Author's Note: Thank you for all the feedback. Please feel free to give more J

I walked into the front door, dumped my suitcase on the floor and started to take off my coat and scarf. It was cold out today. I hung my jacket and scarf up, picked up my bag and was nearly at my room when I heard Francie call out from somewhere in the kitchen.

"Is that you Syd?" she asked, ducking her head around the corner. I smiled and gave a little wave with my free hand.

"Hey there! How was San Fran? I had the worst day today, I was in class and it was halfway through the lecture when I realised I'd left my assignment at home and…" She could talk for ages once you got her started. I dropped my suitcase on the floor and sat on the couch wearily. I mean, I love Francie and everything, but the only thing I needed right now was some sleep. I let her talk for a bit, then interrupted her.

"Francie, I'm really tired. I might just go to bed, okay? We can talk in the morning," I said as I stood up. Francie nodded understandingly, and I struggled down the hall in search of sleep.

*

Sloane was pissed. I could tell as soon as he entered the room. Even Marshall could tell- he actually sat still for awhile. I sighed. We were in for a long meeting. Sloane sat at the head of the table, took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose and put them back on again. Everyone waited.

"The papers were fakes," he started. Dixon and I let out little gasps of dismay- his real, mine just me trying to save my ass. Sloane continued.

"However, we may be able to recover them. There were duplicates made and it is possible that we could retrieve them. I will be sending a mission to Europe do just that." Great, I thought. Europe…in winter. Again. How fun. Of course I couldn't let anyone see this, so I sat up attentively.

"But I wont be sending Sydney." WHAT?! "I feel that this job is better suited to one of our other field agents. He'll be leaving on Friday. I'm sorry Sydney." Sloane said. I didn't know what to think. Was he telling the truth? Did he suspect something? What on earth was going on?

Sloane turned to Marshall. "I expect you to meet with Agent Richmond by first thing tomorrow morning," he said, then stood up and left. So I was mistaken- we weren't in for a long meeting. Everyone else sat there for a minute, then finally stood up and left. Dixon smiled apologetically at me on the way out, which I returned, then stood up and practically ran to my father's office. We had to talk.

"I don't what's going on any more than you do, Sydney, but I'll try to find out," said my father. I had the feeling he was trying to placate me, and told him so. "I mean it Syd, I will try to find out what's going on. We can't talk here. Meet me tomorrow morning, at the pier." I nodded, and then turned to leave.

"Syd?" my father asked. I turned back around. He looked like he was about to say something, and then thought better of it. "Never mind."

*

I slumped on the couch at home and glared at nothing. No one was willing to tell me what was going on. I directed my glare at the phone, willing it to ring. There was silence for a minute, then the phone rung. It was deafening, and I jumped about a foot, and then looked around sheepishly. I snatched up the phone and answered it breathlessly.

"Joey's Pizza?" a hoarse voice asked. I was startled. It didn't sound like Vaughn.

"Um…wrong number," I said warily and hung up. I had a quick debate with myself. It could be Vaughn, so I should go; or it could be a trap, so I shouldn't. Finally, going won the debate and I grabbed my car keys and coat and set off.

Well, I was right. It was Vaughn, and I had my reason for him not being there for the switch. He looked like death warmed over, and I didn't hesitate in telling him just that.

"Oh, thank you so much," he replied, his voice even more hoarse than before. "Whenever you get the flu, I'll be glad to tell you the exact same thing."

Okay, I deserved that. I probably shouldn't have told him that he looked like crap, especially when he'd obviously made an effort to conceal it. He was wearing the customary suit (albeit a little wrinkled), and he'd attempted to hide the tissues in his pockets. I apologised, which he accepted gracefully. Or more gracefully than I would have. Anyway…

"Well, did the papers say anything interesting?" I asked in an attempt to distract him. It seemed to work, he stood up straighter.

"Yes, there were very (cough) informative. However there are some parts missing, and we'd like you to get them for us when you retrieve the duplicates."

I frowned at him. I wasn't retrieving the duplicates, someone else was. So even the CIA screws up sometimes. I must admit, I was pretty stoked at that little piece of information.

"Err…your info's wrong. I'm not the one going…" I started, but he waved me silent.

"Yeah, we know, you aren't the one being sent. It doesn't matter," Vaughn explained as he dug around in his pockets for a tissue. He eventually found one and blew his nose loudly. Okay, maybe the CIA doesn't screw up. Damn. I waited until he was finished evacuating his brain matter through the nearest orifice, then invited him to continue.

"We're sending a retrieval team earlier than SD-6. We leave on Wednesday. Better pack your stuff and take some vacation time," he said.

"We?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, there's are group of agents going- you, me, and a couple of other agents. Don't worry about them," he answered.

Well, it seemed like the business part of the meeting was over, so I was free to ask questions. There was only one I wanted to ask.

"How come you weren't there for the switch? Was it because you're sick?" I asked. Vaughn nodded. "Okay then. Well, I better go," I said. He nodded again, and opened the door to the car. I walked back through the car park towards my own car. I had a nasty craving for ice cream. Damn cravings.

*

I struggled in the front door, dropping my cars on the table and nearly dropping the pizza and videos I'd bought. Not to mention the ice cream. Francie's head ducked around the corner, and her face lit up. "Movie night!" she exclaimed. My other friend Will ducked his head around the corner and grinned at me. "Hey Syd!" he called. I struggled to wave at him, and the videos went flying. They clattered to the floor, making more noise than I would have thought possible.

"…oops," I said sheepishly. Francie and Will just laughed at me, then stood up to help me. Together we staggered into the living room and dropped the stuff on the table. I stepped back to survey the mess. It was a masterpiece- ice cream well on its way to melted was dripping onto the pizza boxes, which were already wet with grease. The videos weren't in much better shape. I leaned over and picked up the ice cream bucket, walked carefully into the kitchen to avoid it dripping on the carpet and shoved it in the freezer. By the time I walked back, Francie and Will were already sitting on the couch, munching on pizza. I gave them a look of mock outrage.

"We saved you some room," sniggered Will, gesturing to the postage stamp sized space on the couch. I grinned, then promptly went over and sat on his legs.

"Oof," grunted Will as he tried to shove me off. I struggled valiantly, and he finally surrendered. In the meantime, Francie had snagged the pizza box and proceeded to hold it hostage.

"No pizza until you can behave," she said snootily. I cracked up, then sat where I was with an angelic look on my face. Will snickered, and then copied me. Francie struggled to keep a straight face, finally giving up and snorting.

Well, we did eventually get to watch the movie- a sappy romance movie. Will wasn't particularly impressed, he wanted action. Tough.

*

I woke to the sound of my alarm clock. It had the sort of buzz that was guaranteed to wake you up, the ones that only a hated aunt could possibly wish on you, but only if she was in one of her worst moods. It drilled into my head like it was an electronic pile driver intent on a spot of cranial surgery. I cursed the world; told it to go away and leave me alone and then curled up in the bed with the intention of getting back to sleep.

By then it was all too late of course, the raucous noise had done its job and I was wide-awake. (Note to self: find person who invented alarm clock. Meet in dark alley. Hide bodies.) I swung my feet out of bed and rubbed my eyes in a misguided attempt to clear them. Great success. It just smeared the gunk around. Then I began the tedious task of finding some clothes. Okay, maybe it would have helped if I turned on a light, or at least opened the curtains. I bumped into half a dozen things that I swear weren't there last night. A quote rose, unbidden in my head: Shin- device for finding objects in the dark. I snickered.

After a valiant attempt to find some clothes, I finally conceded that perhaps electric lights had been invented for a reason. I switched on the light switch. Gee, that did make things easier. I could actually see the closet. And the note I'd written to myself the night before. "Meet dad at pier, 6am." I stared at it for a few seconds, trying to comprehend it. The memory arose, and my eyes widened. I snatched my watch from the table and stared at it. 5:40am the cheery little readout told me. I swore under my breath.

Let's see, it takes 10 minutes to reach the pier (7 if I don't obey any traffic laws…tempting…), so that gives me 10 minutes to get ready. I ran (alright, stumbled) to the closet, grabbed a red silk blouse and some black trousers and pulled them on as fast as possible. Then I grabbed the "bank papers" off my desk, stuffed them into my portfolio and snatched a pair of shoes. I bunny hopped down the hall, trying to put on my shoes as well as walk. It was risky business but I managed it. Then I grabbed a banana for breakfast, scrawled a quick note to Francie and grabbed my bag. I was almost out the door before I remembered: it's slightly hard to drive a car without keys. Not impossible, but more time consuming. I ducked back in, grabbed my keys and walked out the front door. A cold wind blew through me, chilling me to the bone. Oh yeah, Syd, it's winter. I opened the door again, shoved my hand around the corner, scrabbled it around a little, then snatched my coat. Finally, I was ready to go.

*

My father was pacing up and down the pier by the time I arrived. I covertly checked my watch. 5:59am. Good, I wasn't late- I was even early (by a few seconds…) I strode up to him, shivering in the early morning cold. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps. I smiled at him, not really expecting him to return it.

"I found out what's going on," he said. Always one to go straight to business. What happened to the "Hi. How are you?"? Oh yeah, this is my father we're talking about. Silly me. I nodded at him to continue. "This is going to sound a bit morbid but there's no other way to say it. He's training your replacement." I stared at him in shock. How could he say that so calmly? This was my life we were talking about! Didn't I matter to him? I glared at the uncaring bastard. He frowned at me, puzzled.

"He's training your replacement in case you're injured on a mission and can't finish it," he explained. Okay, I felt a little stupid. I think my father thought I was a little stupid too, from the look he was giving me. "Did Vaughn tell you about the mission?" I stammered in an attempt to cover it up. Subject changes are like acne cover-up make-up: everyone notices that you're trying to draw attention away from something, but it's so blatantly obvious that they pretend not to see it so they wont hurt your feelings. That was one social skill my father did know…as opposed to the many he doesn't. But I digress. My father nodded and said "yes, they're sending a team this time. I'll inform Sloane that you need some vacation time. I'll tell him there's been a death in the family or something."

Well, that was a relief. I had no idea what I was going to tell Sloane, and it'd sound more believable if Dad told him, what with me grieving and all. My father is a lot of things; close to his family is not one of them. Fortunately, I don't share that trait and Sloane knows it. So there was one problem solved. I checked my watch again. Time to go. I said my good-byes, gave him my portfolio (see, I am so dedicated to my work) and went back home. Hopefully Francie wont be up yet, otherwise I have to lie to her again.

*

"Why aren't you at work?" asked Francie through a mouthful of micro waved pizza. I was staring at her in amazed shock, kind of like the way people stare at a car accident. It's not a pretty sight, but for some reason you just cant look away. How could she eat that for breakfast? Gross…

"Syd?" she asked again, startling me out of my reverie.

"What?" I asked. I was pretty sure she'd asked me a question before. Now all I have to do is remember it…or maybe if I sit here like a stunned mullet she'll take pity on me and ask again. I was going with the latter.

"Why aren't you at work?" she asked again. Score! Now let's see if I could come up with something… Inspiration struck me, my lie-muse awakened. Why not make my story more believable by telling it twice?

"I was there, but my father found me. One of my favourite aunts died last night, and he'd arranged some time off so I could go to the funeral," I said in an appropriately stunned, grieving niece voice. I should be an actress. Pays better than this job and people don't try to kill me. Alright, so some whackos might, but then I'd have bodyguards. And public sympathy. On second thought, maybe it seemed a little boring. Before I could get to caught up in my thoughts Francie distracted me.

"When do you leave?" she asked. I thought fast.

"They're ringing me with the details later today," I said. There, that way I could explain my leaving just after a phone call. I am such a genius I even astound myself. Francie nodded, mumbled some more condolences, and then let me go pack.

*

I was nearly finished packing when the phone rang. I dashed through the house, snatched it up and answered it breathlessly.

"Syd? It's your father," said the voice. Francie's head popped around the corner and looked at me questioningly. 'It's my father' I mouthed to her. She nodded and pulled her head back around the corner.

"Yeah?" I asked, cupping the mouthpiece with my free hand.

"You're meeting them at the international airport tomorrow, 7:30pm. They'll be waiting for you on the lobby chairs. And Sydney?"

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

I hung up the phone and stared at it blankly for a minute. What did that mean, him wishing me good luck? He'd never done that before. Maybe this was going to be harder than I had originally thought. Or maybe I was just being paranoid. Maybe he was just worrying too much. Maybe I should stop speculating and rejoin the people in the present. Sounds good. I might just do that.

I looked around the seemingly empty house. Francie was being unusually quiet today. I decided to hunt her down. If I was going away again so soon after returning I should probably spend a bit of time with her. Damn conscience.

*

I spent the day with Francie just wandering around. We had no real intentions of doing anything, and that's always a bad thing at the mall. Especially when you both have money. I didn't really need the new shoes…or the new outfit…or that bracelet. But the shop lady told me how nice they looked, and I was suckered in. (Note to self: you are a loser. Supplementary note to self: stop going to shops just so the assistants will compliment you. It's sad, and a little disturbing.)

After we spent some of our money (okay, more like half my pay in my case. Somehow Francie managed to escape with most of her savings intact.) we went for a walk along the beach. Francie chattered on and on about how she'd really like to run a restaurant, and I nodded at the appropriate times. I neglected to inform her of the less interesting parts of running a restaurant (ie. The cooking, the cleaning, the rent, the staff, the patrons, everything). Ignorance is bliss.

One day down, one more to go. I spent most of the next day at home. Francie was at school, and the house was quiet. Almost too quiet- I nearly put on one of Will's CD's that I found under the couch. I rechecked that I had packed everything and settled down for some quality TV catch-up. Jerry Jerry Jerry. (See previous note to self about being a loser. Remember it.)

*

Before I knew it, it was time to go. I said my goodbyes to Francie and Will (who was over again! Doesn't he have a home?) and then drove to the airport. Well, it was more like I drove to the main road, and then I rolled to the airport. The traffic was going so slow that I was tempted to turn off the engine and see if I could just roll in. You'd probably think that I'd be late. But I am the master of time management- I know exactly how much time it's going to take me to reach the airport depending on which route, if my car breaks down or if there's an accident right in front of me, and the wreckage strews all the way across the road, blocking traffic for miles around and making it impossible to reach an exit ramp. Yep, I am sad.

I arrived at exactly the time I wanted to (give or take a few seconds…alright, minutes.), and began the tedious search for a car park that wasn't going to cost me an absolute fortune. It's times like these that I wish I did have a CIA badge, despite the security risk. I could just wave that badge around, say that it was a matter of national security and the prime spots would be mine. And when I was arrested I could conceivably claim that abuse of power is a new term for me. Yeah, and pigs fly. (When a cop falls out of a helicopter, is that a flying pig? Or is it more like a falling pig? No offence to cops, but I'm curious.)

There were two options available to me: I could park close to the entrance and come home to a fee with many digits, or I could park where there's no fees and call a taxi because it's too far to walk. I chose the former- maybe I could expense claim it. Hey, anything's possible.

I struggled to get my bag out of the boot. I may have forgotten to mention this earlier, but my car is tiny. It has room for me, a wallet and a portfolio. That's about it. How I managed to get my suitcase in before, I don't know and I certainly regret it now. I have a vague memory of pushing really hard and the sound of the seams creaking. I glanced at the bulging mass and sighed. It looked like my boot had grown a bulbous tumour. Pleasant. I took a deep breath, grabbed the handle and heaved on it. It struggled valiantly, and then gave way in one go. Of course, it smacked me hard on the chest and knocked me into the middle of the road. I glanced around sheepishly, absolutely sure that the universe was out to get me. It would be just my luck if I fell into the road right in front of Vaughn. I quickly checked and sighed in relief. Maybe I was just being paranoid about the universe out to get me thing. I picked up my bag, stomped over to the boot, slammed it closed and headed to the entrance.

What is wrong with the world today? There I was: a young, fairly attractive woman struggling with an ungainly bag and no one came and offered to help me. Not one person. I struggled with it all the way over to the lobby chairs and sat down with a thump, pretending to catch my breath after the strenuous exercise of carrying my bag. A few minutes later a guy came over, sat down next to me and started reading a newspaper. No I realised he's only pretending to read that. He glanced surreptitiously at me and said through the corner of his mouth:

"Buy a first class ticket to Milan, Italy. Try to sit in the third row. We'll contact you in flight," he murmured. I disguised my vague nod by running my hand through my hair. I glanced at my watch, looked surprised in case anyone was watching and grabbed my bag. I turned to brave the lines at the ticket queue. This could take awhile.

I may be the time-master when it comes to driving, but when it comes to queues I'm hopeless. I'd thought that I would be in line for ages, so I bought a packet of chips to eat while I waited. Unfortunately, I have never been a fast eater- I tend to get a nasty case of indigestion, so I'm that person at the dinner party who's still eating while everyone else sits around uncomfortably waiting for them to finish. So I was halfway through the packet when I reached the front of the line. Damn.

"Are there any tickets to Milan left?" I asked through a mouthful of potato chip crumbs. Gee, I must have looked great. At least I didn't spray them on her, I can say that much for myself. She grimaced slightly through her caked on make-up and hammered away on a keyboard with two nail-polished fingers. I'll never understand why some people a) fail to notice that they have eight other fingers they can use when typing and b) choose to have 2 inch long nails when they work in front of a computer all day. I mean, this woman works in front of a computer all day, trying to help people in queues. Wouldn't it make sense (and improve efficiency) to hire someone who can type more than one word per minute? But no one ever listens to me.

"We have a few seats left. I trust you'll be flying economy?" she asked patronisingly. I glared at her. Don't I look like I can afford to travel business class? Stupid cow.

"I'd prefer business class if possible," I said snootily. Two could play at that game. She sighed heavily. All she needed was some chewing gum, and she would epitomise annoying. I looked disdainfully at her until I got what I wanted. Snatching the ticket out of her hand, I plastered an extremely fake smile on my face and walked off to customs.

*

I boarded the plane and looked around for a seat in the third row. There was one next to a guy in a long-sleeved shirt and dark tracksuit-type pants. I walked over and plastered a slightly less fake smile on my face.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked politely. The man turned around and I struggled to stop my mouth from hanging open. It was Vaughn, and he showed no sign of recognising me. Instead he smiled back.

"No, you take it," he said, standing up to let me in. I stuffed my things into the overhead compartment and sat down. He sat down after me, reached into his carry-on bag and pulled out a discman. He stuffed the headphones into his ears and turned it on. It looked like we weren't going to discuss the mission just yet (which made sense, considering the flight would be several hours long), so I dug in my own carry-on bag, pulled out the book I'd been planning on reading for ages and my own discman. I stuffed the headphones in my ears, switched on the music and opened my book. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. So sue me, I thought the movie was good. About time I read the book.