A/N – Hey, what happened to the feedback? :-{ Thanks to those that DID review but come on guys! I need some encouragement here – especially since the new season seems to be off to a rather slow, choppy start and is not doing much to "inspire" me. Well, I guess I'll just have to pull a "Sloane" on y'all and use good old-fashioned blackmail. LOL This is Part One of the conclusion. Parts Two and Three are written, edited and ready to go but I need some feedback before I post it. Yes, I am a wee bit evil, why do you ask? :-} Seriously, feedback would be appreciated. Part Two will go up in a week's time regardless.

[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts

*********Rome, Italy, Sloane's hideaway, May 12th, Early Morning**********

That had been the longest night of her life.

She was sitting in a windowless room, somewhere in the basement level of Sloane's house. She didn't know what the house looked like, where it was, or how many people were in it. She didn't even really know if it was a house, but it was a good guess that it was, from the sounds that she had heard.

She had had no choice but to obey Sloane. Especially when one of his guards had placed a threatening hand on Vaughn's shoulder, while another had slipped his hand inside his jacket as if reaching for a weapon. The message was clear. Put up a fight and Vaughn would have been killed. So she had given in, and had gone quietly with Sloane.

They had walked out of the airport, and to the waiting cars parked outside. Vaughn had been hustled into the second car while she had been placed into the first car with Sloane. Once inside the car, one of Sloane's guards had placed a blindfold on her and they had driven off.

They had driven for close to an hour before they pulled up at Sloane's hideaway. Then she had been ushered inside the house, or what she thought was a house, and then down several flights of steps before being placed into this windowless room that had a cot, pillow and blanket. There was an adjoining bathroom that had been expertly 'modified' so that anything that could have been broken off and used as a weapon or means of escape had either been welded shut, or removed.

And that's where she had spent the entire night. Except for a guard coming in a few hours after her arrival to give her some water and a sandwich, there had been no contact with anyone. She hadn't seen or heard about Vaughn since leaving the airport, nor had Sloane been in to see her.

She had been on edge for the first few hours of her captivity, anticipating an interrogation from Sloane, but as the time had passed, and she realized that neither Sloane nor anyone else would be in to see her, she had relaxed a bit. Which didn't seem to help her at all because that had been when the mass of jumbled thoughts in her head threatened to overwhelm her.

Did her mother set her up? How else would Sloane know that she was in Rome and at that particular time? But why? Why would her mother work with Sloane when she knew he had the Rambaldi device in his possession? And why would Sloane want to capture her again if he had let her go before? But why had he let her go before? Where was her father? Had her mother been lying when she had said that her father was with Sloane? And where was Vaughn? What happened to him? Had he been hurt?

And that's how it had gone all night. Question after question after question. And no answers. Each question just bred more questions to the point that she wanted to scream. She had finally collapsed on the cot in exhaustion and had slept. For how long she didn't know. But when she awoke, there were slivers of sunlight coming from the cracks in the door.

That had been a while ago. An hour or so she would guess and still, there was no sign of anyone coming to see her. She had finally given in and had eaten the sandwich, and had drunken most of the water. Now, she was right back to where she had been last night. Consumed by questions without answers.

Just then, she heard footsteps outside the door. She jumped up, instantly on guard and at the ready. She watched the door intently as it slowly opened. And then one of the guards from the airport last night came in. He looked at her for a beat before he said in a clipped voice,

"Let's go."

He stepped back from the door and indicated that she should precede him. She looked at him warily before she walked out the door. The guard, she noticed, was unarmed, and kept a safe distance from her. He also allowed her to walk ahead of him, every so often instructing her which way to turn.

[Well-trained. But what else would I expect from Sloane?]

She had been right. It was a house. A rather old one from the looks of it. But well maintained and elegantly decorated if the few hallways she walked through was any indication. She tried to catch glimpses of the outside as she walked by the windows, but she didn't see much more than trees and open field. Wherever she was, it was a remote location.

Soon, she found herself in front of a set of heavy, double doors. "Go in," instructed the guard.

She paused and took a deep breath before she pushed open the door and walked in. She found herself in what appeared to be a sitting room. There were a few antique-looking sofas in the room, a large coffee table, several armchairs. To one side was a buffet table that contained several dishes of what looked to be breakfast food, and large windows lined the wall opposite the double doors.

She glanced around the room quickly and saw that she was the only one in it. She turned back to the guard, thinking he would have other instructions for her but she saw the door closing and then heard a click as the lock was turned. Instinctively, she looked at the doorknob and saw that the door locked from the other side.

She sighed. Clearly, she was supposed to have breakfast here. The plates of food on the buffet table looked fresh, and some were still emitting wisps of steam. Yet the last thing she wanted to do was eat. She settled for pouring herself a cup of coffee.

She walked over to the windows and looked out. All she saw was a field of grass. To one side was a grouping of trees. As she suspected, the house seemed to be in a remote, hard-to-access, location. She glanced at the window. Locked. And the locks had locks. She tapped the glass. Reinforced. Even if she could use one of the chairs to smash the windows, the guards would likely be in the room, subduing her, before she managed to do enough damage to the glass to break out.

Just then, she heard the lock click on the door. Startled, she turned to see the door opening. Expecting either Vaughn or Sloane, she was shocked to see her father walk through the door.

"Daddy?"

Her father regarded her with a mixture of regret and happiness. "Hello, Sweetheart."

In an instant, she had slammed her coffee cup onto the nearest table and was running into her father's arms. "Oh my God! Dad! Are you okay?"

Her father held her tightly to him. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he whispered.

They held each other closely for several long minutes before he pulled away. He looked at her for several minutes more, saying nothing. It was as if he were memorizing every feature of her face. He touched her head gently. "I'm so sorry, Sydney."

"For what?" she asked, confused.

"For this. Bringing you here. It was too risky but your mother-"

"She betrayed us didn't she?"

Her father looked taken aback by her statement. "What? No. Sydney, your mother. . .she would never betray us."

"Well, how else do you explain Sloane showing up at the airport. It was like he knew I was going to be there. . .at that time, on that flight."

"He did know," her father said quietly. "But that wasn't your mother's fault. It was mine."

"Yours?"

Her father nodded as he moved to one of the sofas in the room, drawing her with him. They settled into the sofa, sitting close and facing each other. "How much did your mother explain to you?"

"Some," she said. She shook her head. "But none of it made much sense."

"But Rambaldi and the prophecy? Do you understand your role in that?"

She sighed. "Allegedly I'm the woman Rambaldi spoke of in his prophecy."

"Yes."

"But that-" She stopped and shook her head. Something in her still refused to accept that she was the woman in the ancient prophecy. "Dad. . .this. . .what's going on? Have you really been working with Sloane?"

Her father sighed heavily and turned to stare out the window for a beat. When he looked back at her, his face was composed in that legendary 'poker face' of his. But his eyes were brimming with unexpressed emotions.

"Sydney," he began, his voice both urgent and gentle. "Listen to me, sweetheart. There isn't a lot of time. You must believe this. You are the woman in the prophecy. And because of that, you are the only one who can stop Sloane."

"Stop him how? From doing what?"

Before her father could answer, the door opened again and Vaughn, unshaven, disheveled and exhausted, walked into the room. He saw her first and his eyes lit up. When he saw her father, however, his happiness quickly turned to confusion. "J-Jack?"

Without thinking, she got up and walked over to Vaughn and embraced him. He hugged her tightly. "Are you OK?" she asked.

"Fine," he whispered, slowly releasing her. "You?"

She nodded. "My Dad was about to-"

"Ahh, good," said a familiar voice. She turned sharply towards the door to find Slaone, dressed casually in a linen shirt and khaki trousers, smiling at them all. "Everyone's here."

She instinctively moved away from him as he walked into the room. He was still smiling that infuriatingly benign smile of his. "Have you tried the eggs? They're delicious."

Sloane glanced around the room, and when no one responded to his inquiry, he gave a nonchalant shrug. "Ah, well, I guess we can just get started then." He looked over at her father. "Jack, it's always a pleasure when you can join me here." He father made no response, only looking at Sloane with open contempt. Sloane chuckled softly. "It's a shame Jack. We started on this quest together. That was what brought us. . .and our families together in the first place. And here we are now, on opposite sides. . .fighting each other."

"It was never a quest for me," her father said calmly. "It was merely another mission."

"I don't believe that, Jack. You've been as obsessed with Rambaldi as I have."

"What you believe or don't believe doesn't concern me. My only concern here is-"

"Yes," Sloane cut in. "And I share that concern, Jack. Believe it or not. I too am concerned about Sydney."

"You son of a bitch!" she cried. "You're not concerned about anyone but yourself!"

Sloane regarded her impassively. "I understand your anger, Sydney. And I wish there had been a way to avoid this."

It took every ounce of control she had not to close the distance between them and to start pummeling him. She had never had such intense hatred for anyone before. Her emotions were so strong, so raw, that they nearly overwhelmed her. "What have you done to me you son of a bitch?"

"I helped you, Sydney." He smiled at her. "You could even say that I saved your life."

"That's a lie!"

"Is it?" He looked at her challengingly.

"If you've helped me in any way, it was only because it served your purposes!"

Sloane smiled at her before he went to the buffet to pour himself a cup of coffee. He took his time with his coffee cup, finally carrying over to a sofa and settling down. "You have great passion, Sydney. For your work, for your friends, for your family. And even for me."

She gritted her teeth, biting back the angry retort. "I'm gonna ask you again, what the hell have you done to me?"

"What? Your father hasn't filled you in?" He glanced over at her father briefly before turning his attention back to her. "Well, no of course not. There wasn't any time. But surely. . .surely Laura filled her in, Jack?" Once again, Sloane turned back to her father, a smile playing across his lips.

Her father remained expressionless and didn't respond. Sloane looked at him for several beats before chuckling softly. She could feel her anger building, as she watched Sloane 'hold court.' He was obviously enjoying their discomfort, their tension. . .their pain.

"Tell me!" she yelled.

Sloane turned to her, nonplussed at her outburst. "In time, Sydney."

Something snapped inside of her, and without thinking, she leapt across the distance between them, lunging at him with a ferociousness that was startling. She managed to knock him off-balance and they both toppled to the ground. In the initial confusion, no one reacted, so she had time to slam Sloane against the ground. Just once but with brutal force.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed. "Tell me what you did! Tell m—"

And then she felt strong arms wrap themselves around her and haul her off of Sloane. She fought wildly, her only instinct then was to get back to pummeling Sloane but she was no match, in her uncoordinated, blinded fury, for Sloane's disciplined and focused bodyguards. She was lifted off her feet, even as she kicked about wildly and then slammed into a chair. Hard. The impact stunned her, and she lost her fury-induced momentum. She heard the sound of cuffs being unclasped, and then felt the cold metal snap tightly against her wrist. She jerked her arm defiantly and was rewarded with a sharp pain as the cuffs strained against the solid wood of the chair's arm.

She cursed, and turned back to Sloane. He was being helped up by one of his guards. He looked completely unfazed and even smiled at her forgivingly. This, of course, only fueled her anger even more.

She uttered a cry of pure rage and again tried to lunge at Sloane. The cuffs and the chair jerked her back roughly. A sharp pain emanated from her wrist and she winced. She glared at Sloane, breathing heavily. Her expression, she knew, was one of primal rage. If there had been no one to stop her, she would have killed Sloane without a second thought. She knew it. . .and it scared her. This rage she was feeling. . .it was something she had never felt before. She had thought that the depths of her anger had been discovered when she had found Danny's bloodied body in the bathtub. But that was almost nothing compared to what she was feeling now. Her anger at Sloane, in this very instant, it was. . .overpowering her. She felt as if all she could do was to give in to it, despite the fact that she knew that by doing so, it would only lead to worse things. It was as if the anger, the rage, was in control now.

Sloane was still calmly adjusting his suit. She glanced at her father, who was looking at her with an expression she took to be concern, but yet, something else was mixed in as well. Something she couldn't quite read. She looked at Vaughn. He was staring at her in disbelief. She knew it wasn't disbelief at her actions, but at the emotions and intensity of her actions. He had seen her violent before. That was almost a prerequesite for his job as her handler. But she knew he had never seen her so wildly out of control before.

"Good." She turned to Sloane who was sipping a glass of water and smiling. "That was good, Sydney."

[What the hell? Did he just compliment me on trying to kill him? He's crazier than I thought!]

"Enough of these games, Arvin!" her father suddenly burst out.

Sloane regarded her father calmly for several minutes before he angled his head, as if tipping his hat. "You're right, Jack. It's time to end this. No more games."

She looked at Sloane, her anger dissipating and being replaced by fear. She had seen him like that before. Many times in fact. It was usually when he was about to order someone's torture or murder. It was Sloane. . .at his most ruthless.

Sloane took a last drink of his water, before he set the glass back down on the buffet table. He nodded to one of his bodyguards, who silently unclipped the sidearm from his holster.

She watched, panicked as the bodyguard handed Sloane his weapon. Sloane looked at the gun for a beat before he released the safety. He chambered a bullet calmly. He looked at the gun once more, and then over at her. They made eye contact for what seemed like an eternity.

So many thoughts were racing through her mind at that instant.

[That's it? He's just going to shoot me? After everything? That just wouldn't make sense. If he wanted to shoot me, he could have done that so many times before. Why the elaborate set-up? The missing years? The presumed time travel? Why would he. . .]

And then, she understood. It was as if the cloud of confusion suddenly parted and clarity was able to peer through.

[Oh my God! Oh my God! No! NO!]

"No!" she screamed, and resumed her struggling anew. She ignored the pain in her wrist as she yanked again, and again at the cuffs binding her clattered noisily. Her frantic actions caused Vaughn and her father to turn towards her. Up until that moment, they had been staring at Sloane and the gun helplessly.

"Syd, what are you-" Vaughn began before her father cut in.

"Sydney?" She heard the concern in her father's voice but she ignored him. She was focused on Sloane, who by now had raised the gun. Because both her father and Vaughn were looking at her frantic, but futile, attempts to free herself, they didn't see Sloane aim the gun first at Vaughn, and then at her father.

Her spy-trained senses noted that Sloane's bodyguards had moved outside the firing zone. She also noted that they had handcuffed her to a chair, also safely outside the firing range. There was nothing to stop Sloane from shooting now. And from the look on his face, she knew he had every intention of doing so. It had been his plan all along, she realized.

"NO!" she screamed, sounding completely panic-stricken. "Please! No!"

"I'm sorry, Sydney," Sloane said softly, pointing the gun steadily at his target. "It has to be done."

It seemed as if time slowed down then. There was the loud 'pop' as Sloane fired the gun. She watched, and for an instant, she could almost swear that she saw the bullet fly out of the barrel as if it too were moving in slow motion. The noise from the gunshot caused both Vaughn and her father to turn simultaneously towards Sloane so that when the bullet hit its target, it wasn't to the side, or from behind, but from the front. At almost point-blank range.

She watched, horrified, as the bullet struck. Its victim uttered a cry before crumpling to the ground, bloody and lifeless.

"VAUGHN!"

****I hate to do this y'all, but TO BE CONTINUED. . . . .:-)