Title: Raw Precision
Author: UConnFan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.
Dedication: To my new friend & beta Linda - thank you so much for everything.
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With the few possessions she had at her father's home, it didn't take Sydney long to pack a bag for the next few days. Jack left for work shortly after breakfast, before she departed for her vacation. The tracking device on her ankle and the GPS in the car were both working properly, and Jack had provided her with a cell phone. Some of his parting words had been instructions to leave the phone on at all times, even it was just on vibrate, so they would be able to keep in constant contact. There was obvious concern in his eyes about letting his daughter go on her own, but he gave her a slightly awkward hug, demanded that she call him when she arrived, and wished her a nice trip.

Even with her disappearance, the route to her first destination was familiar to her. The black iron gates seemed foreboding as she passed through, anxious about what she was about to do. Still, this could not be avoided, and she knew as much. Next to her the floral spread perfumed the air as she rolled down the windows. Mentally she reviewed the instructions Will had given her on the phone the night before, relieved he still worked with a reporters eye for detail, otherwise she never would have arrived at her destination.

The marker was small, and she would have overlooked it if she hadn't sought it out. With a quick glance, she was relieved to see she was alone in the cemetery, and placed the colorful arrangement in front of the headstone. The words were chiseled in the granite, bold and silently accusing her of a crime she didn't even commit. Half a step back she stared at it, taking in every little detail from the tone of the granite to the few dandelions and overgrown blades of grass that surrounded it.

"I'm so sorry Francie," she whispered. "I'm so sorry… I know I didn't do this, but I know this never would have happened…" The tears welled up despite her vow that they wouldn't. "I miss you. I know that seems crazy, I've been gone for two years, but I do. I missed the real you… You never got to meet Vaughn… You barely got to be with Will… The restaurant… I'm so sorry Fran," she covered her mouth. Her eyelids slid shut as the tears silently traveled down her cheeks. "You were the best friend I ever had, and I am *so* sorry I wasn't that to you. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you out of this, that I couldn't protect you somehow… I really wish you were here. Then I could try to make this better, to be the friend you deserved… Plus, I could really use my best friend right now."

There was no response and there never would be again. In her mind she could still imagine Francie glowing about Baxter, her basketball playing college boyfriend, or accepting Charlie's proposal. The true glow of happiness that had accompanied her in the short time she'd been with Will, and how flustered they both had been to explain it. The first real family she had ever known, her first brush with true friendship and unending love and support had all come from Francie. Sure there were times when her best friend had thought she was insane ("Seriously Syd, who needs to learn Arabic anyway? You work at a bank in Los Angeles, not the Middle East") or was inquisitive ("Is it the picture frame guy?" "There is no picture frame guy!") but she still loved her.

"I love you Francie," she spoke softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the friend you deserved, but thank you for everything you gave me. Whether you realized it or not, you contributed to every good part of me," she explained. "I wish I had been there when you needed me, and I'll never forgive myself for bringing you into this life. Still, I hope that wherever you are, you can forgive me."

What she wanted to imagine was Francie smiling, hugging and forgiving her. Perhaps she'd even sit and listen to the wretched truth about her life. Then she'd take her to drinks at the restaurant or ice cream on the sofa and fix everything with some girl-time and understanding. She'd sit and listen to her vent about her former CIA handler, and allow her to tear apart every good quality he had, all while understanding that she didn't mean a word of it. The friendship they had was rare and special, understanding and forgiving. It was like no other friendship she'd ever experienced before and doubted she'd ever experience it again.

For a suspended moment in time she stood there, silently begging for forgiveness. There was no more peace to be found, no more amends to be made. Francie was gone, and nothing could change that. Apparently she'd been gone for a long time now, and the Calfo's had decided not to put a month on her headstone, just the year - 2003. Over two years now, she bitterly reminded herself. Where she was now was unknown to Sydney, who had enough to wrestle with in this life, never mind the afterlife. Still, she was at peace, and a long-deserved peace at that.

Once back in the car, the tears eventually stopped. Francie wouldn't want her sad or miserable, it wasn't her nature. Even in her angriest moments, any sign of tears managed to cut through her defenses. She had a life to piece back together, and Francie could no longer be a part of that life. Instead she had to hope for justice and search for peace. The night before, her father had vowed that she'd someday find it, and perhaps even a little bit of happiness. Of all the magnitude of lies and truths he had dispensed onto her soul throughout her lifetime, she wished that this one time he'd be correct.

Sydney briefly wished she had a convertible, as she took the two hour drive up the coast. The traffic wasn't as heavy as she had expected, and the hotel's receptionist's directions had been perfect. Through the open windows the breeze blew, cool and clean through her nostrils. The hotel looked nice, and there was ample parking. Not many people took a sudden vacation in the middle of a week in October, but Sydney Bristow was not like other people.

The on-wheels suitcase moved easily over the bump in the sidewalk. The black suitcase silently trailed her into the lobby as she looked around. It was comfortable and beautiful, not too ornate but stylish enough to impress her. A young receptionist looked up from her Irving novel and smiled. "How can I help you?"

"I have a reservation?"

"Name?"

This had taken some creativity on her part. Truthfully she had no desire to be found, and knew her usual alias - Kate Jones - would have been a dead giveaway. With her tracking device, the CIA could find her, and that was more than enough for her. "Anne Vaughn," she answered. The name wasn't very creative, but she wouldn't mind being called Ms. Vaughn for the next three days, and Anne *was* her name. After all, didn't a middle name count as a name?

"You're in room 57." The receptionist smiled brightly and handed her the keys. "Will you be paying by check or credit card?"

"Cash, actually," she explained as she signed in. Given her disappearance, her checking account and credit cards had long ago been discontinued. Still, Jack Bristow had been wise enough not to touch his daughter's savings and transferred all her money from her checking account into the savings account.

"Well, you can pay at check out," the girl explained. "If you need anything, the number for the desk is right on the phone, along with room service."

"Thank you," she smiled and handed back over the clipboard.

"Enjoy your stay in Santa Barbara!" the receptionist called out as she got into the elevator and headed towards her room.

A beautiful king-sized bed sat in the middle of the room and a generic impressionist painting hung over it. There was a table with two chairs in the corner of the room, and a beautiful view of the beach. This wasn't exactly what she'd originally had in mind, but she was finally in Santa Barbara.

The mattress was the most comfortable thing she'd ever felt. Whatever composed the comforter was soft and felt safe compared to the stiff, aged, soiled comforters she was used to seeing in hotels. One of her little quirks was her need to unpack her suitcase, regardless of whether she stayed for a day or a month. With her task accomplished she changed out of her clothes. Even though she'd only dressed that morning, the clothes felt dusty and uncomfortable after her cemetery visit and a prolonged car ride. As soon as she was changed, she grabbed her map and was back out the door.

Her first stop of the afternoon was the Santa Barbara Zoological Gardens. The Zoo was a stop she'd debated over since she'd begun her drive earlier that morning. Eventually she decided to go, just as she had planned. On that weekday it wasn't particularly crowded, just a few sparse groups of school children that she noticed upon her arrival. There was much more there than she remembered, and she took her time studying not only the animals, but the wondrous looks on the myriad of children that passed by her. Something wonderful and innocent could be recaptured when you entered the zoo. You could swear a monkey winked at you or a snake purposely ignored you without being insane. The mind, the imagination was free to roam. Everything was beautiful and despite the fact that they were being observed, the animals were at peace.

At the end of her nearly three-hour stay at the zoo, she ended up in the gift shop. Children begged for things they'd otherwise never want and certainly never need. Sydney smiled and remembered the days when her parents would take her there and she'd be just like those children. Irina and Jack were horrible at saying no to her - even in her formative years, Jack was distant but indulgent. All memories of her childhood stopped when her eyes landed on a stuffed giraffe. Instead, memories of a supposedly long-ago conversation filled her mind. Plans were made to visit the zoo, to visit Santa Barbara together, their very first trip as a couple. She purchased it minutes later without hesitation, not caring that it was nearly thirty dollars for an otherwise plain plush giraffe.

She bought a hot dog from a vendor and sat on the zoo's massive lawn, struck by how alone she was. Everywhere she looked there were families, even young couples with babies in strollers, enjoying an early dinner. She swallowed her tears as she finished her hot dog. This was Santa Barbara, she was finally there, but this was not how she had wanted to see the city. Conscience of the large groups of people, of the children and families that surrounded her, she quickly returned to her car. It wasn't until a half-hour later, alone on her hotel room bed, that she cried. The tears fell for the trip they would never take, for the child they'd never have… for the best friend she'd never get back and for the naiveté that Will would never have again.

That night she stared blankly at the television, watching a Drew Barrymore movie on cable and eating a cold chicken sandwich courtesy of room service. When she'd passed by her window she'd clearly seen the government issued car in the parking lot and the agents who were observing her at all hours. During the course of the movie, during laughter that sounded bitter to even her own ears, her anger slowly shifted to sadness. One of the worst aspects of growing up - and she believed you were *always* growing up, regardless of your age - was acceptance. Acceptance had never come easily to her and she knew better than to expect that it would now.

Rays of sunlight splashed into the room through the curtains the next morning. Sydney rolled over on the large bed, the sound of a phone ringing, barely connecting to her brain. Lazily she reached over and picked up the phone, uncertain of whether or not she'd requested a wake up call. The night before had been a blur, she wasn't sure either way. "Hello?"

"Hi." Sydney sat up in bed but made no attempt to reply. "Hello? Sydney?"

"I asked for a few days," she reminded him. "I really didn't want to be found."

"You didn't call Jack last night, he got worried, so he asked me -"

"He asked you to what Vaughn? I have half the damn CIA outside my hotel window and the other half tracking me because of this thing on my ankle. I told Kendall and my father I needed a week to settle things. I've lost two years of my life, isn't that enough?"

"Damn it, stop making me the bad guy everytime I try to -"

"Try to what, do your job? I'm sorry they sent you to Hong Kong to explain, but your job is over. I'm no longer your problem."

"Syd, I didn't mean it that way," he sighed.

In a controlled voice she spoke, "Let my father know I'm okay and I'll call him later. Thank you." She then promptly hung up the phone.
Santa Barbara was a beautiful place to escape her life. Part of her motives for visiting the beautiful city was to escape, to go somewhere where people didn't look at her oddly or sympathetically, where she could blend in . The beaches were beautiful and there was plenty to do. She even allowed herself a slight release in shopping. Her mind reasoned that after two years of storage, who knew what type of condition her wardrobe would be in. After that thought, it didn't seem so bad to purchase nearly a full new wardrobe. Then she made a quick stop at the hotel to shower and change. Arts & Letters Cafe was her destination for a late lunch/early dinner and she was able to eat without feeling alone.

The Santa Barbara Museum of Art was a nice way to spend a late afternoon, passing by the artwork, along with occasional conversation with strangers. Art was something that had fascinated her as a child, the color and the design, and she enjoyed it again as an adult. Origins and cultures represented in the museum were vastly different. There was European and Asian work, ancient and modern, photography and antiquities. Still, all were beautiful in their own way. The design and beauty allowed her to briefly escape her life, to forget that she was still Sydney Bristow, the woman who'd lost two years.

Sydney's second and last complete day in Santa Barbara was beautiful. One thing she'd been blessed with was beautiful weather and a general lack of crowds. Just as she'd promised Vaughn, she'd called her father a few times a day to let him know she was okay. While the practice was one she hadn't used since high school, she was willing to do whatever she could to ease Jack Bristow's worries. Up bright and early, she used the map to head towards her destination and spent the morning horseback riding. She'd ridden when she was younger and had enjoyed it. There was a peace between the horse and jockey, and the smell and feel of the Santa Barbara air around her was rewarding.

At sunset she boarded a two-hour cruise. As the guide provided a thorough, friendly analysis and explanation of the whales and the general area, she looked around and pondered what could have happened if she had gone there two years ago with him. The views were beautiful and the smell of the ocean air was not found anywhere else on earth. Next to her an elderly woman eventually drew her into a conversation on general topics. Sydney did more listening than talking. What she discovered was that Gray Davis was somehow still governor, and George W. Bush still president. The LA Lakers had lost the 2003 NBA playoffs but gone on to win in 2004 and 2005 - a fact very important to the grandson of the woman next to her. When she'd cautiously mentioned the Kings, the man across from her eagerly jumped in, detailing the hockey teams unsuccessful attempts to assemble a successful team over the past few seasons.

She departed Santa Barbara the next morning, hesitant to return to the real world but aware that she had to. During the ride she thought about Francie, about Will, and about how lucky she'd been to have them in her life. People went their whole lives without finding friends like that. Still, she'd stumbled upon them, in the midst of lies and espionage, and held on tightly. The nearly decade-long storage of memories she had with Francie would now have to last her the rest of her life. The days would still hurt, waking up and knowing that she'd never see Francie laugh at Will or gush over Kobe Bryant. Never again would she insist that Sydney needed to come down to the restaurant to try out a new recipe, or to come home to spend an entire weekend watching Ewan McGregor movies. Yet she'd always be there. Perhaps she'd romanticize the good and overlook the bad, but who didn't? In every good part of her, Sydney was certain she'd always be able to find a tiny part of Francie as well.

Will remained, her steady, supportive rock. While she'd been the driving force behind his wobble from grace, the friendship they had was still intact after two years. He'd be there and would understand in ways that no one else could. The words he'd spoken a year - three years before, she instantly corrected herself - had stood true. Their friendship was the encompassing definition of what a real friendship should be. He loved her, no questions asked, and the love she felt towards him extended the same way. Their bond had survived through good and bad, and there was no evidence to suggest it would ever falter.

Many mysteries still remained, and might remain for the rest of her life. Hypno-regression therapy and counseling would help her regain and piece together her memories. Still, the best CIA agents might never discover where Arvin Sloane and her mother were, or just what they were trying to achieve. The lab was still looking into more of her medical results, to find out whether or not she'd ever actually had a child, a concept that terrified her. When Jack had pointed out that she had no stretch marks, Doctor Nichols had feebly remarked that there were techniques to do away with such things if necessary. The most important question was *why*? Who would want to take her away for two years? Wouldn't Sloane use her a pawn and contact the CIA to get Sark back? Instead there'd been nothing, no contacts or signs, and still no answers as to why.





Sydney arrived back at her father's house late Sunday afternoon. Rose directed her to the back deck, taking her bags and insisting that she go see her father. The screen door slid silently open as she stepped out and saw her father out there, staring out at the lawn and the start of the sunset. "How was Santa Barbara?" he asked, not bothering to look at her as she joined him.

"Beautiful," she smiled.

"Thursday the thirteenth," Jack informed her of the directions as he adjusted the wheelchair so he could face at her.

"Excuse me?"

"Kendall booked you an appointment for Thursday at one with Doctor Vaughn."

The smile disappeared as she pursed her lips. "I see."

"Doctor Vaughn is also suggesting that you and Agent Vaughn have a joint session in the near future, to discuss the medical team's…" he searched for a word. "Their findings."

All she did in response was silently nod. "Would you like to go to the movies?"

Jack's eyes searched hers curiously. "Pardon me?"

"The movies. It's been years - literally - since I've been to the movies," she joked as he cracked a hint of a smile. Sydney's ability to joke about her ordeal could only be taken as a good sign. "I don't want to just sit around here. We haven't done anything together, other than eat dinner, in a long time."

She watched her father's mind at work for a moment before he nodded. "Let me go inform Rose that we won't be eating dinner," he called as he wheeled himself into the house.





The order made its belated arrival on Michael Vaughn's desk Sunday afternoon. Becky had plans to go out with her mother that day, so he'd taken the opportunity to go get some extra work done. With Sydney's reappearance came a large amount of work. Analysts were working double overtime, researching *everything* they could find that could be construed as new evidence. In this new assignment, he and Jack Bristow had been put in charge of reviewing the evidence and the excruciating process of putting it together. The new pieces were miniscule with jagged angles, seemingly impossible to match up and make sense of. There was a bigger picture there, the entire team knew it, but it was difficult to find it when the pieces were all in shards of glass in a pile of hay.

He'd been finishing up on his latest debrief when an ambitious intern dropped a folder onto his desk and then carried on her merry way. When he examined the contents of the file he was barely able to contain his outrage. Any thought of continuing his other work went out the window. This was pressing, and his anger was rising. He'd hurried through the remainder of his work before he went home.



Michael picked up the ambrosial scent of the evening's dinner from the hallway. The steps were deliberate as he approached the familiar door, shot his keys in the lock and entered. From the kitchen he heard her scramble to turn down Bach and her distant voice calling her greeting. Vaughn sidestepped a sleepy Donovan and tossed his coat over the sofa before he entered the kitchen. "I told you I had no interest in discussing Sydney's pregnancy or disappearance with her in a joint session."

Becky looked up from the stove to calmly meet his gaze. "You received my recommendation?"

"Suggestion? Damn it Becky, Kendall's going to sign off and it's going to become an order! I asked you to not pursue this and you did it anyway!"

"You both need to talk about this -"

"We will!" he snapped. "There's no need for us to discuss it together, to dredge up memories that have no point in being brought up. You had absolutely no right -"

"I had every right Michael, it's my job."

"Then you should have told me," he hissed. "When did you complete the recommendation? Friday? You've known about this and yet you chose not to tell me."

"I thought we had an agreement not to discuss work at home."

"This is different! This is not about two separate cases we're working on, or someone else's patient-client privilege! This involves *me*! My life!"

"Michael I don't want to upset you, but I also think that perhaps you should be reassigned."

"Excuse me?"

"You're close to this case, everyone knows it. They let you and Jack Bristow remain on this case because you're both superb at what you do. Still, I think you're starting to lose your objectivity."

"Objectivity?" Becky watched his eyebrows rise as he impatiently waited for her response.

"Yes," she nodded. "You've lived and breathed this case for nearly two years. Yes, you've been assigned to work in other areas but you've still always found time to do unsanctioned work to find Sydney. Even when you thought you'd just find a body, you never gave up looking for her. Your determination is one of the things I admire most about you, but I don't want to see you hurt because of it."

"Both you and Kendall can reassign me else where but I will find some way to be a part of this investigation," his voice was low as he gave his warning.

"Yes," she sighed. "I know, which is the only reason that I'm *not* going to recommend you be placed elsewhere. I'd rather know where you are and that you're in danger than to have to worry about where you'd sneak off to," she conceded. Michael grinned his thanks as she took his hand. "You're getting too old to be doing this," she worried. Absently she ran her thumb over the top of his hand while his grin disappeared.

"Jack Bristow was in the field well into his fifties."

"Look where that got him," she pointed out. "Michael -" she started as he dropped her hand.

"I'm thirty seven years old and I've been with the CIA for over a decade. When I started there… my father's case was the only case that really mattered to me." The desperate undertone was obvious in his soft-spoken words as she nodded. "This case… this case is more personal to me. I was eight when I lost my Dad, but I never blamed myself. This time, I blame myself."

"Michael, you can't -"

"I can," he stopped her. "A damn debrief that I could have rescheduled or not gone to. I should have gone into that house that night. I never should have let her get out of that car. Hell, I was practically living with Francie's double, I should have known… I should have done something different…" he trailed off, the tears welling in his eyes.

Silently, she took his hand again, her thumb once again soothing the top of his hand. Cautiously she rested her head against his chest, the rest of their bodies untouching. Becky could imagine his eyes shutting, his mind racing with so many 'what ifs' that it would take a lifetime to list them all. "It's okay," she whispered to his solid form. "It's going to be okay," she vowed as she felt a tear splash down onto the crown of her hair.

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A/N: So, what do you guys think? Let me know - your reviews, e-mails, etc., really do make my day! Oh, yeah, if you live in Santa Barbara and I'm totally off, I'm very sorry - I live in Connecticut, I've never been farther west then Ohio. Hey, the Yankees won (whipped their butts) last nigt & Derek was 1-4 in his minor league game! yay!! oh, and mere days to the WNBA season!! okay . . anyway, please review :) You guys are the best.