier was still lost, with the exception of a few pieces that he himself owned.
Strolling over to his desk inside the open patio doors, he picked up the blank page from Rambaldi's journal and stared at it, knowing there must be something special about that page that he just couldn't see. He knew Rambaldi well enough to know he wouldn't just throw a blank page in for no reason. Whatever it was would truly be a revelation.
Hearing a noise outside, Michel set his glass down on the desk, and went to investigate, pulling a knife from his boot for protection. He'd been trained in the French army, and was an excellent marksman who was also victorious in hand-to-hand combat. He could handle himself, and more than once, had to fight off intruders who were trying to steal Rambaldi's works from his home. He wouldn't be surprised if that's what the noise was again.
Armed with his knife, he stealthily stepped back out onto the balcony and checked every dark corner, leaning over the railing to look down the three stories to the well-kept grounds around his estate. When he reached the end of the balcony, he found a black rope with an anchor, hooked onto the railing.
Immediately, he knew that someone was inside, and he ran back into his bedroom through the second set of doors. The "someone" was dressed in tight black pants and a long-sleeved, figure-hugging sweater, and Michel could tell by the feminine shape of the hips that it was obviously not a man. "Vous là-bas! (You there!)" he yelled to get her attention, and she spun around with her eyes wide, and her arms holding the Rambaldi journal.
For a moment, her beauty and the innocence he saw flicker in her eyes took his breath away, before she turned to run from the room with the book in hand. Slipping the knife back into its place on his ankle, he grabbed a coat, chased her down the main stairs and out of the house, down the road from his manor, not able to keep up with her long stride. "Attente!! (Wait!!)" he yelled, but she continued to run away from him.
Without a doubt, he knew he couldn't watch her get away with that book—the one thing he'd worked so hard to possess. It started to rain as he followed her all the way to the Eiffel Tower and chased her up the stairs.
## ## ##
Weiss was waiting for Sydney, checking his watch every minute it seemed, hoping that she would make it back in time. He certainly didn't want to leave without her, and have to return to the CIA in the future and be the bearer of bad news that she was unfortunately stuck in the past. He saw her coming, but he wasn't prepared for her to yell, "Run!! Someone's following me! We have to go!"
Without a moment's hesitation, they both ran as fast as they could up the stairs to their jumping off point, as Sydney put the strap of her bag over her head to better balance herself.
"Who...is it?" Weiss asked between heavy breaths as they climbed.
"I...don't...know...I think...it's...Vaughn." They reached the level that they were supposed to jump from, and hurriedly walked to the edge. "You go first," she told him as she panted to regulate her breathing. "I'll fight him off if I have to...and I'll be right behind you."
"He can't see us jump, Syd—"
"Go!!" she yelled forcefully, and Weiss obediently jumped.
After another glance around and finding that Vaughn was nowhere in sight, she jumped too, and found herself caught by the wrist, dangling precariously caught in someone's grip. She looked up, blinking against the raindrops, right into Michel Vaughn's green eyes.
"Je ne vous permettez pas de fais ceci! (I cannot let you do this!)" he yelled over the rain that was pouring as he tried to keep the water out of his eyes.
"Let me go!!" she argued in shock. Then she remembered to speak to him in French in case he didn't understand, "Me permettre de va!"
"Non! (No!) Cela enregistre vous avez m'appartenez! (That book you have belongs to me!) Je veux qu'il soutient! (I want it back!)"
"Je suis désolé! (I'm sorry!) Je peux't fait cela, et vous me permets d'allez maintenant! (I can't do that, and you have to let me go right now!!)" Sydney's hand started slipping from his, and he tried unsuccessfully to keep a tight grip on her. "Me permettre de va!" (Let me go!)" she repeated. "Please..." she said, slipping back into English, feeling her eyes turn down as she looked for his sympathy.
Vaughn didn't fight to hold her anymore, but he didn't let go, and just watched as she slipped from his fingers, and disappeared into the fog below. The book! He thought about how she still had it when she dropped, and without a further thought for his own safety, he jumped.
## ## ##
"Did you get any pictures?" Weiss asked her as they started to walk back toward her hotel from their landing zone.
"Yeah, a few," she answered absently, her mind still lingering on Vaughn's face that last second before she slipped from his fingers. If she didn't know any better, she was sure that he let her have the book and go. Maybe he ran back down to the ground just to collect his book, after he was sure I committed suicide, she thought to rid herself of the strange feeling in her chest.
As they walked out from behind the bushes that so gratefully covered their unusual entrance, Sydney nearly tripped over something and had to work to keep her balance. One look back at the offensive object in the dark and her heart stopped. "Oh my god."
"What?" Weiss stopped from his position ten feet ahead of her and turned in curiosity.
Her eyes traveled from the boot she tripped over, up the tan pant leg, and the long, dark raincoat to the short, brown hair of the man whose eyes were closed. He was lying on his stomach; his face turned on one cheek and the dimple in his chin was the one clearly identifying mark Sydney recognized as she studied him. "It's Vaughn," she told Weiss as he walked back toward her.
He shook his head. "Oh, my god," he exclaimed too. "Is he dead?"
Sydney knelt quickly and touched his cheek, finding it warm with life, and then slid her fingertips to check his pulse. "No. I think he's passed out." She blinked as she ran her fingers through the short hair above his ears. "He must've jumped," she thought out loud.
Weiss ran a hand through his hair. "Well, how do we get him back?"
"I don't know." She turned her face to look up at her CIA partner.
"Well, we have to figure out a way and fast," he said nervously, causing Sydney to continue to stare up at him curiously as she remained kneeling beside the unconscious body. Weiss started pacing and rubbing his face.
"Weiss, don't freak out about it," she told him. "I'm sure we won't get in trouble for this."
"That's not what I'm worried about."
"Then what's the problem?"
"You don't understand how important this is. He's my--" he clasped his hand across his mouth.
"He's your...what?" she asked when he didn't continue.
He stopped in front of her and gestured with his hands. "One of the reasons I volunteered for this assignment was because Michel Vaughn was my great-great-grandfather."
Sydney stood up beside him in shock and looked from him to Vaughn on the ground. She shook her head perplexedly and focused her eyes back on her partner. "I thought the name 'Weiss' was German."
"It is. But that my father's side. Michel Vaughn was on my mother's side of the family."
"So if we don't get him back..." she let the sentence dangle and Weiss finished it for her.
He nodded as he said, "I will cease to exist. Along with God-knows-how- many more." He ran his hand through his hair again. "This is huge."
Shaking her head, Sydney said only what she knew for sure. "I'm going to have to ask Marshall."
The look in Weiss's eyes showed that he understood and he nodded. "Alright," he conceded with a sigh and leaned over to start to pick up Vaughn by the shoulders. "I can't believe I'm saying this about my great- great-grandfather in Paris in the middle of the night, but...here, grab his legs."
## ## ##