A/N: This is a completely AU fic. I love wondering what would have been
different if Sydney had gone away with her mother, so this is how my
imagination made things work out. I'll try to regularly update, but I make
no promises!
A/N2: I LOVE REVIEWS!!!
Jack Bristow walked quickly through the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, his stride smooth and casual---predatory---despite the fact that his very presence in said office would be enough to kill him, if the wrong people found out. But then, Agent Bristow of the Ruthless Nature and Stormy Face (as he was known behind his back around the CIA office) had never been a very cautious person. It was clear, today, to everyone who knew him that he was once again on the war path, in search of Director Devlin, a man who had once been his friend, but now was mostly just an obstacle he was always trying to overcome.
Devlin was glad that he had informed the security guards to phone him if they saw Jack Bristow come to call. It was always much safer meeting the incensed agent somewhere public---where he would be (slightly) less inclined to yell or break things. Although he usually bore his old friend's dressing-downs with patience, today he was in a bad mood. So, instead of waiting in his office for Jack to come complain about his new handler, Devlin had decided to make Jack come to him.
Jack Bristow was a man with little to lose and revenge to gain. Revenge on the world for taking his daughter, Sydney, away from him in the car accident staged by his KGB wife when she decided to leave. He was never in a good mood, he was always focused on the target, and he would mow over whoever was in his way. Rules were merely guidelines which, if they became troublesome, could be gotten around. He was also the best agent---a double agent, in fact---that this CIA office had to offer.
Agent Bristow had no friends; in his mind, friends were just people who could become a liability. The closest he had to one was a younger man named Michael Vaughn. Vaughn and Bristow were the CIA's two double agents within SD-6, which made them valuable assets. It also meant that they spent a lot of time together; enough for a grudging respect to form between them.
Jack was a game strategist; maybe he could help Devlin figure out how a captured agent who probably worked for The Man, but whom they knew absolutely nothing else about, could be made to cooperate. Poor Agent Weis, a good man and a solid, dependable worker, had been run through the wringer, so to speak, trying to deal with the troublesome agent.
"DEVLIN!" Devlin winced. The ire in Jack's bellow was even greater than usual. Devlin turned around from where he stood facing the one-way mirror looking at the prisoner, expecting to see Jack standing in front of him. The thick steel door was still closed. Devlin was almost impressed; he hadn't known Jack had such a set of lungs on him. Then the door opened, and Agent Jack Bristow, long-time CIA agent, double agent at SD-6, and widower, stood before him in all his rage.
"Hello, Jack," Devlin greeted pleasantly.
"Devlin, you idiot," Jack fumed. "Your new 'handler'---" his voice dripped with disdain "---called me today at my home" this was said in a growl "requesting a meeting. When I got to the assigned meeting point, having wasted twenty minutes making sure I wasn't tailed, that buffoon Lambert informed me that he decided we needed to meet. Get to know each other. Bond."
Devlin sighed. Lambert wasn't exactly the CIA's number one choice for a handler, but then, finding a handler for Jack Bristow had become a nearly impossible task. "Jack, we both know that Lambert's not a good enough agent to be the handler of a key double agent," he said patiently. "I could assign you a better handler, except---wait, didn't you scare them all off?"
"If those were your definition of good handlers, Devlin, then the CIA's in more trouble than I thought it was."
Devlin bit back a retort. It was a waste of time playing games of wit with Bristow. He always won. Instead, he tried changing the topic. "Look, Jack, I've got a lot on my plate right now. Care to help me out with a little problem, and we can try to figure out the situation with you handler later?"
Jack grunted, which Devlin could only take to assume meant "yes." "What's going on?"
"A CIA team managed to apprehend an agent two days ago who we believe is working for Irina Derevko." The CIA had only recently learned the identity of the new crime organization leader who was previously referred to only as "the Man."
Jack could see where this was going. "You can't get her to talk." Then, under his breath, "And you wonder why I consider your agents incompetent."
Devlin ignored the last bit. "No, we can't. We don't even know her name."
"Who do you have working on her?"
"Weis."
"Weis is already a handler, don't you think this is a bit much to be putting on his plate?"
"Jack, right now we're just trying to make first contact. You know how friendly and approachable Weis is. Hopefully we'll be able to pull him off by the time Vaughn gets back from his vacation."
"So what's been tried so far?"
Devlin grunted. "Weis went in there and gave her a whole long spiel about how she should cooperate, and how that would get her comfortable surroundings. She replied in Russian---I had an agent translate it, she said---get this---'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.'" At Jack's incomprehending look, he rolled his eyes. "It's a quote from The Princess Bride, Jack. So, after we spent twenty minutes hunting down an agent who could translate that for us, we realized she had told us nothing. So, then Weis started telling her how we knew she could speak English; that any half-decent agent had to speak English. She replied, in English with an extremely heavy Russian accent, and she sounded like she was struggling to speak English: 'No, a half-decent agent can get by not speaking English. But to be a great spy, one must know that and many other languages, non?'"
He looked at Jack to see his reaction, and was startled to see him nodding thoughtfully. "Anyways, that got Weis really excited, since he thought he was finally getting through to her. They spent the next three hours with him asking her questions, and her being totally open and helpful, taking a long time with her answers because of her thick accent and the struggle to translate. So, after those three hours, Weis gets up and heads to the door. He turns around and says 'thanks for cooperating.' She replies, in perfectly unaccented English, 'You're welcome! Thanks for the chance to work on my Russian accent.' And, of course, as soon as we began to check the things she told him, we found that she had been making everything up."
"Tell me this again, Devlin---we know absolutely nothing about this agent?"
"Female, natural brown hair, brown eyes, height 5'11'', weight 120, approximately 18 years old, agent for The Man---Irina Derevko. No matches in our photo database."
Jack looked about to speak, when there was a nervous knock on the door. "What?" barked Devlin.
Haladki, an obnoxious, obsequious worm (only in the figurative sense, although he had some extremely slimy physical attributes, as well), popped his head in. "Uh, sir, Mr. Bristow, you should probably come see this."
"What's going on?"
"Agent Weis got tired of sitting in a room with the prisoner, and he broke all protocol, sir---I tried to stop him---and had the prisoner led from the holding room."
"What!?" Devlin exploded. What was Weis thinking? "Where did he take her?"
"Uh he got exasperated and said that he didn't believe she could be a certified field agent, because she's so young. Also, our reports said that she didn't put up much of a fight when she was captured, so Weis decided to take her to the training room and make her fight some real agents."
Devlin looked at Jack, who, to his surprise, was nodding approvingly. "This way, he can see two things: one, how good her skills are, which from the report don't sound very impressive, and two, how well she responds to.........physical persuasion. It was probably as good a choice as any, and I'd like to see how it turns out," Jack said.
And, despite the fact that Devlin was supposed to be Jack's superior, both Devlin and Haladki followed Agent Bristow as he led the way to the training room.
* * * * * *
The training room was crowded by the time they got there. They came in through a side door near the back of the room, which was why the prisoner's back was facing them; she had oriented herself so that she had a clear line of vision through the main door. Classic spy technique.
Jack studied her closely, his well-trained powers of observation taking in every detail. She was slim, but athletic, with strong arm and leg muscles. He surmised that she was a runner. She was dressed casually in a black tank top, and form-fitting black pants which allowed maximum movement. She wore no shoes, but stood on the balls of her feet, bouncing almost imperceptibly. She was ready for anything. The only other thing he could tell was that she had brown hair a little longer than shoulder-length. *Like Laura's* was his unwelcome thought.
As Jack watched, Agent Weis entered through the main door. He had changed into a gym outfit of standard CIA t-shirt and shorts. He walked onto the mat, looking ready for a fight. Jack listened as the prisoner's scornful laughter echoed around the room. "You want me to fight you?" She turned deliberately away from him even as she spoke. "You seem a decent fellow. I'd hate to kill you."
That sounded to Jack like a quote, and he turned to Devlin inquisitively, thus missing the first opportunity to see her face, hearing Weis' rejoinder. "You don't seem like a decent fellow. I'd hate to die."
Devlin rolled his eyes. "Another Princess Bride quote. Seriously, Jack, watch a comedy every once in a while, will you?"
Jack didn't bother gracing that comment with an answer. Instead, he turned back to the action, and his heart stopped.
It wasn't that he was impressed by the way she gracefully spun back around to face Weis, catching his punch mid-throw and throwing him to the ground with a loud "oomph," although in other circumstances he would have been.
It wasn't that he was awe-struck by the way that she began tossing agents around the room as they rushed at her, first individually and then in groups, although Devlin and the other observers were open-mouthed.
It wasn't that he was struck by her incredible beauty, although few men who saw her weren't.
It was the fact that he knew her face, knew it as well as his own. The fact that that face haunted him in dreams. The fact that a younger version of that face had been one that he lovingly remembered with tears in his eyes.
As she spun around to face another attacker (the agents were still acting in good sport, although the guards at the doors were looking nervous and beginning to aim guns at the calm woman who had suddenly become a fighting machine), her eyes met his. She froze, barely reacting as her distraction gave a lucky agent the chance to land a punch in her stomach. She stared at him for a long moment before abruptly turning away. Striding with a quick, fluid pace through the main doors (prompting the startled guards to hurry after her and make sure she didn't escape), she fled from the usually- stoic agent who was staring after her, his eyes carefully hiding his hidden, turbulent emotions. Shock---she was alive! Hurt---after all this time, she hadn't even acknowledged him. Fear---now that she was reentering his life, would Laura be far behind? Fury---how could Laura allow her to become a spy? And, above all those feelings, one which stood out the most. Ecstasy---she was alive!
"Jack?" Devlin's concerned voice broke through his reverie. "Are you all right?"
Jack turned to the man who was once his friend, and looked at him for a long moment in silence. "Her name is Sydney Bristow," he said calmly and coolly, before turning on his heel and striding through the door his daughter had passed through moments before.
A/N2: I LOVE REVIEWS!!!
Jack Bristow walked quickly through the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, his stride smooth and casual---predatory---despite the fact that his very presence in said office would be enough to kill him, if the wrong people found out. But then, Agent Bristow of the Ruthless Nature and Stormy Face (as he was known behind his back around the CIA office) had never been a very cautious person. It was clear, today, to everyone who knew him that he was once again on the war path, in search of Director Devlin, a man who had once been his friend, but now was mostly just an obstacle he was always trying to overcome.
Devlin was glad that he had informed the security guards to phone him if they saw Jack Bristow come to call. It was always much safer meeting the incensed agent somewhere public---where he would be (slightly) less inclined to yell or break things. Although he usually bore his old friend's dressing-downs with patience, today he was in a bad mood. So, instead of waiting in his office for Jack to come complain about his new handler, Devlin had decided to make Jack come to him.
Jack Bristow was a man with little to lose and revenge to gain. Revenge on the world for taking his daughter, Sydney, away from him in the car accident staged by his KGB wife when she decided to leave. He was never in a good mood, he was always focused on the target, and he would mow over whoever was in his way. Rules were merely guidelines which, if they became troublesome, could be gotten around. He was also the best agent---a double agent, in fact---that this CIA office had to offer.
Agent Bristow had no friends; in his mind, friends were just people who could become a liability. The closest he had to one was a younger man named Michael Vaughn. Vaughn and Bristow were the CIA's two double agents within SD-6, which made them valuable assets. It also meant that they spent a lot of time together; enough for a grudging respect to form between them.
Jack was a game strategist; maybe he could help Devlin figure out how a captured agent who probably worked for The Man, but whom they knew absolutely nothing else about, could be made to cooperate. Poor Agent Weis, a good man and a solid, dependable worker, had been run through the wringer, so to speak, trying to deal with the troublesome agent.
"DEVLIN!" Devlin winced. The ire in Jack's bellow was even greater than usual. Devlin turned around from where he stood facing the one-way mirror looking at the prisoner, expecting to see Jack standing in front of him. The thick steel door was still closed. Devlin was almost impressed; he hadn't known Jack had such a set of lungs on him. Then the door opened, and Agent Jack Bristow, long-time CIA agent, double agent at SD-6, and widower, stood before him in all his rage.
"Hello, Jack," Devlin greeted pleasantly.
"Devlin, you idiot," Jack fumed. "Your new 'handler'---" his voice dripped with disdain "---called me today at my home" this was said in a growl "requesting a meeting. When I got to the assigned meeting point, having wasted twenty minutes making sure I wasn't tailed, that buffoon Lambert informed me that he decided we needed to meet. Get to know each other. Bond."
Devlin sighed. Lambert wasn't exactly the CIA's number one choice for a handler, but then, finding a handler for Jack Bristow had become a nearly impossible task. "Jack, we both know that Lambert's not a good enough agent to be the handler of a key double agent," he said patiently. "I could assign you a better handler, except---wait, didn't you scare them all off?"
"If those were your definition of good handlers, Devlin, then the CIA's in more trouble than I thought it was."
Devlin bit back a retort. It was a waste of time playing games of wit with Bristow. He always won. Instead, he tried changing the topic. "Look, Jack, I've got a lot on my plate right now. Care to help me out with a little problem, and we can try to figure out the situation with you handler later?"
Jack grunted, which Devlin could only take to assume meant "yes." "What's going on?"
"A CIA team managed to apprehend an agent two days ago who we believe is working for Irina Derevko." The CIA had only recently learned the identity of the new crime organization leader who was previously referred to only as "the Man."
Jack could see where this was going. "You can't get her to talk." Then, under his breath, "And you wonder why I consider your agents incompetent."
Devlin ignored the last bit. "No, we can't. We don't even know her name."
"Who do you have working on her?"
"Weis."
"Weis is already a handler, don't you think this is a bit much to be putting on his plate?"
"Jack, right now we're just trying to make first contact. You know how friendly and approachable Weis is. Hopefully we'll be able to pull him off by the time Vaughn gets back from his vacation."
"So what's been tried so far?"
Devlin grunted. "Weis went in there and gave her a whole long spiel about how she should cooperate, and how that would get her comfortable surroundings. She replied in Russian---I had an agent translate it, she said---get this---'Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die.'" At Jack's incomprehending look, he rolled his eyes. "It's a quote from The Princess Bride, Jack. So, after we spent twenty minutes hunting down an agent who could translate that for us, we realized she had told us nothing. So, then Weis started telling her how we knew she could speak English; that any half-decent agent had to speak English. She replied, in English with an extremely heavy Russian accent, and she sounded like she was struggling to speak English: 'No, a half-decent agent can get by not speaking English. But to be a great spy, one must know that and many other languages, non?'"
He looked at Jack to see his reaction, and was startled to see him nodding thoughtfully. "Anyways, that got Weis really excited, since he thought he was finally getting through to her. They spent the next three hours with him asking her questions, and her being totally open and helpful, taking a long time with her answers because of her thick accent and the struggle to translate. So, after those three hours, Weis gets up and heads to the door. He turns around and says 'thanks for cooperating.' She replies, in perfectly unaccented English, 'You're welcome! Thanks for the chance to work on my Russian accent.' And, of course, as soon as we began to check the things she told him, we found that she had been making everything up."
"Tell me this again, Devlin---we know absolutely nothing about this agent?"
"Female, natural brown hair, brown eyes, height 5'11'', weight 120, approximately 18 years old, agent for The Man---Irina Derevko. No matches in our photo database."
Jack looked about to speak, when there was a nervous knock on the door. "What?" barked Devlin.
Haladki, an obnoxious, obsequious worm (only in the figurative sense, although he had some extremely slimy physical attributes, as well), popped his head in. "Uh, sir, Mr. Bristow, you should probably come see this."
"What's going on?"
"Agent Weis got tired of sitting in a room with the prisoner, and he broke all protocol, sir---I tried to stop him---and had the prisoner led from the holding room."
"What!?" Devlin exploded. What was Weis thinking? "Where did he take her?"
"Uh he got exasperated and said that he didn't believe she could be a certified field agent, because she's so young. Also, our reports said that she didn't put up much of a fight when she was captured, so Weis decided to take her to the training room and make her fight some real agents."
Devlin looked at Jack, who, to his surprise, was nodding approvingly. "This way, he can see two things: one, how good her skills are, which from the report don't sound very impressive, and two, how well she responds to.........physical persuasion. It was probably as good a choice as any, and I'd like to see how it turns out," Jack said.
And, despite the fact that Devlin was supposed to be Jack's superior, both Devlin and Haladki followed Agent Bristow as he led the way to the training room.
* * * * * *
The training room was crowded by the time they got there. They came in through a side door near the back of the room, which was why the prisoner's back was facing them; she had oriented herself so that she had a clear line of vision through the main door. Classic spy technique.
Jack studied her closely, his well-trained powers of observation taking in every detail. She was slim, but athletic, with strong arm and leg muscles. He surmised that she was a runner. She was dressed casually in a black tank top, and form-fitting black pants which allowed maximum movement. She wore no shoes, but stood on the balls of her feet, bouncing almost imperceptibly. She was ready for anything. The only other thing he could tell was that she had brown hair a little longer than shoulder-length. *Like Laura's* was his unwelcome thought.
As Jack watched, Agent Weis entered through the main door. He had changed into a gym outfit of standard CIA t-shirt and shorts. He walked onto the mat, looking ready for a fight. Jack listened as the prisoner's scornful laughter echoed around the room. "You want me to fight you?" She turned deliberately away from him even as she spoke. "You seem a decent fellow. I'd hate to kill you."
That sounded to Jack like a quote, and he turned to Devlin inquisitively, thus missing the first opportunity to see her face, hearing Weis' rejoinder. "You don't seem like a decent fellow. I'd hate to die."
Devlin rolled his eyes. "Another Princess Bride quote. Seriously, Jack, watch a comedy every once in a while, will you?"
Jack didn't bother gracing that comment with an answer. Instead, he turned back to the action, and his heart stopped.
It wasn't that he was impressed by the way she gracefully spun back around to face Weis, catching his punch mid-throw and throwing him to the ground with a loud "oomph," although in other circumstances he would have been.
It wasn't that he was awe-struck by the way that she began tossing agents around the room as they rushed at her, first individually and then in groups, although Devlin and the other observers were open-mouthed.
It wasn't that he was struck by her incredible beauty, although few men who saw her weren't.
It was the fact that he knew her face, knew it as well as his own. The fact that that face haunted him in dreams. The fact that a younger version of that face had been one that he lovingly remembered with tears in his eyes.
As she spun around to face another attacker (the agents were still acting in good sport, although the guards at the doors were looking nervous and beginning to aim guns at the calm woman who had suddenly become a fighting machine), her eyes met his. She froze, barely reacting as her distraction gave a lucky agent the chance to land a punch in her stomach. She stared at him for a long moment before abruptly turning away. Striding with a quick, fluid pace through the main doors (prompting the startled guards to hurry after her and make sure she didn't escape), she fled from the usually- stoic agent who was staring after her, his eyes carefully hiding his hidden, turbulent emotions. Shock---she was alive! Hurt---after all this time, she hadn't even acknowledged him. Fear---now that she was reentering his life, would Laura be far behind? Fury---how could Laura allow her to become a spy? And, above all those feelings, one which stood out the most. Ecstasy---she was alive!
"Jack?" Devlin's concerned voice broke through his reverie. "Are you all right?"
Jack turned to the man who was once his friend, and looked at him for a long moment in silence. "Her name is Sydney Bristow," he said calmly and coolly, before turning on his heel and striding through the door his daughter had passed through moments before.