A/N: Thanks so much to AnnaSun and TheUptownGirl for reviews. I love reviews! And it makes me write faster. This chapter is really short, but it's two for the wait of one. Please keep reviewing, and please don't hesitate to offer constructive criticism if you think I'm not writing Sydney properly or anything else.

Ch 3 Smirk

*

When I became Julie Bristow, still CIA agent, they gave me food that didn't make me sick, and clean water. When I first answered to Julia Thorne, free agent for hire, stoic and emotionless in a way that Sydney never could be, they gave me an under stuffed pillow that smelled like sawdust and wet newspaper. The old man stopped ordering the guards to beat me. They also stopped groping me while dragging me to our sessions.

Sessions is such a clean word.

*

They dip me back into the cold water. Bone cold: like an iron vise has been clamped down over my extremities. Sydney remembers Taipei, the man with the glasses, the same cold water.

I have to be Julia for them. I stay calm.

"Refreshing," I smile, when they bring me back up. My hands are cuffed behind my back, my wrists are bruised and tender. But I square my shoulders, toss my wet hair over my left shoulder and smirk. "Is that all you've got?"

The old man is not amused. He nods to the two strong guards on either side of me. I feel their calloused fingers tighten over my biceps, and a hand comes up to grip my neck and push me back down into the water.

*

I curl up on my side, wet and shivering, the inadequate pillow stuffed under my head. I don't retch up the food they give me anymore. But it isn't enough. I am weak. My hipbones protrude so that it hurts to lie on my front.

Vaughn spread my ashes on the beach, to the ocean. We were supposed to go to Santa Barbara. I wonder if he went anyway, stayed in the hotel with my absence beside him. I wonder if my father cried, or swallowed it all down with a smoky scotch.

My face is neutral. My heart is in pieces. I sweep the mess into a small jar and hide it. I practice my smirk.

*