Disclaimer: I don't own Alias. I also don't own the quote I borrowed for this chapter.

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay, life is hectic.

"Life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think." -- Jean de La Bruyère.

Chapter 20- Life is a Comedy

---Samantha's POV---

I stumbled backwards onto the bed and out of my black heels. I hadn't expected Sydney to pull a gun on me.

"You'd better be sure." She eyed me warily.

"I- I- I'm sure." I stuttered. My eyes didn't leave hers. They couldn't. I'd never seen such anger.

"What do you want?"

Sark stayed at the door as Sydney approached me.

"I wanna leave. I wanna go back home." I could hear my voice breaking. I took an inaudible breath to calm myself. "I wanna go home. I fucking hate this place."

"So get on a plane."

"With what money? What about my things?" I screeched, getting off the bed.

I stared at Sark accusingly.

He stared back, eyes filled with amusement. "What value would your things hold for me?"

I turned back to Sydney. "I give you his location. You get me a plane ticket back to the states."

"How do I know the location is correct?"

"How do I know that plane wont land next to an SUV full of CIA agents?" I countered.

Sydney laughed softly. "You're not that important."

She remained silent for quite some time before she walked away. She returned shortly with a piece of paper.

"Write it down. Afterwards, we'll buy your ticket. When we drive there if we don't find him, you can guess what's going to happen to you."

"He'll probably be leaving the country since he got the chest." I noted.

"He doesn't have it." Sydney informed me.

"Is he injured?" I look up at them.

"Does it matter?"

"If he's not, then he'll have left. If not, he'll be in a safe house. We've got one safe house here. It's pretty new." I scribbled the address onto the paper and handed it to Sydney.

"Why are you really do this?" Sydney questioned, softening her voice.

"He planned to keep me stranded here. He fucked me over." I slipped back on my black heels. The gray dress pants covered most of them.

"Aiding and abetting a fugitive, Sydney?" Sark whispered. "What has become of you?"

Sydney walked out of the room.

"And why haven't you sought revenge on me?" Sark laughed.

I remained silent.

"She didn't pack the rest of her things." I changed the subject.

"You'd think you'd want to stay here." He pointed out.

I stayed silent.

"Less questions?"

"Not really." I admitted.

"I'm surprised it happened so far away. Globalization is an amazing thing, isn't it?"

"Fuck off."

Sark seemed to make note of this before he too exited the room.

Sark knew. That was not good.

---Irina's POV---

"Good morning," I greeted Jack as he walked into the kitchen. He looked well groomed despite how sleepy he looked.

I added some toast to the plate before I pushed it towards him.

"I normally just have some coffee."

"You'll have some breakfast."

He took a sip of the coffee before setting it aside. "I will not be ordered around in my own house."

"Have some breakfast." I insisted. "It's good for you."

I pulled out another chair and joined him at the table with my own plate of eggs, bacon and toast.

"Supposing you've poisoned this." Jack glanced up at me, his eyes smiling.

"Well then you can have mine."

"If you've poisoned yours?" His voice was light. It was unusual.

"Now why would I do that?" I failed to keep the smile off my face.

"Because you knew I'd question mine."

"And then out of care for you, I'd switch plates." I finished. "What can I say, you've got me figured out."

He stopped in mid-laugh, as if suddenly realizing what was happening.

We finished the rest of the meal in silence.

Afterwards, he stopped my departure from the kitchen with a single statement. "You never told me what you claimed that you were going to inform me of several days ago."

"The baby." I turn to face him. "Sydney fought a man named Colleen Jameston. He goes by the alias James Collier. I had some tests taken."

"And you kept this from Sydney?"

"She needed to take matters into her own hands. If someone hurt you-" I stopped. "She needs to deal with this on her own… in her own way."

---Sydney's POV---

I was all by myself. I had requested that Sark and Samantha leave. I needed to deal with this on my own.

I picked the lock quite easily. My black sneakers did not make a noise on the carpet. The lights were on in the living room. The sound of the ceiling fan whirling around overcame any other sound in the room. I moved into the hallway after checking the kitchen for any signs of his presence. The hallway was long and bare. I followed the sound of the television towards the back of the house. The beige walls were quite a sight. I pushed the door open slowly.

A chair sat next to a bed and a dresser. A television, across from the bed, a few lamps and tables were the only other furniture in the room.

I wasn't expecting the fist that came my way. I flew back into the door, causing it to bang into the wall.

I rolled away from his next punch and flipped to a standing position quite easily.

I sent a strong right hook his way and closed the distance so that I could send a strong uppercut underneath his chin. He stumbled back, knocking over the television with a loud crash.

As he pulled himself up I performed a step-in back kick. The kick sent him flying into the wall.

I pulled him up by his shirt. "Do you remember me?"

"I remember nearly kicking your ass a long time ago." He smiled.

"If I remember correctly I slammed your head into a car door." I threw his head against the wall.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about that fight. I was referring to the Manual."

I felt my breath shorten. I didn't even realize that I had pulled out my gun until it was aimed at him.

"This is for my child."

He knocked the gun out of the hands and wrapped a table cloth around my neck, effectively choking me. My attempts at kicking him were futile.

"Emotion rapes the body of its skills… Miss Bristow." He purred into my air. "Which is exactly why pregnant women shouldn't be in this business."

I clawed at his face.

Clearing my head I turned into his elbow. I pulled on his arm and threw him onto the ground.

I grabbed a table from the glass and smashed it into his head.

Blood dripped down his face. Some got into his eyes.

"Wrong move bitch." He hissed as he leapt up.

I borrowed a move from a classic novel and kicked him in the neck. He grasped his neck as he crawled around on the floor like the pathetic thing he was.

"Emotions can be the most powerful weapon a person can yield." I aimed my gun at him once again.

10 minutes later I left the house.

He stayed behind, slumped against the wall breathing softly.

I laugh suddenly, realizing the situation I have put myself in as I recall the quote: "Life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think."

A/N: Questions? Comments? The quote was from Jean de La Bruyère.