Whew! It's been a long couple of weeks, but I figured it was time to finally update this thing. Thanks for all the reviews (and for pointing out my errors-- sometimes ya just need a little help, you know?).

Chapter Nine

Michael Vaughn (for he truly was Michael Vaughn, he had realized. Vaughn was the only self he knew) had finally come to the realization that his careful plan had spun completely out of his control. He had wanted nothing more than to save Sydney, and instead he was contributing to her misery. Scratch that, he was leading the parade.

These were the thoughts that ran through his mind as he looked around the so-called "Extraction Room". Sydney was asleep on a gurney in the middle of the room; knocked out by a combination of drugs the freaks from Group Six had been feeding her. When she woke up, it would be Vaughn's time to shine. It would be time for him to prove his worth to his brainwashers.

He would have to wait to prove his worth to Sydney. But he promised himself he would save her at any expense.

Lucky for them both, today's round of testing didn't involve anything that would harm her. There was to be no physical torture and they weren't ready to start rebuilding her memories—an experiment that Vaughn was determined to ruin.

As Sydney stirred, Vaughn glanced up to the mirror at one side of the room. A mirror that was, of course, actually a bulletproof window on the other side. Jacko and his team of lunatics were watching eagerly from the other side.

---

A feeling of deep rage was the first thing Sydney was aware of as she regained consciousness. She had been patient. She had been a good girlfriend. She had given Vaughn the benefit of the doubt. But here she was, still locked up and even worse, strapped to a gurney in what looked like a torture shop of horrors.

I don't even care anymore if he really is trying to help me. This is bullshit and I will not sit still and hope that he turns back into the man I love. This is up to me again. I only have myself to rely on.

She finally opened her eyes and found them instantly locked with Vaughn's. He was dressed in a white coat, his green eyes a pool of unmasked emotion—or had that been her imagination? Suddenly they were veiled and cold once again.

"As soon as I check your vitals we'll get started." He said, turning to adjust some dials.

"Can you get me a Starbucks first, Connor?" She asked, mockingly pleasant. She could get through this if she just pretended that this man was her Vaughn's evil twin. Connor. Those green eyes only look like his green eyes. And I will live in denial as long as it gets me through this and back home.

He didn't respond, so Sydney chattered on, hoping to aggravate him to the point of snapping.

"So where did you take me this time? You know, my boyfriend was taking me to Santa Barbara. He died in a car accident. Tragic, really."

(Vaughn suddenly wished desperately that he had never met Sydney Bristow, that he had never had to know the pain that can come with loving someone so freely and so deeply and having that taken from him by a group of monsters. He also wished he could let Sydney in on the horrible irony of their situation—that they had been transported not to some new foreign land, but straight back into Los Angeles, just miles from CIA Headquarters. After all, this was probably the only city where agents would not be looking for Sydney and Vaughn.)

Sydney paused for a minute and finally broke and asked him a serious question. "How is it that we got out of that car? I mean, that thing really hit us."

He seemed surprised when she resumed her normal tone of voice, but he answered almost immediately.

"Well, it definitely wasn't planned, if that's what you're wondering. I was supposed to take you to Santa Barbara where we would be robbed and abducted from our hotel room in the middle of the night. Instead, that car hit us. It wasn't as horrible as it could have been—the other car applied its brakes at the last minute and slowed enough that the impact was minimal. You hit your head on the dashboard and were unconscious for almost twelve hours—and then we kept you out with drugs. I was better off. Just some cuts and bruises. Seatbelts really are a wondrous thing."

(He wished he could tell her everything—how he had been ready to tell her everything just before the car hit them; to warn her and allow her to make her own decision about how she would go on; how they would go on if she could possibly forgive him. How he had been out of his mind when he saw the blood dripping down her face. How he had cradled her in his arms while waiting for the ambulance to come. How he had planned how and where they could hide out. How the monsters, the freaks, the lunatics had then shown up at the roadside to take them both to South America and all of his options and all of their choices had been taken from them because he had taken his eyes off the road for one second too long. How he had not had a moment to speak or act freely since that time.)

"Anyway," he continued after a pause. "We're alive."

"Unfortunately," she muttered.

Vaughn pretended not to hear her. He motioned to a familiar-looking machine beside the gurney. "You're familiar with the lie detector, Sydney. I should know. I trained you how to lie to the lie detector. Well, this one is a lot more complex. It's closer to a mind reader than a lie detector. You'd have to be magician to fool this thing."

Sydney had the distinct impression that Vaughn was trying to warn her. She nodded to him coolly.

"I really have nothing to hide at this point, do I? You know everything I know. I have never lied to you." Both understood the obvious implication—she had never lied to him, but he had done a hell of a lot worse.

"It's something of a formality," he finally answered uncomfortably.

He cleared his throat and finally asked, "What is your full name?"

"Wilma. Wilma Flintstone." Both of them winced as an electric current ran through her body. It was mild, but the message was delivered: Don't try to mock the machine.

"Again: what is your name?" Vaughn fought to keep his voice steady.

"Cindy Crawford." Sydney braced herself as another shock coursed through her. This one was slightly stronger.

"Don't do this, Sydney. It only gets worse," he hissed, trying to sound menacing but sounding desperate instead. He spoke louder: "Is your name Sydney Bristow?"

"Yes."

"Are you an agent for the CIA?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember the two years you spent as Julia Thorne?"

"No." Another shock was administered, and she lifted her head angrily. "Bullshit! I don't remember anything about it! Your stupid machine is broken!"

"Maybe it's just on the verge of your consciousness," Vaughn muttered, shooting a glance at his reflection in the mirror across the room. Surely the Goons wouldn't believe that.

"Do you remember a person name Sarah O'Toole?" Vaughn read this name from the list of questions he had been given, making a mental note to research the name later.

"No."

Vaughn looked at the next question and cringed inwardly. "Do you love Michael Vaughn?"

"No." Sydney replied honestly. Because his name is really Connor Dalloway.

Vaughn held his breath and realized suddenly that no electric shock had come. She was telling the truth. And why should she love you? What the hell have you done but ruin her life and hand her over to this scum? Without thinking, he diverted quickly from the script.

"Do you love any other man?"

"Yes." Sydney replied, smiling dreamily, knowing what effect this probably had on Vaughn.

Vaughn inhaled sharply and went back to the list of questions. They ranged from the ridiculous ("have you ever been to Nebraska?") to the mysterious ("Where were you on July 17, 2003?"). Vaughn could not make out what Group Six thought they would get out of her answers, but he read on and on, hoping that something would spark a clue in either himself or in Sydney. But she seemed as mystified as he was.

"Do I like strawberries?" She asked incredulously after one particularly silly question. "Who made this list of questions? As an annoyed prisoner, could I make a suggestion and tell you to fire whoever the hell it was? I mean, what kind of interrogation is this?"

Vaughn shrugged helplessly, not able to admit that he agreed with her completely.

When the session was finished, Sydney was taken back to her room, and Vaughn stormed out of the Extraction Room and into the room next door, where several members of Group Six were waiting patiently.

"This is ridiculous. If you want me to do this, to be in charge of extracting information, then it is time for you to tell me what it is I need to be extracting. Sending me into that room with an endless supply of pointless questions… that just cannot happen anymore!" He was shouting by the end of this little speech.

Jacko smiled pleasantly up at him. "You're right, of course. Sit down; it's time we tell you everything."