A/N: thank you to susan for betaing. :)

Thank you to:

leo's l'il sista: thank you! And I'll definitely look into your fics :) hehe… I like the title of the second one ;)

Brynne: hehe… I can't say whether or not Vaughn is alive… I mean… by all means… he's dead … or is he? But then… didn't he die in that first chapter? Wasn't Sydney going to his grave a year later (in the prologue?) ? hehe… this story is primarily to provoke thought… and to become more… broad in ideas of beliefs… (I know I sound New Age, I'm not though). Où êtes-vous? Means "where are you?" just a little French lesson here: Où= where. "Vous êtes" is the plural form of "you are" for être, to be. The inversion of the verb and subject would result in a question ;)

valley-girl2: you have no idea how much I smile when I read your reviews ;) hehe… there's actually only 15 chapters to this story… + epilogue (once I get around to actually writing it)… lol… of course I'll update it everyday… this is my one almost-completed work! :) guys that cook… I wish that really happened in my life ;) enjoy this chapter!


I know this sounds crazy… but please also read my other work! Okay… stopping my pleading now…


Chapter 4

December 19, 2004
Los Angeles, California
Sydney's and Vaughn's house
9:46 AM

Sydney let her eyes slowly peel open. Her eyelashes had crusted over with residue from her tears. She'd woken up two-and-a-half-hours earlier. Just lying there staring at the flowers and letter. It had been a horrible morning so far. Someone has been inside my house. Someone has been close. So close that he or she was able to place the flowers just inches away. Someone who signed it as "Your Guardian Angel." Someone so much like Vaughn. Writing sweet nothings, memories, love letters. But it couldn't be Vaughn… he is dead. Dead… leaving me nothing.

She clutched at her ring hanging from the chain clasped securely around her neck.

Je veux.

She wanted to close her eyes again and let the darkness seize her. Capture her until she could no longer breathe light. Only darkness. Instead, she closed her eyes and regulated her respiratory pattern. Slowing down. Her breathing was decelerating, making the heartbeat just a bit slower. Calming herself so that she could open the letter, read it, and not become hysterical. She started to reach for the letter. Every centimeter crossed felt like a year passing by.

Je désire.

She grabbed the corner of the white sheet and brought it closer to her body. She prepared herself for the tears that she knew would come.

Je souhaite.

She opened the folded sheet and started to read.

Mon ange, mon amour,

Always remember—

And then the telephone rang. It was an ominous sound, echoing in the corners of the bedroom. She dragged herself out of bed and walked across the room to the telephone. Picking up the receiver, she answered with a "hello?"

"Sydney? This is Weiss. We need you down here at the Task Force building."

"Why? Can't it wait? I only got back yesterday."

Silence was all that she heard. Only embellished by a punctuated sigh from Weiss a few seconds later.

"I didn't want to say this over the phone…"

"Why not?" Her voice was taking on a hopeful quality. Too hopeful for Weiss' liking, knowing that danger and heartache was only going to ensue later.

"We have Sark."

A telephone receiver fell to the ground.

J'espère.

~*~*~

December 19, 2004
Los Angeles, California
Joint Task Force Building
10:59 AM

Sydney all but ran into the main room of the building. It looked the same as it always had. Surveillance equipment and video was up and running. The many desks placed there were littered with paperwork that still needed to be completed.

She spotted a bald head glaring off light. And right next to him stood Weiss and Jack.

"Where is he? Where is Sark?" she demanded when she arrived at where the group was stationed.

"He's dead," Jack replied solemnly.

"What? How?"

"It was suicide."

"How? Aren't you supposed to be watching them?" she pressed.

"He had a cyanide capsule. We didn't realize it was located on his back molar. It was small. The smallest I've ever seen. But it was concentrated, really pure, 10 molar pure. Killed him instantly," her father said, shaking his head.

"Doesn't matter anymore. He gave us all the information we needed. He would have been dead before the day was over anyhow," Kendall interjected.

Sydney was getting confused. "Why would Sark wait long enough to give us all the information we need? Why not kill himself right when we caught him?"

"We pumped him full of a truth serum similar to LSD right when we caught him. He was too delirious and too occupied with spitting out information to set the capsule correctly," Weiss answered. "He only killed himself later in his holding cell when the truth serum denatured. Although, something kind of weird happened with the body after the death. It's mangled."

"Mangled?"

"Well, it seems as if the truth serum and the cyanide he used didn't work well together. The serum must have catalyzed a sort of chemical reaction in his body. But it doesn't matter anymore. He's been buried."

He was partly responsible for Vaughn's death. He was the one who contacted Anna. One down, two to go.

"What information did he give us?"

"We know where Irina and Sloane are," Kendall paused for a minute, uncertain about going on. He then carefully and hesitantly said, "He gloated about Agent Vaughn's death. How Anna was contacted. How she was paid. How she enjoyed it. He was talking about the baby too."

He probably was watching it eat away at me. He was probably laughing his head off watching me die. Don't feel. Don't feel. Don't think. Don't think. Just do.

They were all staring at her. Wondering how she was going to react to the news. The world around her was becoming blurry. Dizzy. Tears were blinding her. No, not tears. Blood. Blood from Vaughn and her.

I'm so sorry Vaughn. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. It was all my fault. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…

~*~*~

December 19, 2004
Los Angeles, California
Sydney's and Vaughn's house
4:03 PM

Walking into the house was hard. Going through the hallway was like a long march to the scaffold. Finally in her bedroom, she lay down. Is life really worth living? Is it? I don't want to live without him.

She reached out for the rose and lily. They were shriveled up, desiccated. Dead.

The letter… Where is the letter?

Looking around the bedroom, turning up sheets, pillows, the mattress. She couldn't find it.

It had disappeared.

Je veux. Je désire. Je souhaite. J'espère.