Chapter Nine: In the Darkness Before the Dawn
"Jack Bristow is gone, Mr. Sloane," Sark sat down in front of Sloane's desk, his eyes narrowed. "All attempts to reach him have gone unanswered."
"I anticipated as much," Sloane replied, resting his chin on his hand. He swiveled in his chair, away and then back, facing Sark with dark eyes. "You missed the mission briefing this morning, Mr. Sark."
"My apologies," Sark smirked. "I would've liked to be there as you issued the kill order for Sydney Bristow and her CIA boyfriend."
"It was clever," Sloane allowed himself a small smile. "I've led the team to believe that Mr. Vaughn is an enemy of the United States and is hiding a vital piece of intel at his apartment in Madrid." He reached across his desk and opened a file folder for Sark to see. Inside were photographs, obviously taken with a telephoto lens, of Vaughn entering and exiting an apartment building in Madrid, Spain. "The point man is Hayes."
"Ah, the SD-6 agent with the itchy trigger finger," Sark couldn't help but smile.
"And his back-up is Agent Dixon," The look of satisfaction that crossed Sloane's face was deep and chilling.
Sark's brow furrowed as he leaned in. "Mr. Sloane, that doesn't concern you? He was Sydney Bristow's partner."
"I have no reason to question Mr. Dixon's loyalty," Sloane answered, closing the file folder before sliding it into his desk drawer. "And he'll never see Sydney. Hayes has the kill order. He'll enter the apartment and carry out the executions while Dixon sits nearby in a van, monitoring the whole operation. Dixon believes that Hayes is just going to recover the intel. I've instructed Hayes not to hesitate in using deadly force if something should happen to go wrong."
"And it undoubtedly will," Sark grinned, relishing the thought.
"Of course," Sloane nodded. "I wouldn't expect Mr. Vaughn to do anything less than try to protect his girlfriend. But they won't see this coming, and it'll be over before they realize it's started."
"You're not worried that Jack Bristow will try to warn them?" Sark crossed his legs, adjusting the crease in his finely tailored dress slacks.
"He will try," Sloane conceded. "But he won't succeed. The planted email he intercepted has led him to believe that we won't have intel on Sydney's location for another thirty-six hours. By the time he's able to reach her, it will be over."
"Splendid," Sark grinned.
"Yes," Sloane sat back in his desk chair, thoroughly pleased. "Splendid, indeed."
*** Four Hours Later ***
Keeping one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror, Jack Bristow punched the accelerator, speeding through surface streets in an attempt to get through Los Angeles as quickly as possible. Rush hour was coming to a close and the traffic was easing, but Jack was still nervous, his senses alert to everything and anything around him. He knew he did not have time to waste.
His mind working furiously, Jack leaned forward to adjust the air conditioning. It was a warm night, but Jack knew the source of his perspiration was not so much the temperature as it was the fear that simmered just underneath his stoic surface. The email that Sloane had written played through his mind like a cassette tape on a continuous loop.
It was shocking enough to read that Arvin Sloane had identified Jack and his daughter as double agents, but one other line from the email stuck out even more. Jack knew Sloane better than most people, and it seemed odd to him that Sloane would allow other players to see his cards before the game was over. He had mentioned in the email that he would have Sydney's location in thirty-six hours. The fact that Sloane had spelled this out concerned Jack deeply.
Jack did some quick math in his head, calculating that most of Europe would now be in the early, pre-dawn hours. Jack slammed a fist on the steering wheel and let out a frustrated sigh. The time in Europe did him no good because he didn't even know if Sydney was there.
In the eight months since she had disappeared, Sydney had made no attempts to contact Jack. Because of that, he had spent the last three hours hunting down Will Tippin, but to no avail. Will had not heard from Sydney either. Jack was now done grasping at straws and decided to act on one final hunch.
Jack grabbed his cell phone and dialed quickly. The number rang to the CIA, where he verified his name, waited for security to clear the call, and then was put through to Devlin's secretary.
"Jack, it's a good thing you caught me," She said pleasantly. "I was just about to leave for the day."
"And I'm glad you always work until at least seven o'clock," Jack replied, his voice calm as he waded through a flood of thoughts. "Joanie, I need a favor."
Joanie didn't hesitate. "Anything for you, Jack."
"Can you please page Agent Eric Weiss to call my cell phone?" Jack quickly recited the cell phone number as Joanie jotted it down. She agreed and Jack hung up, his palms damp.
The next fifteen minutes crept by as Jack navigated the city streets, trying to stay mobile, checking the rearview mirror. The possibility that SD-6 security section was hunting him down was frighteningly real, and Jack kept a constant watch on any vehicles that might be following him.
Jack's cell phone rang shrilly, startling him. He answered it and was momentarily shocked to hear Devlin's voice booming on the other end.
"Bristow, this is Devlin," He thundered. "CIA security is barking up my tree about you. You were supposed to report to a safe house three hours ago."
"I'm aware of that," Jack replied. "I'm tying up a few loose ends."
"Loose ends my ass, Jack!" Devlin snapped. "SD-6 security section would like nothing more than to mount your head on Arvin Sloane's front door. Whatever you're doing cannot be as important as saving your own life."
"Actually, it is," Jack answered calmly. "You'll just have to trust me on this one. And please, transfer me to Joanie."
Devlin cursed under his breath but did as Jack had requested. Joanie was flustered when she came onto the line.
"Jack, I'm sorry," She apologized quickly. "I've tried Agent Weiss's pager three times, and each time I'm told it's not in service. I've also tried his cell phone, but all I get is his voicemail."
"Did you leave a message?"
"No, I wanted to consult with you first," Joanie replied. "What would you have me do, Jack?"
Jack thought for a moment before speaking. "Call back, leave a voicemail telling Weiss I'm on my way over to his home," He requested. "And Joanie, I'll need you to give me his address."
Ten minutes later, Jack pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the apartment complex where Weiss lived. Giving a cursory glance at his surroundings, Jack got out of his car and walked briskly to the front door. Once inside, he found himself in a small lobby of metal mailboxes and two badly dehydrated potted plants. Jack reached for the inner door and stopped; on the wall to his left was a callboard with an intercom button next to each tenants last name and apartment number.
Jack located Weiss's name and pressed the button, holding it down long enough, he reasoned, to wake anyone who might be asleep. When a minute or so passed with no response, Jack pressed it again. He repeated this a third time before retreating to a corner of the lobby to consider his options.
Just as Jack was reaching for his cell phone again, the front door opened. A pizza delivery guy walked in and went to the intercom board, his eyes scanning for the correct name. Jack watched as he identified himself after being greeted by the tenant. There was a moment of silence, and then a loud buzzing sound followed by a distinctive click as the inner door unlocked.
The pizza delivery guy swung the door open wide and walked through, not noticing as Jack rushed up behind him to stick his foot between the door and the jamb, catching it before it could close and latch once again. He glanced around before pulling the door open and taking a few cautious steps into the corridor. Secure that he was alone, Jack quickly found the stairs and went up to the third floor.
Jack found Weiss's apartment and knocked loudly, impatient as he waited for an answer. He didn't allow much time to elapse before he forcefully knocked again. Leaning in, Jack put his ear close to the door and listened. He could hear nothing from the other side.
Stepping back, Jack knocked once more, drawing his cell phone from his pocket at the same time. He was about to dial when an apartment door behind him opened and a young man stepped into the hallway.
"Hey, man," He said as Jack turned to face him. "If you're looking for Eric, he's not home."
Jack looked the man from head to toe. He appeared to be about Weiss's age and was dressed as though he'd just arrived home from a long day at the office. He had a beer in one hand which he had used to motion towards Weiss's door.
"Do you have any idea where he is?" Jack questioned, trying to appear nonchalant as desperation pulled at the edges of his mind.
"Yeah, he's at the hospital," The man shrugged, his eyes wide. "I got home from work and he was being carried out to an ambulance. I asked him what was up and he said he was really sick, thought it might be food poisoning."
Jack uttered a terse `thank you' before turning away and heading back down the stairs, his brain working at breakneck speed as he exited the building.
Jack got back into his car, cell phone in his hand. He dialed quickly. "Mr. Tippin," He said as Will picked up on the other end. "I need you to get out a phone book, call every emergency department in every hospital in the Los Angeles area, and ask if they have received a patient by the name of Eric Weiss." Jack paused as Will repeated these instructions back to him. He then continued, giving Will his cell phone number. "Once you find him, call me immediately." Jack hung up and stared out the windshield at the darkening sky, noting that the daylight was fading almost as quickly as his hopes.
"Syd, wake up," Michael Vaughn sat on the edge of the bed, his hand on Sydney's shoulder as he gently shook her. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she blinked hard into the darkness of the bedroom.
"Hi," She said, smiling as her eyes focused on Vaughn's face. He smiled back and brushed stray strands of hair from her face.
"I hate to wake you," He said, his voice apologetic. "I know you didn't sleep well during the night."
"It's okay," Sydney slowly sat up, rising from the bed with a moan. "I would've had to get up to pee again in a few minutes anyway."
Vaughn chuckled as he helped Sydney to her feet, her pregnant belly prominent beneath her thin cotton sleep shirt. "Do you still want to go up to the roof to watch the sunrise?"
"Of course," Sydney nodded as she crossed the hall from the bedroom to the bathroom. "We've been planning it for a week."
"This is the first day it hasn't been overcast," Vaughn stifled a yawn as he passed by the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen. He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave as he reached into the cabinet for two juice glasses. It was just past 6:15 a.m. Sunrise was predicted to be about 6:55.
Sydney soon joined him in the kitchen, her teeth freshly brushed. She leaned back against the counter, spreading her toes and enjoying the feel of the cool floor tiles on the soles of her feet. She gently rubbed her swollen stomach as she watched Vaughn pour two full glasses of orange juice.
"The last few days have been rough," Vaughn stated sympathetically as he handed one glass to Sydney. She took a sip and then sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I just haven't been feeling all that well," Sydney conceded. She smiled feebly, meeting Vaughn's eyes. "But we're in Madrid, in the middle of August. I'm destined to be uncomfortable."
"It's only for another month," Vaughn reminded her as he went to the refrigerator.
"What, my pregnancy or Madrid?" Sydney asked teasingly, her eyes shining.
Vaughn grinned, setting a plate of muffins on the counter top. "Well," He said, as though deeply considering. "I think the pregnancy will definitely end in about a month, but Madrid, that depends on how much you like being here."
Sydney sought out his embrace, sliding herself between him and kitchen counter. It was a tight squeeze. "I like being with you," She said, slipping her arm around Vaughn's waist. He placed a kiss on her forehead, his arm resting on her shoulders.
"That goes without saying," Vaughn said just before their lips met. They kissed gently for a moment, the quiet of the morning surrounding them. The city beyond the open balcony doors was a few minutes from waking up, the streets still vacant. The only sound was the early birds nesting in nearby treetops.
"We've already been here for a month," Sydney reasoned when she and Vaughn parted and he busied himself with slicing the muffins in half before spreading them with a light layer of butter.
"You're ready to move on?" He questioned.
"We've been lucky so far," Sydney replied knowingly. "Every place we've moved we've been able to stay for six weeks or two months. It's been like a vacation. But with a baby, I think we'll have to be more careful, not allow ourselves to get so relaxed."
"We should move soon," Vaughn agreed. He laid down the butter knife and picked up one of the muffin halves, extending it to Sydney.
"Hmm, thanks," She accepted it hungrily, taking a large bite before motioning towards the ceiling. "Let's take the rest up to the roof with us."
Vaughn agreed that this was a good idea and collected the two patio chairs from their balcony before leading the way out of the apartment and to the stairwell that led to the roof. Their apartment was on the top floor and they had a great view from their balcony, but it faced the wrong direction to see the spectacular sunrise over the city.
Once on the roof, Sydney stood for a moment and turned a slow circle, her eyes scanning the wide horizon. The roof was flat, with nothing but a small lip at the edge, leaving the view virtually unobstructed.
"It's gorgeous up here!" Vaughn declared, setting up the patio chairs. He helped Sydney ease into hers and then laughed as she balanced the plate of muffins on her large belly. "You're gorgeous, too, Syd," He told her, reaching over to take her hand as he sat down.
Sydney entwined her fingers with Vaughn's, smiling at him just before taking another bite of muffin. Her thoughts were blissful as she turned her eyes to the horizon, her hopes rising as the first streaks of light appeared in the eastern sky.
Not more than ten minutes after Will had returned his call, Jack Bristow was rushing through the front doors of the emergency department at UCLA Medical Center, carefully side-stepping hospital gurneys and patients in wheelchairs on his way to the admit desk. When he reached it, he spoke quickly to a nurse behind the counter, his frantic expression and hurried pose enough to make him appear to be a concerned family member. The nurse did not hesitate to direct him to an exam room a few doors down the hall.
When Jack pushed open the door and entered the large exam room, he was greeted by the smell of antiseptic and the sound of a child crying somewhere beyond the row of closed green curtains. He paused for a moment, unsure which curtain to pull back first. He was about to try the first one on the right when it suddenly opened, a nurse pulling it free of the end of a gurney where Eric Weiss lay, his skin pallid, his eyes half open.
"Can I help you?" The nurse asked, pen posed above the medical chart in her hands.
"Is he going to be all right?" Jack asked, his concern genuine. Weiss looked worse than Jack had imagined.
The nurse looked skeptically at Jack, her eyes narrowed. "Are you a family member?"
Before Jack could think of a believable response, Weiss lifted his head from the pillow and spoke, his voice faint. "Uncle Jack?"
The nurse sighed, glancing from Jack to Weiss and then back again. "He's got a pretty severe case of food poisoning," She stated. "Don't stay too long; he needs to get some rest."
Jack thanked the nurse warmly and then turned to Weiss as soon as she was gone. "Good cover," He said.
Weiss managed a weak smile. "Bad seafood can keep me down, but not out." He started to close his eyes again, but then snapped them open and looked pointedly at Jack. "Wait a minute," He said. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
Jack glanced around quickly before grabbing the edge of the curtain and jerking it back around the bed. Weiss regarded all this with worried eyes, his brow furrowed in concern. Once Jack was certain that he had attained as much privacy as possible, he moved close to the gurney and spoke in a low voice.
"It's a long story, one that I will be glad to relate to you at a later time. But for now, just listen carefully."
"Like I have a choice?" Weiss raised his right hand and tugged lightly on his IV line.
Jack ignored his sarcasm and went on to briefly explain the situation, emphasizing the need for immediate action. "I know that you've been in contact with my daughter," He concluded. "That's why I've come to you. They need to be warned, and it needs to happen now." Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held it out to Weiss.
Weiss was silent, stunned by Jack's words. After accepting the phone, he squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard.
"What's wrong?" Jack demanded, momentarily fearing that his hunch had been wrong.
"I use CIA contacts in Europe to get Vaughn a new secure cell phone each time he and Sydney move," Weiss said, finally opening his eyes. "My head's a little foggy here, Jack. I'm trying to remember the most recent number."
The bands of light on the horizon were lengthening as the morning slowly unfolded and stretched out like a housecat after a long nap. Sydney and Vaughn took in the sights and sounds of the city, their chairs facing the sky where the sun would ultimately break through and brilliantly announce the start of the day.
Sydney nibbled along the edge of her second muffin half, pausing to sip her juice while the summer breezes played through her long hair. She was unaware that Vaughn was watching her out of the corner of his eye, anticipating the next thing she would say.
"You know," Sydney held the muffin out in front of her, subjecting it to scrutiny. "This would taste really great with a little orange marmalade." She had barely finished the sentence before Vaughn was on his feet.
"I knew it," He teased, smiling down at her. "You've been on a marmalade kick lately. I should've just brought it up with us earlier." Vaughn reached to smooth down Sydney's hair. "I'll go get it."
"You don't mind?"
"No, I don't mind," Vaughn waved to her as he started for the door that led to the stairs. "Be right back."
Sydney carefully moved the muffin plate over to Vaughn's chair as a flutter of movement inside her grabbed her attention. She smoothed her sleep shirt down over her round belly and pressed her hand to it, smiling to herself as kick after kick landed against her palm. She was sorry Vaughn was missing it; the baby always seemed to be most active when he was busy with other things.
Sydney knew that what truly mattered was whether or not the baby was healthy. It hadn't been difficult to find doctors in each place that they had lived; they tried to stay in or near large cities. But it had been strange, trying to explain, trying to excuse the upheaval in her life when each doctor's advice had been to take things easy, to take life slow.
Rubbing her belly in small, gentle circles, Sydney looked off toward the horizon again. Her mind was wandering, as it did often, to the little things she was missing out on, like a baby shower and decorating a nursery. They were planning to move to France for the end of Sydney's ninth month, and it was there that they would buy a crib and other baby necessities. Along the way, however, Sydney had picked up a few baby clothes, keeping in mind that anything she purchased had to be easily packed.
Sydney smiled, thinking of Vaughn. He wanted so badly for the baby to be born in France, to share that heritage with him. And he wanted something else, as well, and had asked Sydney one night after dinner in Italy. They had walked, hand in hand, their stomachs full of great food and their heads full of plans for their future. Sydney's eyes welled up with tears as she remembered Vaughn, in the moonlight, on a cobblestone pathway, down on one knee.
Meanwhile, down in the apartment, Vaughn had just pulled the jar of orange marmalade out of the refrigerator when his cell phone began to ring. He set the marmalade on the kitchen counter and went to grab his phone.
In the bedroom, Vaughn picked up the cell phone from the bedside table and turned to go back into the kitchen. He flipped on the kitchen light and looked at the phone as the caller ID feature flashed a number that Vaughn did not recognize. Given the early hour and the fact that Weiss was the only person who knew the cell number, Vaughn decided to answer, pausing by the kitchen counter as he depressed the "on" button.
In that instant, the marmalade jar exploded, the fruity preserves and pieces of glass blown in every direction. Startled to the point of shock, Vaughn dropped the cell phone. It clattered to the floor, the battery pack breaking free and skittering across the ceramic tile.
"It was ringing, but then it went dead," Weiss held the phone out from his ear, looking at the numeric display. "It connected, but only for a second or two."
Jack gripped the bedside railing, his knuckles white. "Try it again," He urged.
Weiss redialed the number a total of three times before finally shaking his head, handing the phone back to Jack. "All I'm getting is a voicemail prompt," He said dejectedly. "I'm sorry, Jack."
Jack brought his fist down heavily on the bed railing as he turned away, his mind still working furiously to find avenues that had yet to be explored.
Weiss sensed this and spoke up, his voice full of regret. "Jack," He said. "I don't have another way of contacting them. We knew that email or US mail would both be too risky. Without the cell phone, that's it. We've lost them."
Jack didn't want to hear those words. He stood silent for a moment, wavering between desperation to find his daughter and frustration that her desire to protect him was keeping him from doing the same for her.
Jack was nudged from his thoughts as his cell phone rang. He answered quickly, his expression hopeful. His face fell, however, when he heard Devlin's voice.
"Jack, I've had enough," He said firmly. "This is a direct order from your superior. Get yourself to the safe house, and do it now."
Jack looked up at Weiss, his eyes registering defeat. "Yes, sir. I'm on my way." He hung up and dropped the phone into his pocket. "That was Devlin. I need to report to a safe house," Jack sighed, collecting his thoughts as Weiss just watched, his face etched with concern. "If you hear from my daughter, please call me."
"I will, Jack," Weiss agreed, finally lowering his head back onto the pillow. His couldn't tell if it was his illness or a sense of dread that was causing his stomach to churn again, but he had to close his eyes for a moment to keep the room from spinning. When he opened them again, Jack Bristow was gone, leaving nothing behind but the gentle flutter of the bedside curtain.
Vaughn instinctively crouched down behind the cabinets, his mind whirling with possible reasons for the sudden eruption of the marmalade jar. The most logical and jarring explanation didn't resonate as truth until Vaughn looked up at the cabinets facing him and saw the bullet embedded in the wood, the cabinet face cracked and splintered.
Vaughn knew from the bullet that the shot must have been fired from the living room. The counter he was braced against jutted out from the wall, marking the divide between the two rooms. The living room was dark, and he could only assume that the assassin had slipped in and hidden himself in the shadows while Vaughn was on the roof.
A strange sensation of warmth drew Vaughn's attention to his left arm. His skin had been sliced open by a shard of glass and blood was running down his hand, dripping from his fingertips and splattering crimson on the golden brown kitchen tile.
Seeing this sparked him to action, the reality of the situation setting in with brute force. Vaughn's first thought was to protect Sydney. As he prayed silently that she would be undetected on the roof, Vaughn made a bold move, rising suddenly and diving for the hallway where he sought cover as gunfire sounded behind him. He quickly retrieved his handgun from the bedroom and checked to be sure it was loaded.
Crouching inside the hallway, Vaughn remained perfectly still as he listened, straining his ears to pick up the slightest sound. He was met with nothing but silence, which unsettled him deeply. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing on his courage before darting back into the kitchen, returning fire as bullets whizzed over his head and became lodged in the cabinet doors. Sawdust and splinters peppered the air.
Up on the roof, it had occurred to Sydney that it seemed to be taking Vaughn a long time to return with the marmalade. She had just eased herself out of the patio chair when she heard it - a faint popping sound that struck her as familiar. She stood and listened until realization gripped her and her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide.
"Michael," She breathed, her heart pounding as she started towards the stairway. She stopped, though, when she looked down and realized she had no weapon, no way to defend herself against someone with a gun. Going in through the front door would be tantamount to painting a bullseye on her chest.
Changing direction, Sydney went to the edge of the roof nearest their apartment. Down on her hands and knees, she looked over the side, pleased to find herself right over the balcony that led into the kitchen. She remained still for a moment, listening. More gunfire erupted, the sound escaping the open balcony doors and echoing off the neighboring buildings.
Sydney's instinct to fight came on strongly, overwhelming her concern for her own safety. She twisted her body around until she was sitting on the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the edge, her knees resting on the narrow lip. She paused briefly to take a deep breath before sliding herself forward and easing her hips over the edge. She then swiveled onto her side, twisting around until she could grip the ledge with her hands. Another short burst of gunfire bolstered her resolve and she pushed off, careful to keep her prominent belly clear of the edge while lowering her body until she was hanging by her hands from the lip of the roof.
Sydney looked down and was dismayed to see that the balcony floor, illuminated by a circle of light from within the apartment, was still five feet below her. She knew it would be a hard drop, especially since she hadn't done anything like this in months. But she was also aware that she had no choice, and keeping that in mind, she loosened her grip and let go.
Sydney's feet struck the concrete with an unexpected force, the shock reverberating through her body as she dropped down to a sitting position, squeezing herself into a protected corner of the balcony. She took a moment to steady herself, breathing deeply and rubbing her stomach as the pain in her feet subsided. Forcing herself to remain calm, Sydney slowly leaned forward and peeked around the edges of the open French doors. What she saw nearly stopped her heart.
"Michael!" Sydney cried, unable to stop herself from crawling towards him, her breath coming in short bursts as she fought back a rush of tears.
"Sydney, stop!" Vaughn shouted to her from where he sat, his back against the cabinets. "There's broken glass and splinters of wood everywhere."
Sydney paid no attention. All she could see was blood and the towel soaked with it that Vaughn held to his left forearm. "Oh my god, Michael," She used her hands to clear the floor in front of her before coming to him, her fingers scratched and burning by the time she reached his side. "Oh my god. What happened?"
"He's dead," was all Vaughn said, his eyes dark as he pulled the towel back slightly to check his wound. The bleeding had slowed but had not stopped. Sydney quickly reached up behind them to a kitchen drawer and pulled out a clean towel.
"Who? Who's dead?" Sydney asked as she brushed sawdust and bits of broken wood from Vaughn's hair. He pulled back from her, seeming to notice for the first time that she was kneeling on the floor beside him.
"Syd, you'll get hurt," He looked at the glass and bits of marmalade and wood on the floor around them. Vaughn met her eyes, his face a mixture of emotions, one indiscernible from the next. "Sydney, how did you get down here?"
Sydney shook her head. "Never mind that," She told him, her eyes rimmed with tears. "They found us, didn't they?"
Vaughn nodded silently, his eyes locked on hers. He let go of the towel for a moment to stroke Sydney's cheek, brushing away a tear. "Yeah," He said finally. "They found us."
Sydney melted against Vaughn, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, her tears coming fast. With his free arm, Vaughn squeezed her tightly before resting his hand lightly on her belly, his fingers splayed against her soft cotton gown. They remained there for several quiet moments until a noise in the hallway outside the apartment grabbed their attention like a fist around their throats.
The apartment door suddenly banged open as a voice called out, "Hayes!"
Sydney and Vaughn parted, pulling back from each other as their eyes met and communicated a thousand, silent words. Vaughn reached down and picked up his handgun from where it lay on the tile floor. He placed it into Sydney's waiting hand, and she quietly checked the clip to see how many bullets were left.
Satisfied with her firepower, Sydney cocked the gun and rose to her feet, her arm extended, her eyes searching for her target. A dark figure moved through the living room, pausing over the body of the man Vaughn had killed. Sydney raised the gun and zeroed in, taking dead aim at the man's head.
As if sensing this, the intruder stopped and raised his own weapon before slowly turning to face Sydney. As he did, he took a step closer to her, moving into a pale circle of light cast by the overhead fixture in the kitchen.
Seated on the floor, his heart racing, his pulse pounding in his ears, Vaughn could not have imagined the next thing he heard spill from Sydney's lips.
"Dixon!?" She gasped, her breath ragged as shock overwhelmed her.
Dixon immediately backed up a step, stunned by the image before him. He blinked hard to make sure it was real. "Sydney?" He said when he finally found his voice.
Neither one of them moved, their weapons still taking aim, their eyes locked in a terrified stare. Dixon finally allowed his gaze to drop, and when he took in the sight of Sydney's pregnant belly, he let out a sharp breath as if he'd been kicked in the ribs. His shock was total and complete when Vaughn suddenly stood up next to Sydney, his face pale, his eyes darting between Sydney and her ex-partner.
Dixon slowly holstered his gun and backed up, his hands in the air. He stepped over the body of his colleague and then paused, looking down at the dead man and then up at Sydney once more. With a brief shake of his head, as if the pieces to complete this puzzle were not to be found, Dixon disappeared back into the shadows of the hallway and darted down the stairs, leaving the apartment building as if it were on fire.
Sydney dropped the gun on the counter top and turned to Vaughn, her eyes filling with tears, her face white as a sheet. She clutched Vaughn's shirt, her fingers twisting the soft cotton t-shirt.
"We have to call Weiss," She pleaded desperately. "SD-6 found me, they know I'm with you. They know now that I was CIA. We have to warn my father." Her words came in rapid-fire bursts as she fought to stay in control of her breathing, swallowing sobs before they escaped her throat.
Vaughn was adamant that he protect Sydney first and told her so. He released her hands from his shirt and pulled her into a hug, pressing his cheek to her hair.
"Right now we need to get out of here. The local police are probably on their way, and we need to not be here when they show up," Vaughn pulled back from her, his eyes searching her face. "We need to pack up and go now. We'll get a bus out of the city and get as far away as we can. Then we'll call Weiss."
"My dad," Sydney sobbed, covering her face with her hands.
Vaughn's heart broke as he reached out to Sydney once again, cradling her against his chest. "We'll call him, Syd," Vaughn assured her. "But I need to be sure that you're gonna be okay first."
The bus ride from Madrid was long and uncomfortable. The closer they got to Barcelona, the worse Sydney felt. By the time they reached the city, she was exhausted and desperate for a hot shower and a bed with cool, clean sheets. Vaughn could see how badly she needed sleep and quickly found them a hotel room not far from downtown.
After they had their fill of icy cold bottled water from the hotel cantina, Sydney and Vaughn both showered, changing into fresh pajamas before crawling into bed. Sydney had done her best to dress Vaughn's wound, and he rewrapped it tightly in an Ace bandage before settling back into his pillow and allowing exhaustion to sweep him off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
A few hours later, Sydney awoke in darkness, her eyes struggling to adjust and her mind struggling to remember where she was. Sitting up slowly, an uncomfortable pressure in her abdomen made her suddenly recall the bus trip and all the bottled water she'd consumed when they'd arrived. Smiling faintly, Sydney eased herself up from the bed and carefully made her way across the room to the bathroom. Not wanting to wake Vaughn, she closed the door before turning on the light.
An anguished scream caused Vaughn to bolt upright in bed, throwing off the blankets. He was on his feet and just arriving at the bathroom door as it swung open and Sydney appeared in the doorway, her right hand stained crimson. Vaughn was wholly unprepared for that but even more shocked when he looked down and saw that the lower part of Sydney's night shirt was soaked in blood and clinging to her thighs.
"Something's wrong, Michael," She sobbed. "There's something really wrong."
******
A/N: Sorry it has been so long between updates. I had the flu this week and didn't write as much as I would've liked. Thanks to all the readers and reviewers - you're one reason why this is so much fun. More to come.
"Jack Bristow is gone, Mr. Sloane," Sark sat down in front of Sloane's desk, his eyes narrowed. "All attempts to reach him have gone unanswered."
"I anticipated as much," Sloane replied, resting his chin on his hand. He swiveled in his chair, away and then back, facing Sark with dark eyes. "You missed the mission briefing this morning, Mr. Sark."
"My apologies," Sark smirked. "I would've liked to be there as you issued the kill order for Sydney Bristow and her CIA boyfriend."
"It was clever," Sloane allowed himself a small smile. "I've led the team to believe that Mr. Vaughn is an enemy of the United States and is hiding a vital piece of intel at his apartment in Madrid." He reached across his desk and opened a file folder for Sark to see. Inside were photographs, obviously taken with a telephoto lens, of Vaughn entering and exiting an apartment building in Madrid, Spain. "The point man is Hayes."
"Ah, the SD-6 agent with the itchy trigger finger," Sark couldn't help but smile.
"And his back-up is Agent Dixon," The look of satisfaction that crossed Sloane's face was deep and chilling.
Sark's brow furrowed as he leaned in. "Mr. Sloane, that doesn't concern you? He was Sydney Bristow's partner."
"I have no reason to question Mr. Dixon's loyalty," Sloane answered, closing the file folder before sliding it into his desk drawer. "And he'll never see Sydney. Hayes has the kill order. He'll enter the apartment and carry out the executions while Dixon sits nearby in a van, monitoring the whole operation. Dixon believes that Hayes is just going to recover the intel. I've instructed Hayes not to hesitate in using deadly force if something should happen to go wrong."
"And it undoubtedly will," Sark grinned, relishing the thought.
"Of course," Sloane nodded. "I wouldn't expect Mr. Vaughn to do anything less than try to protect his girlfriend. But they won't see this coming, and it'll be over before they realize it's started."
"You're not worried that Jack Bristow will try to warn them?" Sark crossed his legs, adjusting the crease in his finely tailored dress slacks.
"He will try," Sloane conceded. "But he won't succeed. The planted email he intercepted has led him to believe that we won't have intel on Sydney's location for another thirty-six hours. By the time he's able to reach her, it will be over."
"Splendid," Sark grinned.
"Yes," Sloane sat back in his desk chair, thoroughly pleased. "Splendid, indeed."
*** Four Hours Later ***
Keeping one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror, Jack Bristow punched the accelerator, speeding through surface streets in an attempt to get through Los Angeles as quickly as possible. Rush hour was coming to a close and the traffic was easing, but Jack was still nervous, his senses alert to everything and anything around him. He knew he did not have time to waste.
His mind working furiously, Jack leaned forward to adjust the air conditioning. It was a warm night, but Jack knew the source of his perspiration was not so much the temperature as it was the fear that simmered just underneath his stoic surface. The email that Sloane had written played through his mind like a cassette tape on a continuous loop.
It was shocking enough to read that Arvin Sloane had identified Jack and his daughter as double agents, but one other line from the email stuck out even more. Jack knew Sloane better than most people, and it seemed odd to him that Sloane would allow other players to see his cards before the game was over. He had mentioned in the email that he would have Sydney's location in thirty-six hours. The fact that Sloane had spelled this out concerned Jack deeply.
Jack did some quick math in his head, calculating that most of Europe would now be in the early, pre-dawn hours. Jack slammed a fist on the steering wheel and let out a frustrated sigh. The time in Europe did him no good because he didn't even know if Sydney was there.
In the eight months since she had disappeared, Sydney had made no attempts to contact Jack. Because of that, he had spent the last three hours hunting down Will Tippin, but to no avail. Will had not heard from Sydney either. Jack was now done grasping at straws and decided to act on one final hunch.
Jack grabbed his cell phone and dialed quickly. The number rang to the CIA, where he verified his name, waited for security to clear the call, and then was put through to Devlin's secretary.
"Jack, it's a good thing you caught me," She said pleasantly. "I was just about to leave for the day."
"And I'm glad you always work until at least seven o'clock," Jack replied, his voice calm as he waded through a flood of thoughts. "Joanie, I need a favor."
Joanie didn't hesitate. "Anything for you, Jack."
"Can you please page Agent Eric Weiss to call my cell phone?" Jack quickly recited the cell phone number as Joanie jotted it down. She agreed and Jack hung up, his palms damp.
The next fifteen minutes crept by as Jack navigated the city streets, trying to stay mobile, checking the rearview mirror. The possibility that SD-6 security section was hunting him down was frighteningly real, and Jack kept a constant watch on any vehicles that might be following him.
Jack's cell phone rang shrilly, startling him. He answered it and was momentarily shocked to hear Devlin's voice booming on the other end.
"Bristow, this is Devlin," He thundered. "CIA security is barking up my tree about you. You were supposed to report to a safe house three hours ago."
"I'm aware of that," Jack replied. "I'm tying up a few loose ends."
"Loose ends my ass, Jack!" Devlin snapped. "SD-6 security section would like nothing more than to mount your head on Arvin Sloane's front door. Whatever you're doing cannot be as important as saving your own life."
"Actually, it is," Jack answered calmly. "You'll just have to trust me on this one. And please, transfer me to Joanie."
Devlin cursed under his breath but did as Jack had requested. Joanie was flustered when she came onto the line.
"Jack, I'm sorry," She apologized quickly. "I've tried Agent Weiss's pager three times, and each time I'm told it's not in service. I've also tried his cell phone, but all I get is his voicemail."
"Did you leave a message?"
"No, I wanted to consult with you first," Joanie replied. "What would you have me do, Jack?"
Jack thought for a moment before speaking. "Call back, leave a voicemail telling Weiss I'm on my way over to his home," He requested. "And Joanie, I'll need you to give me his address."
Ten minutes later, Jack pulled to a stop in the parking lot of the apartment complex where Weiss lived. Giving a cursory glance at his surroundings, Jack got out of his car and walked briskly to the front door. Once inside, he found himself in a small lobby of metal mailboxes and two badly dehydrated potted plants. Jack reached for the inner door and stopped; on the wall to his left was a callboard with an intercom button next to each tenants last name and apartment number.
Jack located Weiss's name and pressed the button, holding it down long enough, he reasoned, to wake anyone who might be asleep. When a minute or so passed with no response, Jack pressed it again. He repeated this a third time before retreating to a corner of the lobby to consider his options.
Just as Jack was reaching for his cell phone again, the front door opened. A pizza delivery guy walked in and went to the intercom board, his eyes scanning for the correct name. Jack watched as he identified himself after being greeted by the tenant. There was a moment of silence, and then a loud buzzing sound followed by a distinctive click as the inner door unlocked.
The pizza delivery guy swung the door open wide and walked through, not noticing as Jack rushed up behind him to stick his foot between the door and the jamb, catching it before it could close and latch once again. He glanced around before pulling the door open and taking a few cautious steps into the corridor. Secure that he was alone, Jack quickly found the stairs and went up to the third floor.
Jack found Weiss's apartment and knocked loudly, impatient as he waited for an answer. He didn't allow much time to elapse before he forcefully knocked again. Leaning in, Jack put his ear close to the door and listened. He could hear nothing from the other side.
Stepping back, Jack knocked once more, drawing his cell phone from his pocket at the same time. He was about to dial when an apartment door behind him opened and a young man stepped into the hallway.
"Hey, man," He said as Jack turned to face him. "If you're looking for Eric, he's not home."
Jack looked the man from head to toe. He appeared to be about Weiss's age and was dressed as though he'd just arrived home from a long day at the office. He had a beer in one hand which he had used to motion towards Weiss's door.
"Do you have any idea where he is?" Jack questioned, trying to appear nonchalant as desperation pulled at the edges of his mind.
"Yeah, he's at the hospital," The man shrugged, his eyes wide. "I got home from work and he was being carried out to an ambulance. I asked him what was up and he said he was really sick, thought it might be food poisoning."
Jack uttered a terse `thank you' before turning away and heading back down the stairs, his brain working at breakneck speed as he exited the building.
Jack got back into his car, cell phone in his hand. He dialed quickly. "Mr. Tippin," He said as Will picked up on the other end. "I need you to get out a phone book, call every emergency department in every hospital in the Los Angeles area, and ask if they have received a patient by the name of Eric Weiss." Jack paused as Will repeated these instructions back to him. He then continued, giving Will his cell phone number. "Once you find him, call me immediately." Jack hung up and stared out the windshield at the darkening sky, noting that the daylight was fading almost as quickly as his hopes.
"Syd, wake up," Michael Vaughn sat on the edge of the bed, his hand on Sydney's shoulder as he gently shook her. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she blinked hard into the darkness of the bedroom.
"Hi," She said, smiling as her eyes focused on Vaughn's face. He smiled back and brushed stray strands of hair from her face.
"I hate to wake you," He said, his voice apologetic. "I know you didn't sleep well during the night."
"It's okay," Sydney slowly sat up, rising from the bed with a moan. "I would've had to get up to pee again in a few minutes anyway."
Vaughn chuckled as he helped Sydney to her feet, her pregnant belly prominent beneath her thin cotton sleep shirt. "Do you still want to go up to the roof to watch the sunrise?"
"Of course," Sydney nodded as she crossed the hall from the bedroom to the bathroom. "We've been planning it for a week."
"This is the first day it hasn't been overcast," Vaughn stifled a yawn as he passed by the bathroom and made his way to the kitchen. He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave as he reached into the cabinet for two juice glasses. It was just past 6:15 a.m. Sunrise was predicted to be about 6:55.
Sydney soon joined him in the kitchen, her teeth freshly brushed. She leaned back against the counter, spreading her toes and enjoying the feel of the cool floor tiles on the soles of her feet. She gently rubbed her swollen stomach as she watched Vaughn pour two full glasses of orange juice.
"The last few days have been rough," Vaughn stated sympathetically as he handed one glass to Sydney. She took a sip and then sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I just haven't been feeling all that well," Sydney conceded. She smiled feebly, meeting Vaughn's eyes. "But we're in Madrid, in the middle of August. I'm destined to be uncomfortable."
"It's only for another month," Vaughn reminded her as he went to the refrigerator.
"What, my pregnancy or Madrid?" Sydney asked teasingly, her eyes shining.
Vaughn grinned, setting a plate of muffins on the counter top. "Well," He said, as though deeply considering. "I think the pregnancy will definitely end in about a month, but Madrid, that depends on how much you like being here."
Sydney sought out his embrace, sliding herself between him and kitchen counter. It was a tight squeeze. "I like being with you," She said, slipping her arm around Vaughn's waist. He placed a kiss on her forehead, his arm resting on her shoulders.
"That goes without saying," Vaughn said just before their lips met. They kissed gently for a moment, the quiet of the morning surrounding them. The city beyond the open balcony doors was a few minutes from waking up, the streets still vacant. The only sound was the early birds nesting in nearby treetops.
"We've already been here for a month," Sydney reasoned when she and Vaughn parted and he busied himself with slicing the muffins in half before spreading them with a light layer of butter.
"You're ready to move on?" He questioned.
"We've been lucky so far," Sydney replied knowingly. "Every place we've moved we've been able to stay for six weeks or two months. It's been like a vacation. But with a baby, I think we'll have to be more careful, not allow ourselves to get so relaxed."
"We should move soon," Vaughn agreed. He laid down the butter knife and picked up one of the muffin halves, extending it to Sydney.
"Hmm, thanks," She accepted it hungrily, taking a large bite before motioning towards the ceiling. "Let's take the rest up to the roof with us."
Vaughn agreed that this was a good idea and collected the two patio chairs from their balcony before leading the way out of the apartment and to the stairwell that led to the roof. Their apartment was on the top floor and they had a great view from their balcony, but it faced the wrong direction to see the spectacular sunrise over the city.
Once on the roof, Sydney stood for a moment and turned a slow circle, her eyes scanning the wide horizon. The roof was flat, with nothing but a small lip at the edge, leaving the view virtually unobstructed.
"It's gorgeous up here!" Vaughn declared, setting up the patio chairs. He helped Sydney ease into hers and then laughed as she balanced the plate of muffins on her large belly. "You're gorgeous, too, Syd," He told her, reaching over to take her hand as he sat down.
Sydney entwined her fingers with Vaughn's, smiling at him just before taking another bite of muffin. Her thoughts were blissful as she turned her eyes to the horizon, her hopes rising as the first streaks of light appeared in the eastern sky.
Not more than ten minutes after Will had returned his call, Jack Bristow was rushing through the front doors of the emergency department at UCLA Medical Center, carefully side-stepping hospital gurneys and patients in wheelchairs on his way to the admit desk. When he reached it, he spoke quickly to a nurse behind the counter, his frantic expression and hurried pose enough to make him appear to be a concerned family member. The nurse did not hesitate to direct him to an exam room a few doors down the hall.
When Jack pushed open the door and entered the large exam room, he was greeted by the smell of antiseptic and the sound of a child crying somewhere beyond the row of closed green curtains. He paused for a moment, unsure which curtain to pull back first. He was about to try the first one on the right when it suddenly opened, a nurse pulling it free of the end of a gurney where Eric Weiss lay, his skin pallid, his eyes half open.
"Can I help you?" The nurse asked, pen posed above the medical chart in her hands.
"Is he going to be all right?" Jack asked, his concern genuine. Weiss looked worse than Jack had imagined.
The nurse looked skeptically at Jack, her eyes narrowed. "Are you a family member?"
Before Jack could think of a believable response, Weiss lifted his head from the pillow and spoke, his voice faint. "Uncle Jack?"
The nurse sighed, glancing from Jack to Weiss and then back again. "He's got a pretty severe case of food poisoning," She stated. "Don't stay too long; he needs to get some rest."
Jack thanked the nurse warmly and then turned to Weiss as soon as she was gone. "Good cover," He said.
Weiss managed a weak smile. "Bad seafood can keep me down, but not out." He started to close his eyes again, but then snapped them open and looked pointedly at Jack. "Wait a minute," He said. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"
Jack glanced around quickly before grabbing the edge of the curtain and jerking it back around the bed. Weiss regarded all this with worried eyes, his brow furrowed in concern. Once Jack was certain that he had attained as much privacy as possible, he moved close to the gurney and spoke in a low voice.
"It's a long story, one that I will be glad to relate to you at a later time. But for now, just listen carefully."
"Like I have a choice?" Weiss raised his right hand and tugged lightly on his IV line.
Jack ignored his sarcasm and went on to briefly explain the situation, emphasizing the need for immediate action. "I know that you've been in contact with my daughter," He concluded. "That's why I've come to you. They need to be warned, and it needs to happen now." Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held it out to Weiss.
Weiss was silent, stunned by Jack's words. After accepting the phone, he squeezed his eyes shut, thinking hard.
"What's wrong?" Jack demanded, momentarily fearing that his hunch had been wrong.
"I use CIA contacts in Europe to get Vaughn a new secure cell phone each time he and Sydney move," Weiss said, finally opening his eyes. "My head's a little foggy here, Jack. I'm trying to remember the most recent number."
The bands of light on the horizon were lengthening as the morning slowly unfolded and stretched out like a housecat after a long nap. Sydney and Vaughn took in the sights and sounds of the city, their chairs facing the sky where the sun would ultimately break through and brilliantly announce the start of the day.
Sydney nibbled along the edge of her second muffin half, pausing to sip her juice while the summer breezes played through her long hair. She was unaware that Vaughn was watching her out of the corner of his eye, anticipating the next thing she would say.
"You know," Sydney held the muffin out in front of her, subjecting it to scrutiny. "This would taste really great with a little orange marmalade." She had barely finished the sentence before Vaughn was on his feet.
"I knew it," He teased, smiling down at her. "You've been on a marmalade kick lately. I should've just brought it up with us earlier." Vaughn reached to smooth down Sydney's hair. "I'll go get it."
"You don't mind?"
"No, I don't mind," Vaughn waved to her as he started for the door that led to the stairs. "Be right back."
Sydney carefully moved the muffin plate over to Vaughn's chair as a flutter of movement inside her grabbed her attention. She smoothed her sleep shirt down over her round belly and pressed her hand to it, smiling to herself as kick after kick landed against her palm. She was sorry Vaughn was missing it; the baby always seemed to be most active when he was busy with other things.
Sydney knew that what truly mattered was whether or not the baby was healthy. It hadn't been difficult to find doctors in each place that they had lived; they tried to stay in or near large cities. But it had been strange, trying to explain, trying to excuse the upheaval in her life when each doctor's advice had been to take things easy, to take life slow.
Rubbing her belly in small, gentle circles, Sydney looked off toward the horizon again. Her mind was wandering, as it did often, to the little things she was missing out on, like a baby shower and decorating a nursery. They were planning to move to France for the end of Sydney's ninth month, and it was there that they would buy a crib and other baby necessities. Along the way, however, Sydney had picked up a few baby clothes, keeping in mind that anything she purchased had to be easily packed.
Sydney smiled, thinking of Vaughn. He wanted so badly for the baby to be born in France, to share that heritage with him. And he wanted something else, as well, and had asked Sydney one night after dinner in Italy. They had walked, hand in hand, their stomachs full of great food and their heads full of plans for their future. Sydney's eyes welled up with tears as she remembered Vaughn, in the moonlight, on a cobblestone pathway, down on one knee.
Meanwhile, down in the apartment, Vaughn had just pulled the jar of orange marmalade out of the refrigerator when his cell phone began to ring. He set the marmalade on the kitchen counter and went to grab his phone.
In the bedroom, Vaughn picked up the cell phone from the bedside table and turned to go back into the kitchen. He flipped on the kitchen light and looked at the phone as the caller ID feature flashed a number that Vaughn did not recognize. Given the early hour and the fact that Weiss was the only person who knew the cell number, Vaughn decided to answer, pausing by the kitchen counter as he depressed the "on" button.
In that instant, the marmalade jar exploded, the fruity preserves and pieces of glass blown in every direction. Startled to the point of shock, Vaughn dropped the cell phone. It clattered to the floor, the battery pack breaking free and skittering across the ceramic tile.
"It was ringing, but then it went dead," Weiss held the phone out from his ear, looking at the numeric display. "It connected, but only for a second or two."
Jack gripped the bedside railing, his knuckles white. "Try it again," He urged.
Weiss redialed the number a total of three times before finally shaking his head, handing the phone back to Jack. "All I'm getting is a voicemail prompt," He said dejectedly. "I'm sorry, Jack."
Jack brought his fist down heavily on the bed railing as he turned away, his mind still working furiously to find avenues that had yet to be explored.
Weiss sensed this and spoke up, his voice full of regret. "Jack," He said. "I don't have another way of contacting them. We knew that email or US mail would both be too risky. Without the cell phone, that's it. We've lost them."
Jack didn't want to hear those words. He stood silent for a moment, wavering between desperation to find his daughter and frustration that her desire to protect him was keeping him from doing the same for her.
Jack was nudged from his thoughts as his cell phone rang. He answered quickly, his expression hopeful. His face fell, however, when he heard Devlin's voice.
"Jack, I've had enough," He said firmly. "This is a direct order from your superior. Get yourself to the safe house, and do it now."
Jack looked up at Weiss, his eyes registering defeat. "Yes, sir. I'm on my way." He hung up and dropped the phone into his pocket. "That was Devlin. I need to report to a safe house," Jack sighed, collecting his thoughts as Weiss just watched, his face etched with concern. "If you hear from my daughter, please call me."
"I will, Jack," Weiss agreed, finally lowering his head back onto the pillow. His couldn't tell if it was his illness or a sense of dread that was causing his stomach to churn again, but he had to close his eyes for a moment to keep the room from spinning. When he opened them again, Jack Bristow was gone, leaving nothing behind but the gentle flutter of the bedside curtain.
Vaughn instinctively crouched down behind the cabinets, his mind whirling with possible reasons for the sudden eruption of the marmalade jar. The most logical and jarring explanation didn't resonate as truth until Vaughn looked up at the cabinets facing him and saw the bullet embedded in the wood, the cabinet face cracked and splintered.
Vaughn knew from the bullet that the shot must have been fired from the living room. The counter he was braced against jutted out from the wall, marking the divide between the two rooms. The living room was dark, and he could only assume that the assassin had slipped in and hidden himself in the shadows while Vaughn was on the roof.
A strange sensation of warmth drew Vaughn's attention to his left arm. His skin had been sliced open by a shard of glass and blood was running down his hand, dripping from his fingertips and splattering crimson on the golden brown kitchen tile.
Seeing this sparked him to action, the reality of the situation setting in with brute force. Vaughn's first thought was to protect Sydney. As he prayed silently that she would be undetected on the roof, Vaughn made a bold move, rising suddenly and diving for the hallway where he sought cover as gunfire sounded behind him. He quickly retrieved his handgun from the bedroom and checked to be sure it was loaded.
Crouching inside the hallway, Vaughn remained perfectly still as he listened, straining his ears to pick up the slightest sound. He was met with nothing but silence, which unsettled him deeply. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing on his courage before darting back into the kitchen, returning fire as bullets whizzed over his head and became lodged in the cabinet doors. Sawdust and splinters peppered the air.
Up on the roof, it had occurred to Sydney that it seemed to be taking Vaughn a long time to return with the marmalade. She had just eased herself out of the patio chair when she heard it - a faint popping sound that struck her as familiar. She stood and listened until realization gripped her and her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide.
"Michael," She breathed, her heart pounding as she started towards the stairway. She stopped, though, when she looked down and realized she had no weapon, no way to defend herself against someone with a gun. Going in through the front door would be tantamount to painting a bullseye on her chest.
Changing direction, Sydney went to the edge of the roof nearest their apartment. Down on her hands and knees, she looked over the side, pleased to find herself right over the balcony that led into the kitchen. She remained still for a moment, listening. More gunfire erupted, the sound escaping the open balcony doors and echoing off the neighboring buildings.
Sydney's instinct to fight came on strongly, overwhelming her concern for her own safety. She twisted her body around until she was sitting on the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the edge, her knees resting on the narrow lip. She paused briefly to take a deep breath before sliding herself forward and easing her hips over the edge. She then swiveled onto her side, twisting around until she could grip the ledge with her hands. Another short burst of gunfire bolstered her resolve and she pushed off, careful to keep her prominent belly clear of the edge while lowering her body until she was hanging by her hands from the lip of the roof.
Sydney looked down and was dismayed to see that the balcony floor, illuminated by a circle of light from within the apartment, was still five feet below her. She knew it would be a hard drop, especially since she hadn't done anything like this in months. But she was also aware that she had no choice, and keeping that in mind, she loosened her grip and let go.
Sydney's feet struck the concrete with an unexpected force, the shock reverberating through her body as she dropped down to a sitting position, squeezing herself into a protected corner of the balcony. She took a moment to steady herself, breathing deeply and rubbing her stomach as the pain in her feet subsided. Forcing herself to remain calm, Sydney slowly leaned forward and peeked around the edges of the open French doors. What she saw nearly stopped her heart.
"Michael!" Sydney cried, unable to stop herself from crawling towards him, her breath coming in short bursts as she fought back a rush of tears.
"Sydney, stop!" Vaughn shouted to her from where he sat, his back against the cabinets. "There's broken glass and splinters of wood everywhere."
Sydney paid no attention. All she could see was blood and the towel soaked with it that Vaughn held to his left forearm. "Oh my god, Michael," She used her hands to clear the floor in front of her before coming to him, her fingers scratched and burning by the time she reached his side. "Oh my god. What happened?"
"He's dead," was all Vaughn said, his eyes dark as he pulled the towel back slightly to check his wound. The bleeding had slowed but had not stopped. Sydney quickly reached up behind them to a kitchen drawer and pulled out a clean towel.
"Who? Who's dead?" Sydney asked as she brushed sawdust and bits of broken wood from Vaughn's hair. He pulled back from her, seeming to notice for the first time that she was kneeling on the floor beside him.
"Syd, you'll get hurt," He looked at the glass and bits of marmalade and wood on the floor around them. Vaughn met her eyes, his face a mixture of emotions, one indiscernible from the next. "Sydney, how did you get down here?"
Sydney shook her head. "Never mind that," She told him, her eyes rimmed with tears. "They found us, didn't they?"
Vaughn nodded silently, his eyes locked on hers. He let go of the towel for a moment to stroke Sydney's cheek, brushing away a tear. "Yeah," He said finally. "They found us."
Sydney melted against Vaughn, pressing her cheek to his shoulder, her tears coming fast. With his free arm, Vaughn squeezed her tightly before resting his hand lightly on her belly, his fingers splayed against her soft cotton gown. They remained there for several quiet moments until a noise in the hallway outside the apartment grabbed their attention like a fist around their throats.
The apartment door suddenly banged open as a voice called out, "Hayes!"
Sydney and Vaughn parted, pulling back from each other as their eyes met and communicated a thousand, silent words. Vaughn reached down and picked up his handgun from where it lay on the tile floor. He placed it into Sydney's waiting hand, and she quietly checked the clip to see how many bullets were left.
Satisfied with her firepower, Sydney cocked the gun and rose to her feet, her arm extended, her eyes searching for her target. A dark figure moved through the living room, pausing over the body of the man Vaughn had killed. Sydney raised the gun and zeroed in, taking dead aim at the man's head.
As if sensing this, the intruder stopped and raised his own weapon before slowly turning to face Sydney. As he did, he took a step closer to her, moving into a pale circle of light cast by the overhead fixture in the kitchen.
Seated on the floor, his heart racing, his pulse pounding in his ears, Vaughn could not have imagined the next thing he heard spill from Sydney's lips.
"Dixon!?" She gasped, her breath ragged as shock overwhelmed her.
Dixon immediately backed up a step, stunned by the image before him. He blinked hard to make sure it was real. "Sydney?" He said when he finally found his voice.
Neither one of them moved, their weapons still taking aim, their eyes locked in a terrified stare. Dixon finally allowed his gaze to drop, and when he took in the sight of Sydney's pregnant belly, he let out a sharp breath as if he'd been kicked in the ribs. His shock was total and complete when Vaughn suddenly stood up next to Sydney, his face pale, his eyes darting between Sydney and her ex-partner.
Dixon slowly holstered his gun and backed up, his hands in the air. He stepped over the body of his colleague and then paused, looking down at the dead man and then up at Sydney once more. With a brief shake of his head, as if the pieces to complete this puzzle were not to be found, Dixon disappeared back into the shadows of the hallway and darted down the stairs, leaving the apartment building as if it were on fire.
Sydney dropped the gun on the counter top and turned to Vaughn, her eyes filling with tears, her face white as a sheet. She clutched Vaughn's shirt, her fingers twisting the soft cotton t-shirt.
"We have to call Weiss," She pleaded desperately. "SD-6 found me, they know I'm with you. They know now that I was CIA. We have to warn my father." Her words came in rapid-fire bursts as she fought to stay in control of her breathing, swallowing sobs before they escaped her throat.
Vaughn was adamant that he protect Sydney first and told her so. He released her hands from his shirt and pulled her into a hug, pressing his cheek to her hair.
"Right now we need to get out of here. The local police are probably on their way, and we need to not be here when they show up," Vaughn pulled back from her, his eyes searching her face. "We need to pack up and go now. We'll get a bus out of the city and get as far away as we can. Then we'll call Weiss."
"My dad," Sydney sobbed, covering her face with her hands.
Vaughn's heart broke as he reached out to Sydney once again, cradling her against his chest. "We'll call him, Syd," Vaughn assured her. "But I need to be sure that you're gonna be okay first."
The bus ride from Madrid was long and uncomfortable. The closer they got to Barcelona, the worse Sydney felt. By the time they reached the city, she was exhausted and desperate for a hot shower and a bed with cool, clean sheets. Vaughn could see how badly she needed sleep and quickly found them a hotel room not far from downtown.
After they had their fill of icy cold bottled water from the hotel cantina, Sydney and Vaughn both showered, changing into fresh pajamas before crawling into bed. Sydney had done her best to dress Vaughn's wound, and he rewrapped it tightly in an Ace bandage before settling back into his pillow and allowing exhaustion to sweep him off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
A few hours later, Sydney awoke in darkness, her eyes struggling to adjust and her mind struggling to remember where she was. Sitting up slowly, an uncomfortable pressure in her abdomen made her suddenly recall the bus trip and all the bottled water she'd consumed when they'd arrived. Smiling faintly, Sydney eased herself up from the bed and carefully made her way across the room to the bathroom. Not wanting to wake Vaughn, she closed the door before turning on the light.
An anguished scream caused Vaughn to bolt upright in bed, throwing off the blankets. He was on his feet and just arriving at the bathroom door as it swung open and Sydney appeared in the doorway, her right hand stained crimson. Vaughn was wholly unprepared for that but even more shocked when he looked down and saw that the lower part of Sydney's night shirt was soaked in blood and clinging to her thighs.
"Something's wrong, Michael," She sobbed. "There's something really wrong."
******
A/N: Sorry it has been so long between updates. I had the flu this week and didn't write as much as I would've liked. Thanks to all the readers and reviewers - you're one reason why this is so much fun. More to come.