As usual, these characters are not mine, they belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Please review, I love to get feedback! Thanks to those who have reviewed so far!

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Sydney stared at herself in the full-length mirror, smiling sadly at her reflection. The nighty-- white satin, trimmed in black lace, and composed of far too little material to justify its hefty price tag-- looked amazing, of course; though she certainly wasn't getting as much exercise as she had in her spy days, she hadn't exactly let herself go.

No, the problem wasn't with the lingerie, or her body. The problem was, after she told Michael about the encounter she'd had with her mother, neither of them were going to be thinking about the way she looked in a nightgown. She considered changing, though into what, she wasn't sure. She didn't think there was anything in her closet that exactly screamed, Happy anniversary, darling. Oh, you know my mother? The one who killed your father? Well, she knows we're alive. In fact, some time this week you might be cooking her lunch. Sydney sighed, hastily throwing on her matching satin robe as she heard Michael's key turn in the lock. "Showtime," she muttered.

She reached the front door to find him juggling a bottle of champagne, a dozen roses, and a styrofoam takeout container from the restaurant. "Marc, honey, let me help you," she said, taking the styrofoam container and the champagne from him as he closed the door.

"Thanks, sweetie," he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

"What's in the box?" she asked, placing the champagne on the island counter that rested in the middle of their kitchen.

"Oh, this pasta dish that we served at the restaurant tonight," he said. "I'm sure you've already eaten, but you'll have to try some later, or tomorrow. Here," he said, taking the box from her and handing her the roses in one deft motion. "Happy anniversary."

"Marc, you didn't have to," she said, reaching up to her neck to touch the delicate silver chain he'd given her that morning. She'd given him a watch with an inscription on the back: To the first of many together. "But thank you. They're beautiful."

"So is this," he said, fingering the satiny material of her robe. "You look amazing."

You should see what's underneath, she thought, but it seemed wrong to tease him like that just before she gave him news that would change both of their lives. "I thought about not wearing it," she said instead. "Considering what I have to tell you."

"Katie, what is it?" he asked, concern knitting his brow.

"Marc--" she said, letting the flowers drop to the counter as she rushed into his arms.

"Katie, baby, whatever it is, it'll be okay," he soothed, pulling her close to him.

"No, you don't understand, I--" she broke away from him, staring up into his green eyes. Once again, she was going to be the cause of his pain, and she hated herself for it.

"Katie, what is it?" he asked, then something lightened in his eyes. "Katie, are you--"

She looked up at him, the question in her eyes reflected in his.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked. For not the first time, she wished she couldn't see everything he was feeling in those eyes of his. Reflected in them was an odd combination of hope and happiness, worry and fear.

"That's what she asked, too," Sydney said, tucking a few strands of hair behind her left ear. "Actually, she said something like, I'm surprised you haven't done something completely ridiculous like start a family. I told her that you'd make an amazing father."

"Kate, who are you talking about?" Damn those eyes. Confusion, worry, fear...

"My mother."

He took a step back, his eyes wild. "Kate--"

"Maybe you should call me Sydney," Sydney said. "I mean, it's Sydney's mother that showed up here today. Unless you just want to call her mother Vivian Livingston, but if she's just Vivian Livingston, her presence doesn't mean much here, and--"

"Kate," he cut in. "You're not making sense."

"I think I'm making perfect sense," she said, folding her arms in front of her. "Laura-- Irina-- Vivian-- whoever the hell she is, she showed up here today. I spent an hour with her in her hotel room."

"What is she doing here?" Now Marc was definitely looking more like the old Michael Vaughn, the panicked Michael Vaughn who had told her she wasn't allowed to exist anymore.

Sydney shrugged. "She said pleasure, not business."

"And you believed her?"

"I don't know what to believe," Sydney admitted. "I don't really think she just randomly came here on vacation, but I don't know how much her visit has to do with me."

"Did she seem surprised to see you?" Now Michael was reeling around the room, raking a hand back through his brown hair.

"Not overly," Sydney admitted. "But then, I was working the front desk with Nina. I didn't act terribly surprised to see her, either. Marc, we need to figure out what we're going to do."

"Do?"

"Well, yeah," Sydney said, her voice low. "Do we wait and find out what she's doing here, or do we run?"

"Run?" God, those eyes. Crazed, panicked, hurt...

"Well, like she told me--"

"She? You're taking advice from her now?"

"Some of the things she said made sense, Marc," Sydney said. "If she could find us here, anybody could."

"Katie, that's true of anywhere!" Michael exploded. "Anywhere we go someone could turn up on vacation, or--"

"So what we need to find out, Marc," Sydney cut in. "Is whether she really did come here on vacation, or if she came here looking for us." She didn't much like being the calm, level-headed one in their relationship, but then, she'd had more time to think about all of this than he had.

Her calm seemed to calm him, too, because he took a deep breath. "Maybe you can break into her room tomorrow," he suggested.

"Maybe," she agreed, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. "We have the day off tomorrow, we have a lot of time to figure out what we're going to do."

"Some anniversary," he murmured.

"We'll be okay," she soothed. "As long as we stick together, we'll be okay."

He turned to face her suddenly, roughly pulling her to him and taking her lips with his. "I love you," he said once they'd parted, the urgency in his voice startling her.

"I love you, Michael."

She wasn't sure why she called him that, but it caused him to pull away from her suddenly. "We're always going to be Michael and Sydney, aren't we?" The eyes. Stricken. Resigned. "No matter what we're called."

"I thought we decided we didn't mind that so much," she said, her voice soft. "It's Michael and Sydney that have the history."

"It's Michael and Sydney that have to run."

The two of them locked eyes, sharing an unspoken fear of what could be in store for them-- new names, new identities, new lies. After a year together, starting over.

Though not from scratch. After a year of struggling, they finally knew how to be a couple. The hard part was over.

Or so she kept telling herself, anyway.