Thanks for all of your wonderful comments on chapter two! Um, this is where the story actually starts, hopefully It's a bit more interesting, and a lot less fluffy! Please r/r!

Until We Die - Chapter Two
Sydney woke up the next morning sprawled across Vaughn's chest. Yawning, she pulled the duvet covers upto her chin, the cold climate slightly getting to her. Streching one hand up above her head, she rolled off of Vaughn, and lay on her back beside him. She could see the clock from her position, it was approaching lunchtime.

Sitting up, Sydney wrapped a sheet around her body as she streched her other arm, and fixed the blankets so that Vaughn wouldn't freeze. Smiling contentedly, she crossed the villa with the intent to make coffee for herself. Vaughn was still in a deep sleep, streched across the right side of the bed. Trying to keep as quiet as possible, she poured coffee mix into the machine, and turned it on. She set her mug on the counter beside the machine, and pulled her robe on while she was waiting.

Tapping her fingers against the counter, she watched out the window above the sink, the early and dedicated skiiers on the slopes. On Christmas Eve Day. Sydney felt content for the first time in..forever. Here in France, with Michael, doing nothing all day and...plenty at night. Smirking to herself, she decided to leave it at that.

Ten minutes later, she was situated in front of the fire, coffee cup in her hands, warming her up. Her legs were tucked underneath her, her hair thrown into an elastic quickly. The fire was still going from last night. Not as big as it was, but still crackling. They had piled about seven logs and poured a very small amount of lighting fluid in it so that they wouldn't have to keep messing with it. She had learned that in the Girl Scouts, and to her suprize, it worked.

Picking up a notepad and pen that was on the coffee table, she rested the pad on her leg, and started scribbling her thoughts down on the paper. It was a habit she refused to break. Ever since SD-6 had recruited her, she wrote everything down, since in the early days she couldn't tell anyone. Danny had been a good example of exactly what would have happened had she told anyone else. Sighing, she settled back into the couch. Now she wrote for her sanity, and out of habit. She didn't even have to think as the day's thoughts flowed from her brain to her pen.

Just as she was finishing up a sentance, her cellphone rung. Not wanting to wake Vaughn, she quickly saw the flashing light on the chair beside her. Reaching for it, she flipped it open and answered, half expecting to hear her fathers' voice on the other end. He had disrupted many weekend trips, or just night trips, because of "CIA Protocol". Half of the time Sydney walked into the CIA, Vaughn a step behind her, to her father apologizing for a "false alarm."

"Hello?"

"There's a package for you. At your door."

The voice froze her. There was a 'click' on the other end of the line, as the caller hung up. Sydney felt the goosebumps spring up all over her body as her mind whirled on what she should do. Why wouldn't they leave her alone? Slowly, she sat the writing tools beside her, and crept to her feet. Was the place bugged?

Creeping over to Vaughn's shirt, she took the gun out of the holster he always wore. It was tangled up in his sweater, the same one that had been shed and thrown last night. It was draped across the livingroom table. Setting the gun, she made sure she wasn't revealing anything through her robe, walked over to the door, and slowly unlocked and tugged the door open. The whole time she pondered on waking Vaughn, but decided against it. It might be easier she just do it. And anyways, Vaughn was a deep sleeper, but if she screamed loud enough for his help, he'd get up. If there was one thing that drove him, it was Sydney Bristow in any kind of trouble. Psysical (which didn't happen too often), Emotional (with happened far too often),...No matter what, he was there.

After doing a quick survey of the white mountainside, she noticed a manilla envelope on the front stoop. Sweeping the area once more with her eyes, she kept one trained eye in front of her, while she bent down to pick the envelope up. Keeping her back to the opened door, she checked the envelope quickly for explosives or anything chemical, and ducked inside. Shutting and locking the door behind her, she made sure nobody was crouching behind the sofas or counters, and then opened the envelope slowly. "Merry Christmas", was scrawled across the front in red ink. Shuddering at what it reminded her of, she pulled the contents out slowly. It was a thin pile of..pictures?

They were faced down from her, so after turning them over, she almost screamed at what she saw. Her eyes began watering, her heart quickening and her pulse thumping in her temples. Will...Francie...Jenny...all dead. All shot point blank in the forehead, photographed, and sent to her. Her cries were soft and quick as a thin piece of lined paper fell to her feet.

Bending over, she picked it up, almost afraid to look at it.

Get out of France, get out of LA, get out of the CIA, or Agent Michael Vaughn gets it next. Don't tell anyone. Don't tell him, don't tell the CIA, just run. Run, Sydney, run. Just keep running, and we'll keep finding you. Don't worry...your never alone.

Sydney collapsed on the floor, her cries hysterical. Looking at Vaughn quickly, asleep and peaceful in their bed, she felt her stomach tighten. She began vomiting, all over the pictures, all over the floor. Her hands were shaking, her face no doubt sheet white. Unsteady, she crawled to her knees, and picked the pictures from the floor, where she had earlier dropped them. She knew what had happened to her friends, but it hadn't...sunk in, yet. She wouldn't say she was high on adreniline yet, but it just wasn't...processing.

Wiping her tears furiously, for the first time in her life she was scared of them. They could do it. They'd killed three of her friends. They'd kill Vaughn. She knew it. If she knew Sark and Slone, her mother and father would be dead by sundown if she didn't flee. Vaughn was beginning to stir. Holding her hand to her mouth, she tried to contain her sobs. She wouldn't have time to clean up her vomit...she threw the pictures into the fire, pulled on the closest clothes she could, and turned to look at Vaughn.

"Merry Christmas, Michael Vaughn. Have a nice one in France. Meet a nice woman, who you can trust and depend on, and get out of the CIA. I'll miss you." Sydney choked her words back, resisting the urge to kiss him once more, or touch his foot or leg in acknowledgement.

Wiping her eyes once more, she opened the front door, and stepped onto the stoop. Just as she did so, she heard Vaughn waking up through the slightly opened window.

"Syd?,...Is that you?...Sydney?!"

Coughing back a sob, she started to run down the icy sidewalk. What was she going to do now? No safehouse, no family, no future, no love, no...Michael. Damnit, she cursed herself. I never even told him I loved him. Crying into the wind, she expertly picked apart the lock on a nearby green, beaten down truck, wired it quickly, and started out of the ski lodge. Looking through the rearview mirror, she saw the door open on the villa she was in moments ago. Michael looked around, and dashed back inside.

Sydney slammed her hands against the steering wheel, the adreniline sadly pumping through her. She was out to avenge the deaths of three friends, and the death of a love she never got to acknowledge or live. Steering out onto a small road winding down the mountain, down to the main roads, she banged her hands once more against the wheel.

"God damnit, Sloane. I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do."