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.
Authors Note: Well . . . I DID work on The Lightkeeper & TN, but what do you want from me?!! Yell at the muse! I was going to take a break. My muse, however, did not.
As Linda put it, 'the chapter that just wouldn't wait....'
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With Friday evening traffic, it took Sydney nearly an hour to return to the CIA headquarters. Of all the things Kendall could have told her, that was the least expected. There'd been no activity, no sightings of Irina Derevko. The few leads they had were centered around Sloane and Sark. On the drive back, she tried to establish what ulterior motive her mother might have and what potential betrayals she might have up her sleeve.

As she stepped into the task force center she wasn't surprised to see Will and Vaughn, both quickly walking towards her. "Is it true?" Will asked, clearly out of breath as he arrived at her side.

"Kendall wouldn't lie about this," Vaughn shook his head.

"Why would she do this?" Sydney looked at them. "She's betrayed us, she has to realize the CIA isn't going to trust any of her Intel."

"Your mother's only request is to see you," Jack spoke as the three spun around to see him.

Kendall joined them moments later. "Your mother claims to be unaware of your whereabouts over the last two years. She's claiming that she cut off ties with Arvin Sloane two years ago and has been looking for you just as vigorously as the CIA."

"We obviously can't believe anything she says," Jack added.

"We're still going to use her for all she's worth," Kendall insisted. He then turned his attention pointedly to Sydney.

"You want me to talk to her."

"It wouldn't be difficult to imagine you'd miss your mother Agent Bristow. It has been two years."

"My mother is a traitor, and you're referring to two years I don't even *remember*," she was quick to remind him.

"You've stated on repeated occasions that you don't feel your mother was involved. Are you now changing your opinion?" he challenged.

"Sydney's allowed her opinions, no matter what they may be," her father spoke before she could formulate a response.

"She still has a job to do, and if seeing her mother is part of her job then that's what she will do."

"I'll go see her," Sydney sighed.

"The guards are expecting you," Kendall nodded. With a last glare at the Assistant Director, she breezed by the four men and headed towards her mother's cell. In her mind it felt as though just a few months had gone by since she'd walked the path to the guarded cell, but she was mindful of the two years. As she walked by, she noted people would pause to give her a second glance, and sometimes stop their work altogether. News of Sydney Bristow's return had spread fast and she had become bona fide CIA attraction.

The click of the gates was louder than she remembered, and the chill in the air weighed heavily on her already weary body. She calculated the click of her heels as she approached her mother. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Irina stop her pacing and turn at the sound. The look of relief on her features was so sincere that Jack, observing with Kendall, Vaughn and Will from the ops center, almost believed it.

"Sydney," she sighed the name like a melody. The two women were only separated by the glass as they took in the sight of one another. Despite the river of anger and doubt that would always flow, both were eager to assure themselves that the other was all right.

"The CIA believes you know where I've been the last two years."

"If I knew, don't you think I would have had you with me?" her mother's eyes widened.

"Tell me you have no idea where I've been for the past two years."

"I told Director Kendall - "

"Tell *me*," she demanded.

"Sydney you *have* to believe me. Sloane and I ended our relationship before I spoke to you last. I've done nothing but look for you for the last two years…"

"What did he do to me?"

"I don't know," Irina said as her head shook. "You are what Rambaldi prophesized, but I don't know when or even if Sloane realized that."

"What would he need me for?"

"Everything about Sloane ties back to Rambaldi. Since Emily's death, his entire life has been consumed by the process of understanding that man. It's seductive Sydney, the riddles, his clues…" she trailed off at her daughter's stony look. "He was putting together the artifacts, building what Rambaldi had written about. The only thing I can think of is that he realized he needed you to make it work."

"Why me? Why not you?"

"*You* are the woman Rambaldi referred to Sydney, not me."

"Then why take away two years of my life?" she snapped. "Why do this to me?"

"I don't know!" Irina protested. "If I had wanted you with me, I could have taken you when you were six," she reminded. "But I couldn't take you away from your life then, from your friends… from your father," her voice dropped an octave at the mention of Jack. "I couldn't do that to you when you were six Sydney, I certainly wouldn't have done it to you two years ago! You are my *daughter* and whether you ever believe me I *do* love you. Nothing means more to me than you. It took me many years to understand that, to realize that this search to understand Rambaldi would never mean as much to me as you do."

The younger woman crossed her arms and glanced down at her shoes. Irina looked just as she had for most of her imprisonment, the traditionally issued unisex pants and shirt. There was nothing feminine about it, but even Sydney had to admit her mother still managed to scream appeal from her veins. After only a quick look, there was no question how she'd duped as many people - especially men - as she had.

"Why turn yourself in again?"

"I spent two years looking for you. I have connections; people who talk to me won't talk to the CIA. All I've done for two years is try to find my daughter."

"While dealing in blackmail, weapons and murder," Sydney accused in a low voice.

"If necessary," she agreed. "You *are* my daughter. I couldn't accept that you were dead Sydney. As your mother… I would have known if you had died," she softly spoke. "Then I found out that you were alive. That you were here, in Los Angeles, working with the CIA… I had no other option than to turn myself in, to see my daughter again."

"You've used me as a ploy before."

"I have nothing to gain Sydney," she pleaded. "Sark escaped and went back to work with Sloane. If you look you'll find I used every resource I could to look for you."

"Why not turn yourself in when I disappeared? Work with the CIA?"

"They would've kept me in this cell, I wouldn't have been of any use," she dismissed. "There are people I know, contacts, organizations who will work with me, keep me informed, organizations that would *never* cooperate with the CIA."

"They're going to question you. They're going to want proof, and proof for your proof." Her voice was neutral but her heart was not. Perhaps she was a fool, certainly her father would think so, but what daughter didn't want to believe that their mother would sacrifice everything for them? She felt it was even more difficult for her, having lost the mother she adored at such a young age and spending the next two decades idolizing a mere illusion. Then her mother was there before her, once again whispering pretty promises into the core of her soul.

"The CIA is welcome to whatever they want," Irina stated easily.

"Okay," her daughter sighed. Finally she looked up and met her mother's gaze, the same eyes that greeted her when she looked into the mirror at night. "You should get some sleep. They're going to begin questioning you early tomorrow."

Irina nodded as a smile danced up her face. "Thank you for seeing me." The gates began to click open as Sydney turned to go. Halfway past the first gate her mother called out her name. "How is he?" Irina asked suddenly as her daughter returned. "Your father. I've often wondered how he's fared. I've heard… stories. How is he? I know about his… condition. Certainly your return has made it easier for him."

"Dad's fine," Sydney replied, tone neutral and her head bobbed slightly.

"Agent Vaughn? Your friends? Surely they're happy about your return."

As a mother, it was impossible not to notice the way Sydney's back straightened at the mention of her former handler. "I'm adjusting fine," she dismissed. During her lifetime she'd not been one to have many heart to hearts, especially not with her mother in the middle of the CIA, where anyone could be watching them. Still, her mother accepted this answer and again thanked her for the visit.

At the other end of the CIA the three men waited for Sydney to reappear. When she did, her _expression was one familiar to Vaughn and Jack. It was the look of a little girl still very much misplaced, silently clinging to the slightest hope that it was all a mistake, that her mother was the good-natured, loving woman she had once adored. By the time she met their gazes she had already straightened her chin, perfecting a poker face to envy even that of Jack Bristow's.

"Do you think she's for real?" Will asked as she shrugged.

"I have no idea," she sighed. She then met Jack Bristow's unwavering gaze. "Why would she do this?"

"Your mother's agenda is likely long-term. She's proven on numerous occasions that most of her plans are long-term in nature."

"What does she have to gain?" Kendall suddenly joined the conversation, looking at the three other agents expectantly. "There's been no movement from any of her known affiliates or contacts, no attempts to break into K-Directorate or the Triad."

"She admitted that she used murder, blackmail and weapons trade if necessary," Jack reminded them. "Just because she claims to have been searching for Sydney doesn't make her any less of a threat."

"Agent Bristow, what's your take on this?" the balding director asked her.

"I think we should see if she's telling the truth."

"There's no way to verify that Sydney. She could have forged evidence just to match her story," her father reminded her.

"Jack it's worth a shot," Vaughn insisted. "At this point she has no levity over the CIA. There's no strategic reason to turn herself in."

"No obvious reason," Jack corrected. "I've dealt with this woman for *decades* - she *always* has a reason."

"Isn't it possible she just wanted to see Sydney?" Will suggested.

"It's highly unlikely," the elder Bristow dismissed. "This woman's motives are never what they appear to be."

"This doesn't make any sense," Sydney sighed. "From everything I've read, there's been no movement inside her former organization since I disappeared. You haven't been able to tie *anything* to her. Everything tied back to Sloane's organization, which she's no longer a part -"

"We can't trust a word she says," Jack hissed. "This could be another orchestrated scheme to infiltrate the CIA."

"This woman appears to have nothing to gain," Kendall disagreed. "Sloane took possession of all forty seven Rambaldi artifacts before Sydney even disappeared," he reminded as Jack's face hardened. "You have to admit there is the slight chance that Derevko did turn herself in to see Sydney again."

"After all of the time you've spent observing this woman, how could you be naive enough to believe that?" Jack spat.

"Jack, I've seen you break CIA protocol on numerous occasions for Sydney's benefit. You've killed and blackmailed people. It's not totally out of the question that her mother would do the same thing," he pointed out. "Before she turned herself in to the CIA, her modus operandi had been to infiltrate and take over already organized syndicates to try to understand Rambaldi. For two years we haven't been able to attach her to *anything* similar to her former MO. Maybe," he shrugged, "Just maybe she's telling the truth. I'm not willing to let her out of that cell, but I am willing to verify her story," he decided. He then turned to the younger agents. "Mr. Tippin, Agent Vaughn, Agent Bristow, thank you for your prompt return. You're free for the weekend unless you hear otherwise," he explained as two of the men looked at Sydney.

"Are you going to start questioning her tomorrow?" Sydney inquired.

"They're putting together an appropriate team at Langley. This time we're not taking any chances or holding back any stops with your mother," he explained as she nodded. "As a result, we won't be able to begin our official questioning until Monday, but yes, we'll probably start talking to her tomorrow."

"If you find out *anything* about my disappearance -"

"You'll be the first person I notify Agent Bristow," he assured her. "Now, you're free to go, unless the three of you would like me to assign you work for the weekend."

"Then I'm definitely out of here," Will decided as Sydney nodded. "C'mon Syd," he turned towards his best friend as Vaughn watched carefully. "You'll follow me to the restaurant?"

"We won't be there for an hour with this traffic," she smiled. "I'll see you on Monday," she directed her next comment at Vaughn, who silently nodded, muttered a goodbye to Will and watched the two friends leave the joint task force together.


They didn't arrive at the restaurant until nearly seven in the evening. The sky was the color of dark velvet as a few diamond stars twinkled. Will quickly ordered them drinks and dinner, snagging them a quiet table on the crowded Friday night. The air around them was silent as they ate their dinner, and her plate was clear and her drink nearly finished by the time he spoke.

"You think your mom turned herself in for you."

Sydney sighed and looked up at him, "I don't know. I… I want to believe that, so badly, that she's not lying this time. Before I disappeared… She told me that she loved me, that her love for Dad and I wasn't a lie… She's my mother, and no matter how many times she lies to me, I can't help but want to believe her."

"Yeah, parents… mine are a real handful too," he teased as her smile grew.

"Your parents are great people," she insisted. Soberly she returned her attention to her plate and asked, "Do you think I'm being naive? Accepting her excuse so easily?"

"From the time we're little, we trust people. We depend on our parents for *everything* at first, so it's our first instinct to trust them," he reasoned.

"After all I've been through, you'd think I'd outgrow that."

"There's a chance that she just wanted to see you again Syd, to make sure that the reports weren't bogus… Your dad's right, no one knows her true motives. Still, she's there, isn't she? Like you said, you take the good with the bad. No matter what the outcome is, she's here now and she *is* your mother."

"In college I had wished I had your parents," she grinned.

"No!"

"Yes," she nodded. "They were great. They were there when you visited on holidays and your mom used to send those *great* care packages with brownies and cookies and even Blockbuster movie passes!"

"Don't forget the free coupons to McDonalds," he reminded her. "That's so weird because I always wanted *your* dad in college. He just sent money, didn't bother you at all, let you do your own thing. I was twenty five before I felt my parents actually trusted me that much."

"At the time I didn't view it as him trusting me, I saw it as him not caring."

"You don't think that now Syd, do you?"

"No," her head shook. "My father loves me. I think my mother loves me too. We're probably the most dysfunctional family in the world," she laughed. "They love me, they just don't show it the way most parents do."

"Anytime you want normal and boring you can have my parents. I mean do you remember when Amy dyed her hair pink for the first time?" he asked as she nodded. "My parents didn't even bat an eyelash. My mom even said it brought out the blue of her eyes. How crazy is that?"

"I'm not sure my father would have noticed if I dyed my hair in college," she laughed.

"Hey, Tuesday…" he finally recalled. "Do you want me to come with you to your regression session?"

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not Syd," he leaned across the table to take her hand. "If you need me, I'm there, you don't even have to ask. You're all I've got left." Sydney smiled and squeezed his hand, feeling a slight twang of guilt for all her presence had taken from his life. "I do need you to do me a favor though."

"What?"

"Obviously Friday's our second busiest night," he said as they surveyed the crowds. "I like to be here, to keep an eye on things. You know… I feel like I have to," he whispered as she nodded. This was what they could do for Francie, and neither would willingly fail her memory. "I have a date next Friday though. I was hoping you wouldn't mind coming here, closing up and stuff."

"You've got a date?" she teased with an amused smile. "Who's the lucky girl?"

"Her name is Stephanie."

"And?"

"And what?" he asked as she rolled her eyes. "Okay. She owns a pet store. I met her a few weeks ago. I ran into Tommy Crystal Meth - remember I think I mentioned him when I was still going to NA?" he asked as her lips smirked and she nodded. "Okay, anyway, she's Tommy's sister. We just started talking and hit it off. I'm not sure how the date will go, but I don't want to have to worry about the restaurant -"

"I'll take care of it," she assured him. "Consider it done. Although I want to know every little detail of this date on Saturday."

"You'll be the first person I tell," he promised. "You don't mind? I didn't know if you had any plans -"

"Will, I don't have any plans. I'll do it. It's fine," she assured him. "I'm going to go look at a place tomorrow in Sherman Oaks. Do you want to come with me, look for all the guy things I probably won't see?"

"You need help doing guy things?" he was obviously amused as her eyes rolled.

"You know, things that I won't know to look for, like plumbing and… termites," she cringed. "I hate bugs."

"You can knock a guy three times your size unconscious but a tiny bug scares you," he laughed.

"Will you come or not?"

"Sure. What time?"

"I'm supposed to meet the real estate agent at eleven. Is that too early?"

"I was a journalist Syd, I'm used to weird hours," he reminded her. "We can come back here for lunch afterwards. What's this place supposed to be like?"

"It's a condo, a small yard too. Two bedrooms. The real estate agent gave me the address and I drove by a few times. The complex is yellow with a stucco roof and ivy covering… It's a gated community, and there's a pool."

"Sounds great," he agreed.

"Looks nice," she shrugged. "My dad's still a little hesitant about the idea of my own place, but I haven't lived with him in so long that… I just feel like to really get past this, to move on, I need to be on my own again."

"Anyone who knows you Syd, knows you're going to pull out of this fine. It's the rest of us who need to worry," he smiled as they returned to their meals.









Upon inspection of the condo, Will had to agree that it was exactly what Syd was looking for. The distance was short from the new condo to her father's house, and only a short drive from the CIA. The ivy-covered building was quaint and her neighbors seemed nice. Plus, a massive bonus in Los Angeles, she had her own guaranteed parking space. Security was minimal, but he knew it was the best he could hope for, short of sticking her safely behind a massive brick wall and keeping her there forever.

Saturday evening Will accompanied Sydney to Dixon's. Sarah was a surprisingly sweet woman who bore little resemblance to Diane. Still, it was obvious that Dixon was very much in love with her, holding her hand and resting his arm comfortably around her shoulder. Even the kids seemed to be fond of her, although Sydney knew from experience that no one could substitute your mother. She learned more about Sarah as they prepared salad in the kitchen while Will and Dixon took outside to prepare the barbecue.

While his daughter was an adult, Jack Bristow couldn't fight the urge to stay up until she stepped inside the door. Over her warm mug of tea, Sydney caught her father up on the day's events. Together they talked about every little detail of the house, from the plumbing and electricity to the flowers that lined the walkway and rested in the window boxes. He then listened to her tale of her afternoon at Dixon's. Once they got over the initial awkwardness, Sydney found herself even liking Sarah. She'd even conceded relief, when on the car ride home, Will explained that he and Jack had done a background check on her too as things got serious. Jack's lips quirked, aware that he'd formed a habit of doing routine background checks on strangers. But after what had happened to his daughter, no precaution was foolproof.

Over Sunday morning breakfast, Jack attempted to tease his daughter about her suddenly blossoming social life. Not only was she out the door early that morning to jog with Will, but she had received an invitation to spend the afternoon with Carrie and Marshall. Even though the sight of Carrie's slightly round stomach would continue to cause an ache in her heart, she couldn't turn down their sweet offer.

The day went by swiftly but nicely. At Marshall's she met his mother and listened to at least half a dozen stories of young Marshall. Virginia Flinkman was a soft spoken but eloquent woman, intelligent but bubbly, very much an older version of the younger Mrs. Flinkman. That left Sydney to wonder if Marshall's father had been a sweet but awkward, bubbling wreck of nerves. Still, the day was nice. There were two years of stories to catch up on, and with Mrs. Flinkman she shared a nice conversation, relieved to talk to a woman who had no awareness of her difficult history.







Irina Derevko's unexpected return had left Vaughn and Sydney little time to see or speak to one another on Monday. When she arrived, her coffee was once again on her desk, but this time during lunch she passed by his desk for a few seconds to thank him. They were questioning her mother and thoroughly investigating every lead she offered them. Kendall had even dispatched a team to Switzerland and Amsterdam to pick up evidence and bank statements to verify what she was telling them. Despite her protests, Jack Bristow out-ranked her, and Sydney wasn't allowed to go on either mission. Over lunch even Will and Dixon agreed that it was far too early to put her in the field, especially on the chance her mother was weaving together an elaborate trap.

Tuesday morning passed quickly. After lunch with her friends in the cafeteria she approached the CIA cells. With the questioning she'd undergone the day before, Irina hadn't been in her cell when Sydney had gone to visit. That day however, the guard smiled at her and opened the gates. Kendall had been kind enough to let Irina have a book, pad and pen, and her mother instantly shut the book when Sydney came into sight.

"How are you Sydney?"

"I have another hypno-regression session in a few minutes," she explained. "You should know Kendall's sending teams to Amsterdam and Switzerland."

"Yes, I assumed he would," she nodded. "Everything will be where I instructed it would be."

"Did you give him the necessary codes and precautions the teams will need to take?"

"Of course. Sydney, if I don't cooperate now, the CIA will not be interested in an immunity agreement and they will kill me," she reminded her. Solemnly Sydney nodded, only partially assured that her mother knew all the risks involved. "What have you been able to discover with your therapy?" she asked as her daughter openly scrutinized her. "You don't have to tell me."

"Sloane took me. We don't know for how long, but that's the first thing I remembered."

"It doesn't surprise me," sighed Irina. "The *only* thing Sloane cares about is Rambaldi. The CIA cannot overlook that. If he *did* take you, it wasn't about revenge. He's too wrapped up in Rambaldi to care about anything else."

"The CIA's investigating every possibility," she assured her. "I'd just… Thank you for cooperating."

Irina's eyes were the same shade as the chocolate milk she used to make her young daughter, as her head tilted slightly. "I wish there was more I could do."

"I have to go," she explained as her mother nodded.

"Take care of yourself," Irina whispered as her daughter disappeared through the gates.







Michael Vaughn took a swift turn around the corner. According to his watch, unless he ran to the office, he was going to miss the beginning of Sydney's session. She hadn't asked him to come observe, and he didn't even believe she'd realized he was there before, but on the off-chance she asked for him he wanted to be on hand. There were worse ways to spend his mandatory lunch hour, he mused as he opened the door to the observation room and stepped inside.

Jack and Will turned to face him as he walked into the dim room. Walking in, he was surprised to see Agent Kerr setting Sydney up to the electrodes and his wife nowhere in sight. "Where's Becky?" he whispered to the two men.

"Your wife is no longer Sydney's therapist," Jack explained.

"Did Sydney request that?"

"She didn't say anything to me about it," Will shrugged.

Curiosity scratched persistently in his mind as to where his wife would be and what had transpired. The only thing that outweighed his need to know was the desire to be there for Sydney. Wherever Becky was, she was safe and comfortable, but he didn't know if the same could be said for the woman he watched being lulled into the regressive state.

During an agonizingly slow-paced half-hour, the three men watched her recount her ordeal. Kerr's soothing voice walked her through the process as it had two years before, when she uncovered the unpleasant truth about Project Christmas. This time, however, it was another horrifying account of her missing time. She recalled a few more visits from Sloane, in which he repeatedly threatened to harm more of her friends unless she cooperated. During one visit he had even explained that during Jack's captivity, he'd injected his former comrade with a substance that could cause partial if not complete paralysis, sometimes, even death. Sloane had threatened to track down Will and Vaughn, to inject them with the substance, and even gave her a detailed account of how Sark had escaped from Camp Harris.

By the time Agent Kerr brought her out of it, tears were once again streaming down Sydney's face. Her jaw had remained strong until she had to recount Sloane's description of what he had put in her father's system. Having worked with Sydney before, Agent Kerr had known when it was time to bring Sydney out of it, to quietly assure her it was okay and give her a box of tissues. Once she was composed, Kerr had slipped out of the room, the technicians taking off the electrodes as she walked into the observation room. "Agent Vaughn, why am I not surprised to see you here?" she greeted.

"Can we go see her?" Will asked.

"Sure," she shrugged. "I'm going to ask that she see Dr. Barnett on Thursday and I told her to call me next week to set up an appointment. With her mother's return, we're not sure if or when she'll be sent out on missions, no need to make an appointment that she'll have to break."

"Thank you Agent Kerr," Jack said with a straight face. Then he wheeled himself out of the room behind Will.

The remaining man sighed and collapsed onto a nearby stool. "You okay Agent Vaughn?" she asked, her smile pleasant as she made various notes on her clipboard.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he shook his head. "I just…"

"It's a lot to understand, isn't it?" she offered. "Agent Bristow's an extremely capable woman, and she compartmentalizes a lot. She'll process this, tuck it away and move on. It might not be healthy, but it's what she does and she's very talented at it."

"What purpose does Sydney serve to Sloane?"

"I don't know. I thought that was your area of expertise," she smiled.

"The only person who knows that answer is Arvin Sloane, and perhaps Sydney. Only time will tell."

"Time," he muttered under his breath. He then looked up and studied Agent Kerr carefully for a moment. "Agent Kerr, when were you assigned Sydney's case?"

"Yesterday. Why, is something wrong Agent Vaughn?"

"No, nothing," he dismissed and then walked out of the room.







This time it was Gershwin playing on the stereo when he arrived home. Becky either didn't realize or chose not to acknowledge his presence as he walked into the apartment. Instead she was busy in the kitchen, preparing whatever their dinner would be for the evening. After the day he'd had - he'd been unable to catch Sydney before she went home for the day - the last thing on his mind was food.

"Michael," she smiled when she saw him. "Everything okay?" Before he could respond, she turned down the music, wiped her hands on the dishtowel slung over her shoulder and looked at him.

"You took yourself off of Sydney's case."

"Not exactly," she conceded as she furiously scrubbed the small space of kitchen counter. After a few moments of trying to take out the aged stain, she sighed and looked up at him. Strands of red hair blocked her face, but her tired eyes were still visible. "I received my first official reprimand yesterday. Over a decade of service Michael, and now my file is worthless. An official reprimand signed by Jack Bristow and Director Kendall for 'inappropriate behavior' in the Sydney Bristow case."

"Becky," he said as he took a step towards her.

She held up a hand, stopping him. "They're right Michael. They're absolutely right. Treating Sydney went against every oath I made and treating you as my patient most certainly did as well. The ironic thing is I fought like a dog for that case, to be able to work with her… To try to understand," she shrugged. "I knew from the moment I took that case that I shouldn't have. I wanted to understand, to see who this legendary woman was. It should have gone to someone else. Someone less involved. I've worked with people who associated with terrorists Michael, some of the information I helped patients uncover under regression has led to arrests of some of the most dangerous people in the world… For some stupid reason I *had* to have this case, even though I knew it would be the death of me."

"An official reprimand isn't the end of a career -"

"I think I might want it to be," she sighed.

"What?" he sat down across from her at the kitchen table.

"I was thinking, maybe I should open a private practice. Better money, better hours, less stress… I always wanted to serve my country. I have now. I don't have to prove anything to anyone anymore Michael, and I'm getting tired of it. Of the lies and the secrets and the pain… I have enough of my own pain," she sighed. "I haven't made any decisions, but it's an idea. I've been assigned a few more promising cases. I'm going to stick around and see what becomes of them before I make my final decision."

Michael nodded before he reached over for her hand. "If you do decide to leave, the CIA will be losing a valuable asset. You're good at what you do Becky."

"That doesn't mean I should keep doing it. People are good at murder, at robbery, but that doesn't mean they should do it," she reminded him. "I'm not a kid anymore, I'm closer to forty then thirty and I don't know if I can keep this up. The pay sucks and I can't imagine anything being more emotionally draining. Damn it Michael, I actually *treated* you in a session… I *tricked* you into a session. That goes against every moral code in my body," she struggled to explain. "Sydney is an important asset in the CIA, an important part of what the CIA is trying to do, and my working with her is not in either of our best interests. What's best for Sydney, for the agency, and for you and I, is if I'm no longer a part of her case. Thank you for recommending me, for giving me the chance - anyone who comes in contact with her case gets recognition, you know that first hand," she smiled and squeezed his hand. "But I can't do it anymore. Kerr and Barnett are good at what they do, they'll help her."

"You're a good person Becky, one of the best I know," he whispered. With a teary eyed smile she shrugged and replied, "Thank you. I have to do this if I want to stay that person."

Michael took a moment to understand. Finally he nodded and dropped her hand. Slowly he stood and kissed her cheek. "I'm going to go take a shower."

"Okay." She wiped her tears and added, "Dinner will be ready soon," as he disappeared up the stairs.







Michael found himself unable to even look at his wife throughout the course of the meal, the implications of her words swarming through his mind. He'd quickly accepted that his recommendation of Becky for Sydney's case was a mistake, but he never imagined it would carry such a weight around her neck. Now she had an official reprimand in her records and he knew he was partly to blame. One lesson his mother had struggled to teach him, one he was still wrestling with, was how good intentions could pave the walkway to hell.

"I'm going to Linda's this weekend," Becky declared suddenly into the dead air. It was later that evening and they were sitting on opposite sides of the living room, he in his poorly aged lounger and she cuddled up on the sofa. Jeopardy! played out on the television as she sipped her tea, concentrating on her crossword puzzle as he attempted to answer Alex Trebek's mind teasers.

"Pardon me?" he asked glancing at her.

"My sister? She invited me to spend the weekend… I thought the time away might help me think."

"You're serious about your own practice," he realized as she nodded. "Do you want me to go up with you?"

"I'd like to go alone," she insisted. "Just some sister time. We haven't had that in awhile."

"I don't want you traveling alone when you're upset."

"I'll be fine Michael," she assured him.

"Will you be okay by yourself for the weekend? I'm sure Eric will keep you busy."

"There's probably a hockey game I could play in," he shrugged. Becky supported his desire to play hockey, but had never gone to a game and rarely watched the Kings with him. The sport was too violent and too confusing for her tastes, although she always asked how his games went when he returned home. Most nights, that left him with one extra ticket, one that he usually gave to Eric or Will, depending on the other man's (generally non-existent) social calendars.

"Do you want me to take Donovan?"

"I can handle my dog," he assured her. "When will you be back."

"Sunday afternoon. Work Monday," she reminded him. "I'll do some grocery shopping tomorrow so you'll have plenty in the house."

"I can do it -"

"Michael, I'll do it," she insisted. "I think I'll go take a shower and finish my crossword. Are you going to watch the rest of this?" she turned towards the television.

"I want to see who wins," he conceded. "There's a Kings game on in a half an hour too."

"You'll stay up and watch it?" she questioned as she languidly stood and stretched. Donovan only looked up briefly from his own resting-place at his master's feet.

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"Enjoy your game." She walked over, her hand on his forearm as she kissed the top of his head.

"Don't wait up for me," he called absently.

"I wasn't going to," she promised as she disappeared into their bedroom.