Email: agent47achavez@hotmail.com
Category: drama/general
Spoilers: S1
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Alias and all related characters do not belong to me, but they're on my Christmas list!
Inspiring Lyric: "I'm sorry mama, I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to make you cry, but tonight, I'm cleaning out my closet." Cleaning Out My Closet by Eminem
Notes: Read STORAGE ROOM SECRETS first.
* * * * *
*****Excerpt from Sydney's diary*****
The emotional roller coaster and stress that I've experienced over my years of service to this country are innumerable and immeasurable. The worst of that culminated to willingly placing myself in my mother's custody. I had long since shattered the mental picture I had so meticulously kept of her the day I sat before the board and my father exposed her as the KGB agent who murdered 12 CIA officers, including Vaughn's father. Unfortunately, not only had this woman destroyed herself, she was now attempting to destroy us all… beginning with my father, followed by Vaughn, then me, and eventually, our daughter. Perhaps this is the only time I'll acknowledge Rambaldi's prophecy as correct: this woman will render the greatest evil upon the world.
- S.
***Chapter three: S U R V E I L L A N C E . A N D . O B S E R V A T I O N S***
Two days had passed, and it was slowly coming to Jack's attention that something was most certainly wrong with his granddaughter.
"And then Uncle Sark put the puzzle together with me and Nana Ir'na let me eat chocolate before bedtime, and I could stay up and play with Uncle Sark until he got tired and said I had to go to sleep, and…" she prattled on with a wistful look in her eye and a playful smile on her lips.
Almost every other word or story had been about Uncle Sark and Nana Ir'na. He began contemplating whether or not he should have her stomach pumped to be sure Irina hadn't fed her some kind of slow-releasing poison. Dismissing the idea as paranoia, he hefted her into his lap and asked that she look at him.
"What else happened while you were there?"
"Uncle Sark let me sleep in his room because I asked, and I gave everybody a kiss goodnight, and—"
"Who's everybody?"
"Nana Ir'na, Uncle Sark, Papa 'Lex—"
Papa 'Lex. Great, she even met Khasinau.
"Who came and picked you up?"
"Uncle Sark," she chirped happily, a dreamy look blurring her eyes.
Oh dear God. She had a crush on the man. Jack raised a brow, this was certainly a development he hadn't counted on.
"Okay, well." He put her down and stood. The LA safe house seemed so small, but it was the only modicum of solitary confinement that resembled normalcy that he could find. Sydney's house was certainly out of the question, as was his. This was the only place where he could monitor her under 24-hour surveillance with any assurance because this time, Jack was supervising.
Now he simply had to wait until Sydney and Vaughn managed to find out what Irina was up to and contact him for extraction.
* * * * *
Two days, one full of travel, and the other of fitful resting. Sydney sighed and rolled her neck, trying to loosen up the muscles in it. Vaughn caught the move and walked over, placed his hands on her shoulders and began giving her a massage. She fought hard not to moan over it, but damn, did he know how to use his hands.
On the other side of the one-way mirror, Irina was leaning against the window frame, one hand across her stomach with her other elbow resting on it while she chewed her thumbnail lightly. Lifting it away from her face, she smiled.
"Interesting."
"What?" Mr. Sark was bored. He knew better than to second-guess Irina, but he wanted to simply ask what the purpose of watching them do nothing for an entire day was.
She didn't turn to him. "Notice, Sydney doesn't ask for his help, but he offers it anyway. In fact, he doesn't just offer it, he does it without her insistence or in spite of her lack of encouragement. I'm not sure which."
Sark sighed. Pointless, he sang in his head.
"I know you don't understand why I've chosen not to rush our initial plans, Sark." She commented. For some reason, she always did seem to know what he thought. "But after not seeing my daughter in over twenty years…"
Her voice trailed off. He swung his feet off of the desk and stood. "I need some wine. Would you like a glass?"
"No, thank you."
Opening the door, he paused when she continued.
"Be careful, Sark. Your love of wine could easily be mistaken for a weakness that could be used against you."
Forming a firm line with his lips, he opted not to say anything. Instead he just left, slightly miffed at the subtle implication.
Irina continued to watch the couple as Sydney let a moan escape her and Vaughn cleared his throat at the sound. A few moments more, one other sound of contentment and pleasure and Vaughn finally removed his hands from her.
Can't handle the heat, Mr. Vaughn? Don't play with fire, Irina bit back a smile thoughtfully.
Within the dreary four-walled room, Vaughn set his hands on his narrow hips and looked directly into the mirror. "How long do you suppose we'll be here?"
Sydney answered. "Who knows? It depends on whatever Irina has in mind."
He turned to her, an unreadable look in his eye. "What do you think that could be?"
"I'm not sure," she rubbed her neck with one hand and smiled gratefully at him. "But thanks for the massage."
He broke eye contact by looking down and away. A shuffle of the feet and a mumbled "No problem," accompanied his behavior and delighted Irina to no end.
Oh, the things people reveal about themselves without intending to. Actions speak louder than words, my dear boy. Actions speak louder than words.
Three hours later, Irina sent in team and separated the two. Sydney was left in this room with two men to tie her down and question her while Vaughn was taken to the lab two floors up for "blood work and tests".
The change was immediate. Sydney gave ambiguous answers, stubbornly refusing to give a non-sarcastic remark, which frustrated her interrogators.
"What do you know about the second prophecy?"
"Other than it's a load of shit?"
"Answer the question, Miss Bristow. Or Mrs. Varanelli, whichever is your name."
"Vaughn." She stated firmly. "My name is Sydney Vaughn."
"What do you know about the second prophecy?" He repeated.
"That you are wasting your time attempting to fulfill some ancient dream based upon entirely non-verifiable conclusions that you have misinterpreted as leading to my daughter."
"Misinterpreted?"
"Yes." She tossed her hair out of her eyes, defiance evident in her every move. "You got it wrong. There is no second prophecy."
"And if I told you that there is?" he leaned forward, his face too far for a head-butt, but closer than it had been. "What would you think then?"
She didn't tell him, rather, she showed him by spitting a disgusting mix of spit and mucous in his face. This only enraged him and he lashed out, his hand connecting with her cheek, leaving a bright red, throbbing imprint on her face.
Sark sat up in his seat in the observation room. Irina stiffened. See, this was more like it, he set his wine glass down and attempted to hide his interest in what Sydney would do in response. She is definitely a fascinating creature.
Unfortunately, Irina destroyed that possibility. She reached over from behind him and pushed the intercom button. "Enough."
Without looking at him, she told him to kill the interrogator. "I told him specifically not to touch Sydney. He disobeyed. If he cannot follow the most basic of all instructions, his loyalty is worthless."
Nodding, Sark stood to follow his orders.
But for Vaughn, the experience wasn't quite so… pleasant.