Story: Once Upon A Time
Author: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net)
Disclaimer: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc
Rating: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such
Spoilers/Summary: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill
Distribution: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first
Thanks To: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!
Authors Note: Once again, deeply sorry it took so long to churn this chapter out. But I'm trying so very hard to perfect each and every aspect of this story. And so far, more than anything else I've ever written, I'm very proud of how this is turning out. Who said grand aspirations and dreams can't be fulfilled? Hee. Read & Review as always!
Chapter Three: Aftermath
The first three weeks after Sydney's disappearance had left both Michael Vaughn and Jack Bristow bleary-eyed from lack of sleep. They pushed themselves to work constantly, to shun sleep, to avoid not being busy. Both knew that sitting around doing nothing led to boredom, which led to thinking, and that was something they refused to do. Thinking would make them acknowledge that every millisecond gone diminished their chances of getting her back. (Safe. Alive.)
Michael had taken to staying inside the CIA building twenty-four hours a day. He'd even begun sleeping in his office. (Heaven forbid he not be there when news of his agent came through channels). People worried, continued to observe and comment upon his increasingly more obvious "emotional attachment." He hated that they couldn't call it anything else. But he knew, yes he definitely knew, that if any single one of them were to title his "attachment" (love), then he'd be forced from the case.
Eric, in the wave of guilt that had crashed over him in the aftermath of Taipei, was on patrol defending his friend against people whispering behind his back. How touching. As it was though, he'd had to forgive his friend (to an extent) because they all had one goal (okay, three). Bring Sydney Bristow back alive. And take down SD-6, and eventually the whole Alliance. After all, the CIA didn't think on small scales; it was always about the "big picture."
Jack, on the other hand, was putting in normal hours at SD-6. And keeping a very close eye on the one Marcus Dixon. Serious contemplation was being given to recruiting him. As it was, SD-6 had put a hit out on Sydney, after Sloane had decided that she really had been the mole all along. Ironically enough, he thought she'd been doubling for her mother's organization and had now been pulled out when it got too dangerous.
And when the "normal" day was over, Jack was either chasing down leads or slipping into HQ to rendezvous with Michael and the rest of the CIA agents assigned to the SD-6 case. Both caught sleep when their eyes got too tired to stay open, crashing on confiscated sleeping bags and folding cots, their minds too exhausted to dream. It was better that way.
Twice, they'd gotten leads on Derevko and had sent out retrieval teams, only to come back empty-handed. She was toying with them. They knew it. But they also knew they had no choice but to chase her to distant corners of the world in hopes of finding Sydney. Someday soon, someone would realize the futility of trying to catch that woman and would yank the strings on the operation. Or, maybe, Devlin would order Michael to accept one of the transfer opportunities instead of waiting until that shimmering someday when Sydney would be back.
It had now been 3 weeks, 1 day, 3 hours, 28 minutes and 53 seconds since Sydney had climbed into that car with Sark, guns being jabbed into her back to prod her along. Michael knew this since he'd set his watch the instant the door of that car had shut behind her.
"Mike," he heard a voice call from his doorway. He struggled to focus his tired eyes, to shift them away from the computer he'd been blankly staring at for who knew how long, to identify the person that dared to disturb him from wallowing in melancholy. Because didn't he have every right to? The woman who'd killed his father had abducted her own daughter, whom he happened to be in love with. Yeah, he had every right to throw himself as many pity parties as he wanted.
"Eric?" he questioned, finally focusing (somewhat) enough on the individual who'd now moved into the office and was daring to walk behind the desk.
"Yeah, man. It's me. Look. I know you don't want to hear this, but Mike, you gotta go home." Something flitted before Michael's eyes too fast for him to catch, but he knew it was the ever-present yo-yo. "You look about ready to fall over," he said sympathetically as Michael was finally able to focus on Eric's face and make eye contact. "Okay," he revised, "you look like shit."
"Gee. Thanks," he muttered, shuffling whatever papers happened to be sitting under his hands.
"I mean it, Mike. When's the last time you were home? Showered? Hell, when's the last time you put anything in you that wasn't coffee?" Eric's frustration showed in his tone of voice, his impatience, the string of curses he let out when the yo-yo fell.
Michael's face actually went blank as he tried to recall the last time he had eaten something. He just couldn't remember, so he shrugged.
"Ah hell," Weiss growled, shoving himself away from the desk and grabbing Mike's wrist to tug him out of his chair. "I'm taking you home. No arguments." And with that, Michael was unceremoniously shoved out of his office, and literally towed behind his wider friend down to the parking lot.
The door thumped quietly behind Eric as he settled into the driver's seat, the keys dangling from the ignition. Michael rose from his stupor enough to quizzically look at his friend, who was regarding him with a look of such infinite sadness that it nearly brought Michael to tears.
"You've got to let her go, Mike," he sighed, shaking his head gently. "You've just got to let her go. Continue like this, and soon you won't be much good to either Sydney or yourself."
"I know." Lonely, sad words of great magnitude, small in volume and size, but ready to take on the world. Because if there was one thing Michael Vaughn knew, it was this—loving Sydney Bristow would be the death of him. He didn't know if he would change it, didn't know if he had the willpower to do it if he could.
If only she was home. If only her mother wasn't "The Man." If only Taipei hadn't happened. If only he didn't love her for everything she was, his life would certainly be much less complicated. If only—
All the "if only's" in the world wouldn't change right now, and Michael knew that. Because it wasn't so much her being gone that bothered him. He knew Sydney Bristow was more than adept at taking care of herself. She'd been born to do just that. No, it was this uncertainty, the waiting, the worrying, the "if only's" that were killing him. Knowing something didn't stop you from hoping.
Forget taking Eric's advice and going to bed. Today, Michael thought he would prefer to take the opportunity to drink himself into a stupor.
**********
Jack Bristow was not a man that easily lost his grip on his signature self control. But at this moment in time, sitting in the chair across from his old friend Ben Devlin, gripping the armrests so hard he was sure they were about to crumble under his fingers, Jack was having a very hard time trying to reign in his temper. But he was well aware that now wasn't the time to lead a crusade, with bridges ablaze behind him. The Agency was his last hope, now that Sloane had turned against Sydney.
Although, things were not looking very good on that particular frontier.
"Jack, you know I just can't see using the resources, time, and manpower that it's going to take to hunt down Derevko and find Sydney. We've already had two failed missions, in which she purposely misled us. You even reported yourself that Derevko told us not to bother." He rocked back in his chair and looked at Jack contemplatively. He seemed to be wrestling with something, and after having apparently come to a decision he sat forward, hands folded neatly on his desk. "Now, Jack, we both know it's more than Sydney's disappearance that's got you in a bind. You mind letting me know what's really bothering you?"
Jack inhaled sharply, forcing himself to let it out in a long even breath. He also loosened his grip on the furniture, trying to compose himself. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong, Ben. What made you think there was anything wrong?" Jack couldn't bring himself so far as to actually look into his old friend's eyes. And that, Ben took as the definitive answer.
"Jack. It's just you and me. Friends, remember? Talk to me."
"I… I just—God." Jack released a pent up frustrated sigh. "Seeing her again. Ben, I loved her! And it doesn't just go away when you want it to. You don't just forget that you'd created a life with someone. And every time I look at Sydney… she just reminds me so much of who I thought Laura was. How I wanted things to be." Jack finally met Ben's eyes. "I don't want to lose all that again. I can't lose all that again!"
Irritation at himself welled to the breakable point and he jumped from his chair and began pacing the length of the office. Suddenly he stopped, whirled and stalked to the desk, braced himself on the edge and leaned over. "I spent twenty years of my daughter's life avoiding her because her resemblance to Laura frightened me. And I'll be damned if I let another opportunity to tell her I love her pass me by. Because… because if she dies now, at that woman's hands, she'll never know just how much I cherish and respect her, not only as my own flesh and blood, but as a woman in her own right. She won't know how proud I am to call her my daughter. Now. Is the CIA going to do anything to help me find her, or am I going to have to take things into my own hands?"
Ben's expression was troubled as he faced Jack, knowing that despite their friendship he was going to have to do his job. He stood, and as gently as he possibly could say, "I'm sorry, Jack I just can't authorize any more missions unless we have a good solid lead. It's too much of a risk."
"She's a valuable CIA asset, Ben! Does that mean nothing to you?!"
"Jack." He paused, purposely trying to choose his words as carefully as he could. "Yes, she's a CIA officer. And yes, her skills make her an asset to our organization. But facts are facts. SD-6 has turned against her, which no longer makes her a double agent. She may yet be valuable to us, but—"
Jack rushed from the office, the door slamming soundly behind him, before Ben could finish what he was saying. Wearily, Ben sank into his chair, depressed that once again, he'd had to choose between his loyalty to his country and to his friends. He picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary, who sounded a little startled herself, and asked for an extra strength pain medication and a glass of water. Suddenly, he had a headache.
AN: Please be so kind as to leave me wonderful little reviews! Oh, yes, and ya'll will be happy to know that chapter four has already been started. Hee. Maybe we can speed this up to more than a chapter a month, eh? lol