-I am so sorry for the lack of an update but this weekend I have been busy with my new web page (check it out . . .) and have been lacking on time. But I think that you will like this chapter, a certain mysterious character has finally been introduced to everyone's favorite CIA Agent. *Wink *

-Yet again, no quote. I am lacking on lyrics that are fitting for these story lines, so let me know if you have any suggestions.

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"I have to go out for a bit."

"How long do you think you'll be?"

"I'm not sure."

"All right."

He stared at her for a moment, watched as she flipped aimlessly through her magazine. She did this often, ever since the Telecommunications Company she had worked at downsized she spent her time doing pointless activities. The thing was, sometimes she didn't even seem to be paying attention to what she was doing. Like now, her eyes were looking at the pages, but they didn't seem to be taking in any information. He found it odd, but wasn't about to second-guess her intentions.

He walked towards her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then turned to leave.

"I'll see you when I get home."

"Ok. Bye."

After shutting the door, walking down the stairs and opening the door to his car, he sat for a moment trying to silence the screaming going through his head.

Why doesn't she care?

I am her husband, is she not curious as to what I do with my time?

Eventually, the logical side of his head took over and reminded him that he was lucky to have married such an understanding woman, he was just being paranoid and should thank God that she hadn't asked questions that he would have to lie to her about.

Yet for some reason, this time his CIA enhanced instincts would not let it go completely.

*

He was late. She knew that she shouldn't be worrying, that he had a life and she was not number one on his priority list. But he was never, ever late.

Her questions were soon silenced as she heard a vehicle approach the warehouse and soon after his footsteps approaching her. For some reason he looked perplexed tonight, more than usual.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, I just . . ."

"You don't have to explain."

"But if things had been the other way around . . ."

"No, seriously, don't explain."

He shook his head and proceeded to take his seat on the table next to her as they had done for the past month or so. Both had come to look forward to these late night meetings, no matter how tense and heart wrenching they always turned out to be.

"You went through more regression-therapy today, right?"

"Yeah."

She shifted uncomfortably and he knew she wasn't fond of the subject, but that eventually she would spill all of it out on him.

"And?"

"And nothing. They were pointless, as usual."

She had given the same answer to that question every day he asked, but today something was different. Something in her voice, something in her eyes. She was lying to him and he hated it.

"Sydney, don't lie to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Damnit Syd, you know that I can read you like a book and I know when you're hiding something from me."

She did not answer his accusation and instead locked her eyes on the cold, gray concrete floor. His teeth clenched as he spat out his next statement.

"You know that I can't stand it when you keep things from me."

"You know what, you look the same as you did when I questioned your loyalty."

"Sydney . . ."

"I never did get that key did I."

"Stop trying to change the subject!"

She looked up at him and took note of his agitated features and let out a sigh. Going into this situation she knew that he would know something was up. She knew very well that he could read her like a book and that it drove him crazy when she lied to him.

"Vaughn, the regression-therapy, it will never work."

"I know that it seems that way but . . ."

"NO Michael, you don't understand. I am not being pessimistic; I'm completely serious. The sessions won't work because there is nothing for me to remember."

He looked at her quizzically and she watched as his forehead slowly began to wrinkle.

"What are you talking about?"

"I had a visit today."

"From who?"

"Derevko."

She watched as his expression shifted from confused to shocked and the look of rage in his eyes was unmistakable.

"You WHAT? That woman was in your home and you didn't call someone?"

"No, Vaughn, I . . ."

"Sydney, we have been searching for her endlessly for the past two years and you didn't even think to let somebody know? Weiss, your father, me even? For Christ sakes Sydney I . . ."

"Well excuse me Vaughn, but I'd like to see you use a cell phone while your hands are pinned above your head!"

The annoyed tone in her suddenly loud voice causes him to look away. After a moment he turns his eyes back to her and lets out a small sigh.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, try not and jump to conclusions next time if you don't mind."

"What did she say."

"The reasons that I don't remember anything is because there is nothing to remember. I have been in a coma for the past two years in some safe house that Sloane set up."

"How is that possible?"

"He purchased some kind of new drug that simply requires a counter-agent to bring someone back to full consciousness, which she acquired before she released me."

"So she knew? This whole time she knew exactly where you were and she didn't have the courtesy to tell one of us? If we had known . . ."

"Don't Michael, it does no good to dwell on it like that. All she told me was that it would have been to risky for he to return to the states."

He moved his mouth to ask further questions but decided against it. She was right, there was nothing they could do now.

"So she's gone."

"I have no idea where she is. For all I know she could be waiting outside for me."

"Sydney . . ."

"I know, I know. It's just, there are so many things that I hate about this, so many things that could have gone differently but didn't. This just pushed it over the edge."

"I'm coming back to the task force."

"No, you're not."

"I cannot just sit back and watch this happen from the side-lines, I can't stand watching you go through this knowing that I am doing nothing about it."

"Don't you get it Vaughn? Things aren't the same as they used to be, you can't always come running to my rescue. You see that band on your finger? You are a married man."

"Me leaving the task force had nothing to do with my wife, I left because there was nothing else to do, there were no leads. And now that you're back I am not about to sit on my ass and analyze paperwork. Believe it or not some of us want Sloane dead just as much as you do."

"I doubt that."

"Well don't. Because I want more than anything to have that man murdered . . .I don't care how, I just want him gone. Plus, I already sent my request into Kendall."

"What if he won't accept it."

"He will."

She looked at him and merely shook her head. She did not want him to get sucked into this world again, his life somewhat resembled normalcy for once and he shouldn't take that for granted. But she knew that there was no changing his mind on this, he was going to go through with it whether she liked it or not.

"Fine. Whatever. It's not like I can stop you is it."

"No, you can't."

"Well, this really has been a nice little chat but I have to be going."

"Wait. Are you going to tell them."

"No. What good what it do? They'll stop the therapy eventually if it doesn't work, and I'm not even sure I believe her."

"That's probably the best idea. Hey, Sydney?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad we do this. You know, talk."

"So am I. Goodnight Vaughn."

He watched as she made her way out of the warehouse as he had done so many times before. He was completely shocked to find himself missing the days where he had spent his days pinning over her, the days where he could watch her walk away and wish he was walking with her without feeling a barrage of guilt. Laughing, he admitted that those days were so much less complicated. But still he would not take back what had happened, because while he was in hell right now those few months he had spent with her were worth it.

*

That night she had not slept at all. With everything that was going on she wasn't surprised. So when her alarm clock failed to go off, she didn't have enough shampoo to wash half of her hair and had forgotten to get milk the other day she knew things were only going to get worse. Because this meant going to the grocery store, which was something she simply hated.

The grocery store was a place normal people went to buy food for their normal families and the normalcy of it all was glaring in her face. She tried her best to avoid going, but she had to eat so it was ultimately a useless attempt.

She wasn't surprised at all to find that the cart she had chosen had squeaky tires, including one that was loose and would not allow her to roll it straight down the isle. Sighing in frustration she made her way towards the milk, which was conveniently placed in the back so she had to navigate through rows and rows of food to get what she wanted.

After finally getting her milk she grabbed a few other items, fruit, bread, popcorn, and suddenly remembered her lack of shampoo earlier that morning, and mentally praised herself for the epiphany.

There was something else she hated about the grocery store: it was like one huge reminder that she had been gone for two years. The brands were the same, but nothing looked the same. Different colors, different shapes, different sizes. The difference of it all made her head hurt.

Finally, she found a label that seemed somewhat similar, but there was still an obstacle. The shampoo bottles all seemed to be stacked into some- sort of a pyramid, and all of the visible hair types didn't match her own. Apparently everyone had 'color treated' or 'permed' hair these days.

What is wrong with theses people? Do they actually think I am more apt to buy their shampoo if it is stacked in some clever design?

Suddenly she spotted the type in which she was looking for, but only to cause yet another problem to add to her list. Upon grabbing the desired bottle nearly half of the arrangement toppled down on her.

"Damnit!"

Crouching down she began to pick up the various bottles and stack them as well as possible, more embarrassed than she could imagine. Out of no where, she heard a woman's voice and a figure appear on the floor in front of her scooping up the bottles.

"Don't you hate it when this happens?"

Sydney smiled at the kindness of the woman though she still did not have a clear view of the source of the voice; her long brown hair had fallen in front of her face as she bent over to collect more shampoo. She had, however, noticed a very simple, almost nonexistent wedding band on the lady's ring finger.

"Just makes a bad day worse."

"I know how you feel."

The lady finally turned to Sydney and offered her hand. She returned the sentiment, but it was the last thing on Sydney's mind when she heard what the woman said next.

Sydney Bristow was a CIA agent, she had been thrown out of windows, broken more bones than she could count, and even been shot by her own mother. But nothing, *nothing *, had ever hurt as much as what the woman said next.

"Hi, I'm Emily Vaughn."

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-Everyone has been commenting on the evil nature of the new Mrs. Vaughn, and now you finally get to meet her. Quite a cliffhanger don't you think? Hehe . . . If you're lucky than I will get the next chapter in by tomorrow, but with school and what not it may be difficult. So cross your fingers and pray that I am not bombarded with homework once again.

-Kudos to anyone who noticed the dialogue I stole from JJ : )