Disclaimer: See previous chapter.
Rating: Ditto.
Talia Carreras stood in her small cubicle, shifting nervously from one high- heeled foot to the other. Her head snapped up as Jack Bristow came to the entrance of her new desk space.
"Agent Carreras," he said in a cool, collected tone. "Sloane will see you now." His voice was flat and emotional as usual. Talia swallowed, nodded and soundlessly slipped past him into the aisle.
To her surprise, she felt his fingers rest lightly on her elbow. "Good luck," he said. With that, he was gone, already halfway to the debriefing room.
Talia straightened up, fixed her face into the unreadable expression mirrored by all SD-6 agents, and headed for the door. As she walked, her mind was flooded with memories. She had never really known her mother- the woman had dies shortly after her birth. The day her father was murdered- he'd simply been dropping her off at the mall, giving her the usual drill about not talking to strange guys. He'd kissed her cheek, as usual, and slipped an extra ten into her pocket. She'd grabbed her purse and opened the door- and then it happened.
"Talia!" Her father had screamed. "Duck!"
The rest was a blur of fast-moving images wrought with intense color and sound- her father, laying on the pavement in a pool of dark blood and bits of flesh, the funeral, the blurry days of tears and confusion spent with her Uncle Sergei in his native Russia, till she turned eighteen and moved back to the states.
Then came her transition from good-girl Talia Mercedes Carreras to "that crazy Cuban chick," connoisseur of fast food, faster friendship, and the fastest cars on earth...to Agent T. Carreras, working for SD-6.
Talia shook her head, clearing out the insistent memories. She had work to do. Stopping abruptly in front of the designated meeting room, she glanced inside. Jack Bristow was already seated. Among various members of the SD-6 team she already knew were two new faces, obviously her partners-to-be.
A thin, fair-skinned brunette dressed entirely in black was sitting back in her chair, her elegant features arranged into a carefully bland expression, thick, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. She was likely Sydney Bristow, Jack's daughter. Although he rarely spoke of her, it was clear he though the world of her; he seemed to take it for granted that everyone though she was a wonderful agent.
Sitting directly across from Sydney was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a clear, intelligent look of experience about him. Dressed immaculately in a cleanly cut black suit, crisp white shirt and black-and- gray dotted tie, his dark, fathomless eyes were serious, and a small frown creased his forehead. This was Marcus Dixon, Sydney's partner, she assumed. She knew even less about him than she did about Sydney; only that he was a hardworking, dedicated agent with years of experience. "He's a good man- very serious," were Jack Bristow's exact words.
It had been three years since she'd been working for SD-6, and she finally was being promoted. "This is for you, Dad," she said to herself, and a steely look came into her eyes. Her hour had come.
**********
Will Tippen stepped back into his apartment, stretching luxuriously as dropped his keys and headed for the living room. A fantastic English-style breakfast with a gorgeous girl- well, it WAS only Francie, with whom he had a strictly platonic relationship, but what the hell? She was gorgeous. Anyway, a great breakfast, a comfortable couch, pay-per-view, scoring a Sunday date with his stunning assistant at the office, Jenny, and no visible newspaper deadlines in sight made for a weekend made in heaven.
Will kicked off his sneakers, and watched them hit the opposite wall, then shrugged. He'd pick them up later. Sticking a bowl of Pop Secret into the microwave, he plopped down on the sofa and picked up the TV remote. After flicking through channels for about three minutes, he left the channel on MTV and got up to get his popcorn.
When he returned with the popcorn and a bottle of Heinekens, an announcer who had to be either VERY bored or very stoned was introducing a show dealing with the world's hottest clubs. Will immediately picked up the TV guide and thumbed through it, but his search proved futile- nothing good was on, and it was either this or catching up on reading War and Peace, a book Sydney had forced on him after taking a Russian literature class.
Will relaxed in his chair, taking in the gyrating bodies and blinding colors as the announcer's drone took them through France, Italy, Amsterdam and London. When the camera panned to a smoke-filled pool party in Russia, however, something caught his eye.
"How stupid. This isn't even a club," he muttered, but that wasn't what made him sit up straighter.
A curvaceous blonde woman in a form-fitting blue vinyl dress passed in front of the camera for a second, quickly turning her face when she saw that it was on her. It wasn't her curves or her tight dress that caught his attention, although both were quite impressive. It was her face. Although he couldn't put his finger on it, there was something very familiar about her.
Will watched the whole program, hoping to catch a glimpse of the blonde again, but the segment finished quickly and the announcer introduced a club in South Africa, the program finishing soon afterward. Will soon settled into a college football game that followed on ESPN immediately afterward, but he couldn't get that blonde out of his mind. He picked up the guide and flipped to the current day, following the MTV schedule with one index finger. Good! The same episode was rerunning that night at eight-o'clock. Quickly, he inserted a tape into his VCR and programmed it to record at eight. He wasn't taking any chances on missing it. Will couldn't put a finger on why that woman's face bothered him so much- who did HE know in Moscow? He'd know at eight.
**********
Rating: Ditto.
Talia Carreras stood in her small cubicle, shifting nervously from one high- heeled foot to the other. Her head snapped up as Jack Bristow came to the entrance of her new desk space.
"Agent Carreras," he said in a cool, collected tone. "Sloane will see you now." His voice was flat and emotional as usual. Talia swallowed, nodded and soundlessly slipped past him into the aisle.
To her surprise, she felt his fingers rest lightly on her elbow. "Good luck," he said. With that, he was gone, already halfway to the debriefing room.
Talia straightened up, fixed her face into the unreadable expression mirrored by all SD-6 agents, and headed for the door. As she walked, her mind was flooded with memories. She had never really known her mother- the woman had dies shortly after her birth. The day her father was murdered- he'd simply been dropping her off at the mall, giving her the usual drill about not talking to strange guys. He'd kissed her cheek, as usual, and slipped an extra ten into her pocket. She'd grabbed her purse and opened the door- and then it happened.
"Talia!" Her father had screamed. "Duck!"
The rest was a blur of fast-moving images wrought with intense color and sound- her father, laying on the pavement in a pool of dark blood and bits of flesh, the funeral, the blurry days of tears and confusion spent with her Uncle Sergei in his native Russia, till she turned eighteen and moved back to the states.
Then came her transition from good-girl Talia Mercedes Carreras to "that crazy Cuban chick," connoisseur of fast food, faster friendship, and the fastest cars on earth...to Agent T. Carreras, working for SD-6.
Talia shook her head, clearing out the insistent memories. She had work to do. Stopping abruptly in front of the designated meeting room, she glanced inside. Jack Bristow was already seated. Among various members of the SD-6 team she already knew were two new faces, obviously her partners-to-be.
A thin, fair-skinned brunette dressed entirely in black was sitting back in her chair, her elegant features arranged into a carefully bland expression, thick, shoulder-length hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. She was likely Sydney Bristow, Jack's daughter. Although he rarely spoke of her, it was clear he though the world of her; he seemed to take it for granted that everyone though she was a wonderful agent.
Sitting directly across from Sydney was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a clear, intelligent look of experience about him. Dressed immaculately in a cleanly cut black suit, crisp white shirt and black-and- gray dotted tie, his dark, fathomless eyes were serious, and a small frown creased his forehead. This was Marcus Dixon, Sydney's partner, she assumed. She knew even less about him than she did about Sydney; only that he was a hardworking, dedicated agent with years of experience. "He's a good man- very serious," were Jack Bristow's exact words.
It had been three years since she'd been working for SD-6, and she finally was being promoted. "This is for you, Dad," she said to herself, and a steely look came into her eyes. Her hour had come.
**********
Will Tippen stepped back into his apartment, stretching luxuriously as dropped his keys and headed for the living room. A fantastic English-style breakfast with a gorgeous girl- well, it WAS only Francie, with whom he had a strictly platonic relationship, but what the hell? She was gorgeous. Anyway, a great breakfast, a comfortable couch, pay-per-view, scoring a Sunday date with his stunning assistant at the office, Jenny, and no visible newspaper deadlines in sight made for a weekend made in heaven.
Will kicked off his sneakers, and watched them hit the opposite wall, then shrugged. He'd pick them up later. Sticking a bowl of Pop Secret into the microwave, he plopped down on the sofa and picked up the TV remote. After flicking through channels for about three minutes, he left the channel on MTV and got up to get his popcorn.
When he returned with the popcorn and a bottle of Heinekens, an announcer who had to be either VERY bored or very stoned was introducing a show dealing with the world's hottest clubs. Will immediately picked up the TV guide and thumbed through it, but his search proved futile- nothing good was on, and it was either this or catching up on reading War and Peace, a book Sydney had forced on him after taking a Russian literature class.
Will relaxed in his chair, taking in the gyrating bodies and blinding colors as the announcer's drone took them through France, Italy, Amsterdam and London. When the camera panned to a smoke-filled pool party in Russia, however, something caught his eye.
"How stupid. This isn't even a club," he muttered, but that wasn't what made him sit up straighter.
A curvaceous blonde woman in a form-fitting blue vinyl dress passed in front of the camera for a second, quickly turning her face when she saw that it was on her. It wasn't her curves or her tight dress that caught his attention, although both were quite impressive. It was her face. Although he couldn't put his finger on it, there was something very familiar about her.
Will watched the whole program, hoping to catch a glimpse of the blonde again, but the segment finished quickly and the announcer introduced a club in South Africa, the program finishing soon afterward. Will soon settled into a college football game that followed on ESPN immediately afterward, but he couldn't get that blonde out of his mind. He picked up the guide and flipped to the current day, following the MTV schedule with one index finger. Good! The same episode was rerunning that night at eight-o'clock. Quickly, he inserted a tape into his VCR and programmed it to record at eight. He wasn't taking any chances on missing it. Will couldn't put a finger on why that woman's face bothered him so much- who did HE know in Moscow? He'd know at eight.
**********