Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al
Rating: PG-13 for some mild language
Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!
Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!).
AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!) Chapter Two – Planting my Garden**Sydney POV**
The past few days have flown by. Between meetings at SD-6, catching up on schoolwork and helping Francie get the restaurant together, I have barely found enough time to get my new 'project' off the ground. Luckily, I have been able to fit in daily trips to Home Depot and the local nursery, filling up the back of my truck with potting soil, tools and different planting containers.
At some point during the week, I realized I know next to nothing about gardening, so I also stocked up on different variations of the "Idiot's Guides"… Idiot's Guide to Gardening, Idiot's Guide to Roses, Idiot's Guide for Double-Agents Getting a Life… Well, not the last one, but I looked for it – it doesn't exist.
Today, I find myself free of any commitments. Sloane gave me the day off, telling me that I deserved a long weekend to rest and recover from my last mission. Will is on restaurant duty, and all my assignments for school can be pushed off until the weekend. Given this rare free day, I decide to get started on planting my garden.
A few hours later, I am sitting on my porch surrounded by soil (in the bag, on the ground, in my hair), spilled seeds, dirty tools and a few beautiful plant containers in different states of, well, being planted, when I am interrupted by the incessant ringing of the phone.
I reach over for the cordless phone and answer, hoping that it is just Francie or Will.
"Hello"
"Joey's Pizza"
I shake my head in disbelief – not right now! Snapping out of it, I reply "Wrong number" and hang up quickly.
Regretting the fact I even picked up the phone (I should have known better), I quickly try to finish my planting and clean up the mess I have made. Looking at my watch again, I realize 30 minutes have passed and now I am late.
I arrive at the warehouse 40 minutes later, out of breath and hoping Vaughn isn't too pissed. As I walk in and push the gate open, Vaughn turns to look at me, and then just starts to laugh.
"What? What's so funny?" I sputter, while thinking to myself, "Damn he looks good when he laughs."
"Sydney," he finally manages to say, "ummm – have you looked at yourself today?"
I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks as I do a quick mental check of what I look like: Hair in braids; dirt on face, clothes, hands – well, dirt everywhere; no makeup; sunburned cheeks and arms; vintage Guns 'n Roses t-shirt, cut-offs and an old pair of Vans sneakers.
Groaning inwardly, I make a note to never run out of the house without first looking in the mirror. I glance over at Vaughn and realize he still has a goofy grin on his face. Oh well…if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, and I start laughing also.
"Shit Vaughn, I am sorry. I was working on my latest project and, well, I just got carried away. I guess I should have cleaned up. Anyway, why did you call?"
He gives me one of his drop-dead smiles – I really wish I were on the receiving end of more of those – and opens up one of the folders on the table.
"You and I, my dirt-loving friend, are off to Santiago, Chile tonight. We have just received intel that indicates Sark is going after another Rambaldi artifact."
He then hands me some photos: one of a man; another of a large fortress-looking house; and, a final one of a box.
"This is General Jose Ferdinand. He is publicly retired from the Chilean Army but has a very private arms business that continues to keep him occupied. Our mission is simple – break into his compound and grab the Rambaldi box before Sark does."
I look up at Vaughn and ask, "Why me? Can't another CIA agent go with you?" Seeing the hurt look that flashes across his face, I quickly try to explain, "Listen, I am just worried about Dixon's trust, and I don't know if he will easily accept another 'vacation' excuse."
Vaughn begins to pace like he is apt to do when delivering bad news. I hate waiting for bad news, but before the words "spit it out already" come falling out of my mouth, I look up and realize that he is in front of me, ready to, well, spit it out.
"Syd, I don't know if you are going to like this," he whispers softly as his eyes roam over the warehouse, avoiding mine. "Lets just say that our General friend has a thing for young French beauties. You will be a new acquisition – Sophie LeClair, a very expensive Parisian call girl."
"OK," I say calmly. "What about SD-6?"
Vaughn does a double-take, my acquiescence must have shocked him. He is well aware that whore roles are not my favorite gig, but contrary to form, I think I will just go along with the plan tonight, no arguments.
He looks at me again and says with a big smile, "Who are you, and what did you do with Sydney Bristow?"
Giggling, I reply, "Shut up Vaughn and give me the plan."
"OK. Call Sloane and let him know that you need the weekend off. Francie's restaurant opening should give you a decent excuse. We should have you back by Sunday night so you can return to SD-6 by Monday for work."
He hands me another folder. "Here are your tickets and identity papers. I will dead drop the rest of the mission details while we are on the flight."
"OK. Sounds like a plan then," I reply. Recalling my appearance, I smile again and add, "I am thinking I need to run so I can grab a shower and pack before getting on the plane. I will see you at the airport."
With one last embarrassed smile, I turn to leave.
"Sydney?" Vaughn calls from behind me.
I turn to look over my shoulder. "Yes?"
"You will tell me what this project of yours is, won't you? Sometime?"
I take a deep breath and turn to face him again. He is giving me that smile again – damn.
"Sure Vaughn. Sometime I will tell you all about it, but for now, it's… well, lets just say, it's Top Secret."
With one last grin, I turn and continue to walk out of the warehouse. Time to take a shower and to do all the things I normally would detest: lie to my friends; weave another fable for Sloane; and prepare to put on my Parisian-slut-of-the-year act. Funny thing though, I am not really angry about it – I feel happier right now than I have in a long time.
Stepping out of the warehouse, I look up at the sky and say, "Thanks Emily."
~End of Part Two~