Title: Into the Deep
Author: Jennifer Campbell
Fandom: Alias
Spoilers: General season 2
Pairings: Sydney/Danny, Sydney/Vaughn
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: The show Alias and its characters belong to people with a lot more money than I have. Please don't sue.

Notes: I'm really excited about this chapter and I hope you enjoy it. While I was working on it, I put "My Immortal" by Evanescence on repeat (it set a good tone) and wrote for about three hours straight. Whew!

Thank you to my beta, Neptune, who offered some great suggestions to help make this better.

##

Jack tapped his fingers against his tightly folded arms as the elevator took him down at a crawl. Surely it ran faster than this yesterday. Maybe, he thought, it would have been quicker to take the stairs, despite the ache in his knee that had become a constant companion in recent years. The decades of service had taken a toll on his body, and not for the first time, Jack thought maybe the time had come to retire. But not today.

Finally the metallic doors slid open, and Jack stalked across the CIA office. More than a few people jumped out of his way when they saw the look on his face. He barely gave them notice.

Devlin wasn't in his office. Jack demanded to know where he had gone.

"He's in a meeting with Kendall," Devlin's secretary said, then yelled at him as he walked away, "He said he doesn't want to be interrupted."

"Too bad," Jack muttered under his breath.

He did have the courtesy to knock before entering Kendall's office, smaller than Devlin's but still a nice setup. The director and assistant director looked up at him from a map spread across Kendall's desk. They wore twin expressions of irritation.

"This is getting to be a bad habit, Jack," Devlin said. "Has it occurred to you that we might be discussing something important that doesn't concern you?"

"I apologize for the intrusion," Jack said curtly as he shut the door and walked over to the desk, "but this couldn't wait."

"What is it?" Kendall asked. "And it better be good."

"Sark is gone."

"He's what?"

"He's gone. As you know, the purpose behind sending Sydney away was to give me the freedom to deal with Sark without his threats to her safety hanging over my head. However, when I went to SD-6 this morning, I was told that he had vanished. Not even Sloane knows where he is."

Kendall gave him an appraising look. "But you think you know."

"I think we were set up. I think sending Sydney away is exactly what Irina wanted, and Sark is going after her."

"Do you have proof of this?"

"No."

Devlin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You are the one who told me that Sydney would be safer if she left. That taking her out of play would help you focus on finding Irina."

"At the time, I thought that was true. But Sark's disappearance right now, less than a day after Sydney and Vaughn left, is not coincidental." He set his palms flat on Kendall's desk and loomed over them. "I need to know where Vaughn took her. I need to contact them immediately."

"We don't know where they are," Devlin said. "That's what going undercover means."

"Then what are their aliases? I can track their passenger logs."

"I don't know, but the guys who put together their portfolios do. You can ask them."

Jack nodded and wasted no time in heading for the door.

"Jack," Kendall said.

He looked back.

"Don't let this distract you from finding Derevko. That is still the primary mission."

"I have a feeling," Jack said, "that if we find Sydney, we will also find Derevko."

#

The hotel room had only one bed. Sydney took cursory notice of the rest of the room upon entering -- it looked like every other one she had ever been in, no matter she had crossed the Atlantic to get here -- but that bed caught and held her attention. It looked normal enough. King-sized with a solid wood headboard and flower-print bedspread.

The bed itself wasn't the problem. What made her stand frozen in the center of the room, staring dumbly at the mints on the pillows, was the thought of sleeping only inches from a man who was not her husband. Not that she didn't trust Vaughn, but she never thought she would share a bed with anyone but Danny ever again.

If only Danny knew what she was doing, he wouldn't understand the necessity of it, of maintaining the cover to protect herself. He wouldn't understand any of this. Sydney wasn't sure she understood, either.

Vaughn shut the door and set their luggage by the television. He rubbed his chin, prickly with stubble after hours without a shave, and surveyed the room.

"I'll take the couch," he said in a tone that invited no argument. "You can have the bed."

Sydney knew she should let the arrangement stand. So she was surprised to herself saying, "Don't be silly. The bed is big enough for both of us."

He gave her a quizzical look. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." She gave him a tired smile. "You stay on your side. I'll stay on mine. It'll be fine. Besides, that couch is much too small for you."

He returned the smile. "All right. The bed it is."

She looked away, embarrassed by her offer and even more so because Vaughn accepted it. What was she thinking, really?

"If you don't mind," she said quietly, trying to mask her confusion, "I'd like to take the bathroom for a while. Freshen up."

"Go ahead. It was a long trip, so I understand."

"Thanks."

She rolled her carry-on behind her into the bathroom and shut the door. She set the bag in the bath -- because that seemed the only place large enough in here for her to open it -- and dug in for her toothbrush and clothes to sleep in.

The bathroom was small, but what it lacked in size, it made for in cleanliness, for which she was thankful. After slipping into sweatpants and a tank top, she turned on the water and started scrubbing the bad taste of travel from her mouth. Then she made the mistake of looking up. A decent-sized mirror hung over the white porcelain sink, framed in ornate gold-colored trim. She didn't notice that so much, though, as she saw the woman staring back at her.

She looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed in faint black circles, and the wrinkles that rarely were visible stood out with prominence. Her hair hung in dull, flat strands around her face, and her shoulders drooped with what seemed an enormous weight.

But those eyes. She kept going back to them. They bore a resemblance to her own but somehow were different. They looked older, like they had seen more than any person should. Surely this woman couldn't be herself. If Danny saw her now, he wouldn't even recognize her.

Sydney washed out her mouth and glanced up at herself again. Her vision started to blur, and she mercifully couldn't see her reflection clearly anymore. A tear fell down, and then another. She wiped at them harshly. She had no time for this self-pity, but the tears wouldn't stop. They streamed down one after another, until her cheeks and neck were soaked.

A choking sob escaped her throat as she sank to the cold tile floor. She pulled her legs to her chest, dropped her forehead to her knees and rocked as she quietly cried.

There was a polite knock at the door.

"Sydney, are you OK in there?"

She tried to answer but couldn't gather the necessary breath between sobs.

"Syd? Talk to me."

Still, she couldn't speak, but she couldn't leave him out there wondering, either. So she pulled herself up and opened the door.

"Sydney," he said softly upon seeing her. "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer. Instead she stepped forward and buried her face in his shoulder, and her body shook as he wrapped his arms around her. It felt good, that human touch and warmth, and she pressed herself against his chest as though she wanted to melt into him. One of his hands started stroking her hair, and that felt good, too.

"Shhh," he said. "It's all right. You're going to be all right."

He continued to soothe her, and slowly his words started to make sense. She drew a deep breath, and another, and the sobs quieted as she regained control of herself. Still, she didn't pull away, and he didn't stop whispering his assurances. He was her anchor, and if she let go she would go adrift again, lost in confusion and fear. So she clung to him. She never wanted to leave his embrace.

"Don't worry, Syd," he was saying. "Your father is the best agent I know. He will deal with SD-6 and your mother, and you will be home before you know it. I promise."

She felt something soft and warm against her forehead and realized that he had kissed her there. Part of her knew he shouldn't do that, that she should pull away now, but she didn't want this moment to end. His lips brushed her again, against her temple, and lingered a breath longer than was proper. He stroked his hand down her hair, across her back.

Sydney lifted her head from his shoulder, now wet with her tears, and looked into his eyes. What she saw there both scared her and stole all her resolve away. He caressed her cheek, and against her better judgment she closed her eyes and moved with his touch. He exhaled in amazement, and she looked up at him again.

Vaughn lowered his face toward hers. Her eyes drifted shut as their lips met in a tentative brush. Finding no resistance, he kissed her again. Her lips parted under his, and his hand, buried in her hair, pulled her closer.

God it felt good. Felt right. Sydney opened her mouth wider, and their tongues met and twined. She wrapped her arms around his neck. Yes, this was right. This was as it should be, but it wasn't enough. She needed more. More of him. Yes. Yes.

No.

She wrenched herself away from his arms, and she could only stare at him in horror. What had she done? How would she explain this to Danny? She had just betrayed her husband.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

Vaughn's eyes widened, as though he too just realized what they had done, and he backed away a step.

"Sydney, I am so sorry. I --"

"Don't," she said. For some reason, she didn't want him to apologize. It was an acknowledgement of wrongdoing that she didn't want to hear.

He regarded her in silence, the apology still plain on his face. She couldn't bear to look at him, so she dropped her gaze to the carpet.

"We should both get some sleep," she said.

"Yeah," he said after a pause, and she was thankful that he said no more.

Sydney brushed past him and around the bed to the side farthest from the door -- it was the opposite side from the one she took at home -- and pulled back the bedspread. She buried herself under the sheets to her nose, turned her back to Vaughn, and didn't move again.

Vaughn sighed loudly before she heard his footsteps take him into the bathroom. Water ran in the sink for a few minutes, then he came out and flipped off the lights. He pulled a blanket off the bottom of the bed and settled onto the couch, and still Sydney didn't turn to look at him. She couldn't. But maybe after a long night of sleep, she would feel more prepared to face him and to face the world.

#

Vaughn couldn't sleep. Sydney's breathing had evened out into the soft rhythm of unconsciousness a couple of hours ago, but every time Vaughn closed his eyes, he felt her again. Her body melded against his. Her lips pressed against his own. Such thoughts kept his eyes wide open, and he passed time by counting cracks in the ceiling.

When she had emerged from the bathroom, her face streaked with tears, he had only meant to comfort her. He had done what felt natural, and the consequences of his actions never entered his mind -- until she backed away. Now he feared how their relationship would change come tomorrow. She would most likely become wary of his intentions, and he felt sick to think he might have poisoned their trust.

Around the edges of the curtains, he watched darkness become the dull gray of dawn and blossom into full daylight. The world would awaken soon. Already he heard footsteps padding down the hallway outside their room. He considered getting up and ordering some breakfast, but he didn't want to risk waking Sydney. At least one of them should get some rest.

He couldn't understand how this had happened. He never meant to fall in love with a married woman, but Sydney was so extraordinary. Perhaps it had been inevitable. Still, his mother had raised him better than this. Society forbid it, and yet the heart never followed convention. It took its own path, and his had led him to a woman he could never have.

He should forget her. After all this was finished and they returned to Los Angeles, he should never see her again. He had fallen so quickly that it shouldn't take him long to get over her. Thus he told himself, but it wasn't that simple. He would try to stay away but eventually would seek her out. Vaughn knew, as he watched her sleep, her long beautiful hair fanned across her pillow, that he didn't have the willpower to stay away.

"I'm sorry," he said, so softly he hardly heard the words. "Syd, I don't know what to do."

She rolled onto her back and sighed, still asleep, and he froze. He hadn't meant to disturb her.

She shifted her body and made a little noise in the back of her throat that sounded like a moan. One of her hands moved lazily along her side and she made the noise again. Vaughn watched from the couch, captivated. She must be dreaming, and from appearances, the dream wasn't an innocent one.

Sydney mumbled something too quiet for Vaughn to understand and moaned again, this time louder. Her dream must be about her husband, he thought. It would be difficult for her to be so far from him at such a traumatic time.

She mumbled again, then said something that left him stunned.

"Vaughn," she breathed.

He wasn't even in the bed, but he didn't dare move for fear of waking her. His caution was for nothing, though, because she didn't speak again. After a few more seconds, she quieted and stilled. A small smile spread across her lips.

Vaughn exhaled loudly and fell back onto the couch. His tired, overloaded brain couldn't process what had just happened, and he half-convinced himself that he had misheard her. He merely wanted her to dream about him, but it hadn't been real. Maybe he had dropped off and was deep in own dream.

He went back to staring at the ceiling but didn't really see it.

Out in the hall, he heard pounding footsteps as someone ran past their door, then continued on. A few seconds later, another person approached, this one much slower than the first. The steps grew gradually louder, until Vaughn knew the person was outside their door. Then the steps stopped. Vaughn held his breath. A maid had probably come to clean the room, or maybe it was the concierge.

Or maybe not.

Vaughn rolled off the couch and over to the bed. He set his hand across Sydney's mouth, and she snapped wide awake.

"Quiet," Vaughn whispered. "There's someone outside our door. I need you to --"

He never finished his instructions. The door crashed open, and Sydney yelped. A dark, lean figure was silhouetted against the bright lights of the hallway, and he raised his hand to point something at them.

"Get behind the bed!" Vaughn yelled and pushed Sydney in that direction.

There was a noise, like the sound of a muffled gun. Something hit Vaughn, and he reached up to feel a dart protruding from his neck. His vision went blurry, and a strange weightlessness came over him as he passed out.

Sydney rolled out of bed and landed on the floor just as another shot went off and something flew over her head. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, and she heard someone breathing hard. She realized it was herself.

Footsteps quietly drew closer, and she knew she had only seconds before the figure was in range to shoot again. She grabbed for the lamp on the nightstand, ripped the cord from the wall and heaved it at the dark figure as he rounded the bed. The figured dodged, and the lamp crashed into the wall.

Another shot, and Sydney felt something sting her neck. The last thing she heard before the world blacked out was a male voice, speaking in a self-assured British accent.

"Sydney Hecht," he said. "Welcome to Paris."

##

To be continued ...