Lena woke up violently gasping for breath. A sharp pain coursed through her arm as she tried to push herself up from the hard wood floor. She blinked several times trying to clear her vision and regain some composure but it was in vain, the room was cloudy around her and she was terribly dizzy. A hand fastened around her bicep like a vice and dragged her up from the floor. A man with a long drawn face , salt and pepper hair, and piercing gray eyes shielded behind thin framed glasses, filled her field of vision. There are some people you just know are evil, you don't need any evidence, an intuition tells you that this person is capable of the very worst things in the world. Lena had experience with evil people, and when this particular feeling ran up her spine she knew not to ignore it. She instinctually stepped back and away from him but his tight grip on her arm held her in place. She didn't want to shift her gaze away from the man with the glasses, she knew she needed to be keenly aware of him but a hand clasped around her free wrist, distracting her, and she whipped her head around to find the new captor. The man who had fought was fastening a handcuff tightly around her wrist.

"If you make an attempt to escape, or an accomplice attempts an ill-conceived rescue mission, he'll put a bullet in your head" He said, his voice void of all emotion. He reached out and locked her other wrist into the cuff as he spoke. His eyes were resolute and sober, but they were not menacing like the man with the glasses.

Michael. She thought as she put the name with the voice she had heard on the radio earlier. Michael, the team leader, he called the shots, he was the one who had brutally fought her, and won.

She thought about the words he had said, 'he'll put a bullet in your head', Lena had no doubt that was exactly what the man with the glasses would do if she attempted to cross him. After a few moments the other fighters had been roused and she was dragged out of the office door toward the elevators. An empty elevator appeared and the entire team piled inside. No one pressed a button but the elevator moved anyway. The technical support had over ridden the controls. The injured team members groaned loudly as the others began to tend to their wounds. One of the men was as white as a sheet and was bleeding profusely from where she had shot him. A female agent tended to the wound while Michael placed the agent's arm securely around his own shoulders to support him. The doors of the elevator opened to the parking level where two vans stood waiting. Lena was shuffled toward the lead van while Michael directed the other agents toward the second van. The man with the glasses pushed her into the seat next to him. Lena noticed that Michael took the driver's seat and a third man, already in the van, dug through the glove box.

What did they want from her? She wondered. If they needed her dead it would have served them better to simply kill her upstairs with the board member. It was too early to know their aim. She decided to stay silent.

"What are you looking for?" Michael sharply questioned the man in the passenger seat.

"Something to use as a blindfold." he answered nervously.

She heard Michael scoff, "We won't be needing a blindfold."

She out of the corner of her eye she saw the butt of the gun coming toward her, but she didn't have any way to retaliate. The man with the glasses hit her hard, knocking her into the window where she lay still.

"Wake up, we have a plane to catch." She heard Michael's voice call as she felt two light slaps on her cheek.

"Where are we going?" she asked before she remembered she was trying to be silent. Internally she chastised herself for speaking, in her mind it took away the little control she had over her situation. Michael's eyes stared through her, he didn't react to her statement, in fact he didn't even acknowledge she'd spoken.

"You need to move." He responded after a few seconds of silence.

She allowed him to pull her from the van. She was still in handcuffs and within an earshot of the other agents so she knew there was little chance for escape. He escorted her toward a small private jet. Just as they reached the stairs to the plane the man with the glasses appeared in the doorway and handed a phone to Michael. Michael read a text message on the phone and sighed. "I'll oversee the transfer" he said to the man at the top of the stairs. He drew Lena away from the steps as a black town car pulled into the hanger behind them.

A balding middle age man in a plain black suit emerged from the car followed closely by an assistant. "I'm Special Agent Forester, I believe you've been informed of the prisoner transfer." The man flashed his wallet as identification to Michael. Michael nodded slightly as the assistant stepped forward and locked a new set of handcuffs on Lena's wrists. Once they were secure Michael unlocked his set and slid them safely inside his jacket pocket. "I'll take it from here. Have a safe flight Agent." The Agent Forester said to Michael. She found herself being shuffled toward another private jet in the hanger, a jet she hadn't even noticed prior to this new Agent Forester's arrival. She boarded the plane and was guided toward an open seat near the cockpit. She was distrustful of the sudden transfer but she continued her stoic silence, she had nothing to say to her captors.

She watched out the small window as Michael boarded the jet next to her plane. The door closed and a few moments later Michael's jet exited the hanger. As quickly as they had appeared they were gone.

"This is for you." Agent Foster appeared from the other private compartment in the plane and held out a cell phone.

She was confused, who would be calling for her? He tossed her the phone, which landed in her lap, and returned to his compartment. Against her better judgment she pressed the phone to her ear.

"Lena," Jeffry's immensely relieved voice rang in her ear. "Are you alright?"

"Dad?" Lena whispered, it hurt to talk.

"Yea sweetheart, its me. It's not a trick." He sighed into the phone. "The man your with now, he's a friend of mine, you can trust him. Now are you hurt? Do you need medical attention."

"No, I think I'm okay." She whispered, one hand rubbed her painful throat.

"Ok Lena I'm on my way. It's going to take me about a half hour to get there."

Lena nodded, then remembered she was on the phone. "Yea, ok." She answered then hung up the phone.

She sighed out loud, and relaxed a fraction in the plush seat of the private plane. Hearing Jeffry say everything was alright was somewhat comforting and she felt like she was free of any immediate danger. With the easing of her current situation she let her mind wander back slightly to the day's events. Today wasn't the first time she'd been caught. She had been captured four months ago on a mission in China, but that day there had been back-up team and an enemy who wanted her information more than her life. Today she didn't know what the motivation had been for the kidnapping. If they wanted her dead why didn't they just kill her? If they wanted information why didn't they ever ask? They never asked who she was, they never wanted a name or an allegiance. Something about not being asked the routine questions alarmed her.

Forester stepped back into her section. He held out the key to the handcuffs. "You are free to go or you can wait for your father here." He sat down at the chair opposite of her, opened a first aid kit, and handed her an ice pack.

"Thank You." She whispered as she took it and held it to her throbbing throat.

"I was thinking…" he trailed off while pointed to his eye, "But whatever hurts."

"So you're Alliance?" Lena asked softly

"No." It was a rejection but it hadn't been a rejection of the conversation, she was free to ask another question.

"Freelance?"

"From time to time." He smiled slightly, then the smile was gone "but not as a general rule."

"Interpol?"

"Again, from time to time."

"So your primary allegiance is to whom?" She asked, not expecting an answer.

"CIA."He answered matter of factly. Lena stared blankly at the man, whatever ease she had felt was suddenly gone and all her senses were on high alert. What CIA agent would give up his cover so easily to a known Alliance operative, none. But if he actually was CIA she was in trouble.

"Of course you are." She answered sarcastically, "Me too." She stood up to leave the plane. He had said she was free to go and now she was sure she wanted to leave. Whatever confidence Jeffry had in him was misplaced.

"No, you aren't now, but your father thinks someday you'll come around." His voice was annoyingly calm. She pushed on the door to the plane, it was locked.

"You said I was free to go." She shot back as fiercely as her bruised larynx would allow.

"That was before I told you who I work for, now, since you asked, we need to finish the conversation." He said coolly. "Please," he gestured toward the chair she had been occupying.

She stood at the door for a moment, trying to come up with a way out. She pushed again at the door to the plane but it held solid. Finally she relented and returned to the chair. She debated what tone she should take with him, calm and composed would be the more mature choice, but she had an urge to take more of a sarcastic teenager role. "So you want me to come work for you at the CIA?" She questioned with sarcasm rooted deep in her statement.

"I think our goals are closely aligned and I believe it would be mutually beneficial."

"Prove it. Prove to me you are CIA and not an Alliance imposter." He handed her his ID card and badge. "I have a dozen contacts who can make these, you're going to have to do better than an ID card."

"I can take you to Langley." He answered instantly "With one word to the Pilot we can fly to Virginia and I'll walk you through the front doors; but for the assignment I have in mind, I believe its better if we don't do that."

Lena paused for a moment, how could she make him prove himself. She thought vaguely of asking to speak to some high ranking official in the government, but she didn't know who she could ask to speak with. Could she recognize a voice of anyone in the U.S. government? Not with enough confidence to bet her life on it.

"Fine, I want to talk to Damon Fritz. He's in CIA custody. If you're CIA you can get him on the phone."

"Fritz, the man who named you Alliance and put you on the NSA wanted lists?"

"Yes." She was sure they couldn't fake his voice. Damon was an Alliance operative who was captured three months ago and taken into CIA custody. Lena had trained with him and had known him for years; his voice was one she could recognize with complete confidence.

"I can't promise you anything but I'll make a few calls and be back." He took his phone off the seat and returned to the back of the plane.

After only few minutes he returned and handed her the cell phone again. "I'm monitoring this call, you have 30 seconds."

"Damon?"

"Who is this?" a frightened Damon answered on the other end. She had no doubt it was him she'd know his voice anywhere. She stared up at the agent in front of her in shock. He really was CIA, and he had her in custody, and he knew her father? "Seriously, who is this?" Damon cursed into the phone.

"You're a selfish little prat for naming me." She snapped. "Now I have the CIA breathing down my neck and its entirely your fault!"

"LENA! Well shit, I'm sorry I've been in solitary for the last month and I'm facing terrorist charges, so the fact they're letting you have phone calls tells me the shit storm you're in is a whole lot more tolerable than mine! Screw you Lena."

She ended the call. "Thank you, Agent Forester." She said calmly. Perhaps she would need to cooperate with him. He nodded and took the phone.

"That wasn't a very friendly conversation for two people who trained together."

"No, he hates me but you proved your point." She said. "You mentioned mutually beneficial, how would this situation benefit me?" She knew she was about to be used for this man's benefit, for the CIA's benefit, and it was exceedingly unlikely it would benefit her in the least.

"In a variety of ways, not least of which would be the fact that I can get you off of the National Security Agency's Wanted lists."

"I'm not a terrorist." She whispered as her stomach turned. She knew in her line of work it was inevitable, she would be labeled as a terrorist, but she thought this would happen years down the road. Lena had never imagined she'd be on a terrorist wanted list only months into her career as an intelligence officer.

"I know that." He answered "You're an orphan kid from Chicago who was sold into an international intelligence organization who raised you to be a spy. You had very little choice in the matter, until now."

"How did you know that?" she questioned, genuinely curious for a split second.

"I know a lot more about you, Ms. Ross, or should I say Ms. Samuelle, than you know about yourself."

"That's not difficult. I don't know anything, really." She answered dismissively.

"Well the CIA knows a bit more than you do. If you join us, you will have access to the majority of that information." He stopped, Lena could sense he was ready to offer more so she waited before speaking. "The assignment I have in mind for you would be, in part, investigating your parent's deaths."

Lena pondered the offer for a few moments in silence. There was so much about the offer that was unappealing. His offer wasn't mind blowing or earth shattering, in fact she didn't even know why her parent's deaths would be of suspicion. They died in a car crash, she was there, that was the only thing she was sure of when it came to her past. As much as she wanted to say 'no' to the man, she knew she had to consider his offer. The CIA wasn't in the business of allowing identified terrorists to turn down what amounted to a plea deal, walk of the plane and return to her everyday life. "So that's the big CIA offer huh, The most powerful intelligence gathering organization in the world and all I get is a 'we'll tell you who you are and take you off of our own Governments list.' I kinda expected better." She spit " There should be some enormous conspiracy, a new identity, a top secret government cover-up or at least train me to be James Bond, Jason Borne or Sidney Bristow…."

"Turn you into a fictional character." He shook his head, obviously realizing suddenly that he was dealing with a twenty year old girl. "Lena Ross is a fictional character. Claire Samuelle is an American citizen who has been playing the part of Lena Ross for the past ten years. Lena Ross is an alias; nothing more. Haven't you already had enough fiction in your life?" he asked.

"What I'm offering you is the truth. I'm offering a chance to bring the people who killed your parents and sold you to the Alliance, to justice. This is your only chance to clear your name and in the process help your government eliminate a threat to national security. I won't give you any gadget you can imagine, I won't build you a Batmobile, and you can't meet the President so don't ask. But I will support you, and I believe the United States is stronger with you as an ally then as an enemy."

Lena swallowed hard, her entire body had tensed when he told her she was a living lie. Lena Ross was all she knew. But perhaps this was the out she needed. The Alliance had always told her there would be a day when she would be allowed to "retire", Jeffry had even made plans for that day. He'd taught her how to put money away secretly so the Alliance couldn't track it and the Alliance themselves had taught her how to live "off grid." Someday she would say she used to be a spy. But every scenario she'd ever come up with included the alliance allowing her to leave. Some kind of 'thank you for your service you are free to go.' She hadn't ever fantasized about betraying them, the thought hadn't occurred to her yet because betraying them was impossible. She'd be killed. But she didn't want to be a terrorist, if there was a way out she had to at least consider it.

There was a pound at the plane door and Agent Forester stood, punched a code into the keypad next to the door, and released the lock on the door. Jeffry bounded up the stairs and into the jet.

"Lena!" he shouted "Thank God you're all right." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. She winced slightly but didn't recoil from him. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I was going to tell you but the moment never seemed right."

"There is no right moment." she said "Does Charlotte know?"

"Yes, of course she knows. She's involved too."

"How long? How long have you been a double agent?"

"Five years."

Lena listened for what seemed like hours as her father recounted a life dramatically different from any version she'd ever heard. At first he'd been recruited by what he thought was a division of Interpol but as the years went on it became clear the two organizations were not associated. When they had adopted Lena things became clear, he wanted to be someone Lena could look up to. He wanted to be the husband and father he knew he should be. He and Charlotte had left the Alliance in search of redemption but they couldn't get Lena out. Lena was too deeply involved in agent training. Their only solution had been to allow Lena to finish agent training and have her make her own decision when the moment presented itself.

"Lena, please consider his offer, it's a chance to do the right thing."

Lena was tired, her throat and head hurt. She wanted to sleep on the proposition before she accepted or declined. She could see that Jeffry was exhausted too.

"I need more information, I need to be able to make an informed decision."

"What do you want?" Agent Forester asked

"I want the file on my parent's deaths. I want to read it and see what we are up against."

"Absolutely not. That's classified." He stood up and paced to the back of the plane and forward again. "Even if you join us you won't have the clearance to read the entire contents of that file." He snapped, for the first time in the conversation showing a twinge of anger.

"Ok, alright, Lena if you join us we will be able to tell you much more about your parents but you just can't read the file." Jeffry said trying to appease her.

"So I get all my information second hand, filtered." She snapped.

"No, of course not…" Jeffry answered

"Yes." Forester interrupted "Your clearance will allow you access to some information and other artifacts of a more sensitive nature will continue to be classified."

"Fine, then I want my brother's military record. That isn't highly classified is it? Or is his death under investigation too?" She didn't know where the words had come from. Her brother was in the Military? In the few short hours she had begun to remember bits and pieces of her past, her brother had been nothing more than a name on the computer screen.

"No, he isn't under investigation." Jeffry answered. Then looked pleadingly over at the Agent. "I don't think that record is too much to ask."

"I can provide you with a basic record." Forester answered begrudgingly "You will have 24 hours to read it, make your decision and return the file to me directly. Understood?"

Lena nodded surprised at her luck.

"Thank you, it's late, have we reached a place we can conclude for tonight?" Jeffry asked

"This conversation we had today is confidential. Transferring any of the information you received will result in a charge of treason or terrorism. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Have the file delivered to our suite when it becomes available." Jeffry said.

"Alright. Lena you are released into Jeffry's custody…"

"Yea yea, stay with him or charge of treason and terrorism got it."

"I'm going for a run" she announced into her father's bed room.

"It's five thirty wait another hour and I'll come along."

"I can't sleep. I'm going alone. Don't call in the Feds, I'll come back."

"Go." He answered sleepily as he rolled over again.

Her run turned into a cab ride which led to the City of Evanston she left the cab a few blocks away from the cemetery and stopped at a store to buy a bunch of flowers. It was a clear day in Evanston, a beautiful day for a run. The way the sun fell on her skin here felt different than anywhere else she had experienced. The way the store clerk spoke to her felt natural and comforting even though he was borderline rude. His rudeness had made her laugh, you would think a florist might have been more cheerful, but he made no secret that her ten dollar purchase would not make or break his day.

Now she walked through the vast cemetery glancing at all the graves she passed. Who would have imagined the cemetery would be so large? She walked aimlessly around the graves reading each name, why hadn't she found out the row they were in? Cemeteries were organized right? There was a map online somewhere she should have found that would have saved her all this circling. She vaguely remembered being here before, or maybe not this cemetery. It had been for the funeral of a great uncle maybe? She wasn't sure. Finally after almost an hour she saw the names she was looking for. "Joseph Samuelle Samantha Samuelle." She cringed seeing her parents names again, but thankfully she didn't descend into a panic attack as she had yesterday when she saw their names for the first time in years.

Like yesterday she tried to remember but anything that did come felt like a dream. She tried to remember her father's face, then her mother's nothing came to her. She didn't even own a photograph. She needed to remember to ask Agent Forester for a photograph when she went to see him today. Maybe she couldn't have the full file but as their daughter she was entitled to have faces to go with the names. A lot of memories had come back to her last night as she lay awake in her hotel suite. Somehow she remembered that people used to say she looked just like her mom. That thought comforted her for a while but staring at her parent's grave triggered the tears. She hadn't cried in a long time. There hadn't really been anything to cry about, she had lost everything the day she lost her family.

So, she let the tears come. She let them run their course, she knew she could stop them if she tried, but the tears made her feel human. They made her feel alive in a way she hadn't in a long time.

She after a while of staring at her parent's graves she shifted her gaze to the stone on the left of her mother. It was a lie, she wondered what they put in the grave. Did they bury a casket? Did they bury anything in there? "Claire Samuelle" the gravestone read "March 10, 1988- February 22, 1997" Claire. She thought, and just like yesterday she tried to remember ever being called Claire. She tried to remember her mother's voice calling her name, but what popped into her head instead was her brother's voice. "Claire!" he screamed down the stairs of their Evanston home, as she ran out the back door of the house, "Give it back kid!" she couldn't remember what she had stolen, as quickly as it had begun it was over. If she hadn't been willing her mind to produce a memory she might not have believed it happened. Somewhere she knew he used to call her "kid" a lot and she used to like to steal things. She still liked to steal things.

She turned to the grave next to her father. She knew brother had been last to slip from her memory, not because they were close, he was much older than her and had joined the military a few years before everything had changed, but because she always believed he could do anything. When her nightmares finally stopped, she knew she continued to have fantasies and daydreams that he would appear out of nowhere and find her. He would tell her it was going to be ok now, he would make sure she was safe. After a few years she stopped daydreaming. He was gone, just like they all told her. He was dead, just like her parents.

She pulled three flowers from the bouquet and laid the majority on her parent's grave. She tried to say goodbye to them, she tried to choke out the words around the tears but they wouldn't come. "You never came." She forced out angrily at her brother's grave. "I'll find my own way out." She whimpered. She knew, even when she was young that he wasn't coming, she knew even then that she had to do what she was told or she would get hurt, or worse, there was no one to protect her, no one to rescue her, she was on her own, and she would have to save herself.

She tried to say his name but just like her parents she couldn't force the sounds out. She tried to say goodbye to him, but all that came out was tears. Goodbye mom, bye daddy, if you're up there watching me, forgive me, you won't like what you see. She thought.

She knelt down and laid the final three flowers on her brother's grave, his stone, like hers, was simple, built into the ground, the kind the lawn mower can move right across without stopping. She brushed away the stray grass and leaves so any passerby could read "Michael Samuelle" etched into the granite.

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