Title: Captured Moments: 12 Days of Christmas
Author: Kira [kira at sd-1 dot com]
Genre: Romance/Fluff
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We all know the drill. I don't own Alias, so please don't sue me. I'm already in debt. And even if you did sue me, it would come off my credit card and I'd still be in debt. So, right. You're better off leaving me be.
Author's Note: Thank you, every single one of you, for your kind reviews. I never thought this little series would gain so much interest, and I'm eternally greatful for your comments. I'm hoping to get an update out a day now, so I can finish for Christmas and spend the rest of break working on my other major fic, Chronic Vertigo.

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Part Five: 5 Golden Rings

On the fifth day of Christmas
my true love sent to me:
5 Golden Rings
4 Calling Birds
3 French Hens
2 Turtle Doves
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree

The view out the window looked like a Swiss Miss box, and I fully expected to see a girl with twin braids standing on the edge of one of the majestic mountains the plane skimmed over yodeling with a group of mountain goats gathered around her. We swooped in closer, the loudspeaker above us announcing our final descent into Zurich Airport. How I loved taking the streamline jets of the CIA instead of the crowded commercial flights SD-6 always put me on. I rubbed my hands up and down the smooth cream leather of the seats in appreciation and smiled, resisting an urge to swing my feet and braid my hair like the Swiss Miss girl.

Actually, that wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Grinning mischievously, I leapt up from my seat and scurried across the cabin, fully aware of Vaughn's eyes following me, wide with surprise and puzzlement. I shuffled through the contents of my overnight bag, pulled two innocent and brightly colored hair bands from it, and held them triumphantly in my hand as I plopped down on the floor at Vaughn's feet.

"Well, hello there," he commented down to me, shoving the files he's been reading over off his lap and into the vacant chair next to him. I held the hair bands up to him and crossed my legs to sit Indian style.

"Here."

He laughed and took them from me, fingers brushing mine as he did so. I turned and held back my laughter as he turned them over in his hands as if they were alien artifacts, stretching them like rubber bands. He scoffed and looped one behind his thumb, then over his forefinger and aimed his hand towards the wall and got a serious look on his face.

"Bang!" he grinned, shooting it across the cabin and into the wall. It clanged, the metal part hitting the formed plastic. He looped the other one around his hand and moved to shoot it as well when I reached up and clasped both my hands around his, effectively stopping him.

"I need to fit in."

"With who?"

"The Swiss Miss girl," I replied. "She has pigtail braids."

"I only have one ponytail holder," Vaughn stated, rolling it between his fingers. I frowned and pointed across the small cabin.

"You shot the other across the room."

"It was blue."

I wasn't following his train of thought and let my eyes search for the blue ponytail on the other side of the cabin. "So?"

"This one's red."

"Need another red one?"

"A green one, please. And then you can tell me what exactly you'd like me to do with them."

I grinned and stood, headed for my overnight case once again, wondering exactly how many hair ties I'd brought and if I did, in fact, have a green one nestled in between hotel sized bottles of my favorite shampoo and my toothbrush. I pushed them aside as I reached for the one green one in the bag, and pulled it out, holding it above my head. I walked back to where I was seated and sat back down.

"I already told you, Vaughn. Braid my hair."

He took the green holder from me and sat back in his chair, then leaned forward again and sighed.

"How hard can it be?" he muttered. I turned around, mouth wide.

"You don't know how?"

"It's not like I had anyone to do it to. Or any reason, for that matter," he defended himself, hands held up in surrender. My gaze sharpened in disbelief, and he tugged on a short lock of hair atop his own hair. "Not exactly long enough." I was just about to untangle myself and find someone else on the plane with this basic knowledge when the edge of his lips tugged up, alluding to a smile hiding underneath. I playfully slapped his knee.

"You liar!"

He simply laughed, the sound washing over me in a waterfall of liquid dark chocolate; rich, dark, and mysterious as he leaned down and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me up into his lap with strength I hadn't seen him use before and wondered if his later mornings at work had given him time to up his time at the gym. I grinned up at him, the Swiss Alps the perfect backdrop behind his face as he leaned over and planted a sweet, innocent kiss upon my lips. I giggled against his and looped my arms around his neck, ready to deepen it an -

"We're landing in five minutes."

I growled at the speaker connecting us to the cockpit as Vaughn pulled away, flushed, and moved to collect his previously discarded pile of papers and intel. I pouted, my hands still securely latched behind his neck.

"You didn't braid my hair."

"I don't think," he paused, picked up one of the files and read the name off the front, "Marion Schwartz would be the kind of woman to wear braids."

"I could say she simply got into the Christmas spirit," I countered.

"International bankers don't get into the holiday spirit. Trust me on this one."

I raised an eyebrow and slid over into the seat next to him, effectively blocking his attempts to at least act professional. Sitting on the files, and, in addition, his hand, I smirked up at him.

"And you know this how?"

"Uncle Robert stopped buying Christmas gifts at 5 years old. He was 'busy with work'." His voice deepened when he quoted his uncle, tone mocking.

"Yeah, I know that one," I sighed, remembering the holidays after my mother's 'death' and the lack of time I spent with my father during the Christmas season. The man whom had previously celebrated with cheer and mountains of presents under the tree morphed into a modern-day scrooge who rarely found time in his busy schedule to even be home on Christmas Eve. "All the more reason to give me some!"

He gave me a sideways look. I would have to do some pretty hefty convincing.

"I have a hat. I could hide them under the hat!"

"You have a ski hat," he pointed out. "Might clash with your pantsuit. Speaking of that, you might want to get changed."

I frowned. He reached out with his free hand and planted a thumb and index finger on either side of my lips and lifted them into a smile, then let go.

It faltered.

He frowned, forehead wrinkling. "After the mission, I will braid your hair."

I have him so whipped, it's funny. He's so sweet, though, and gullible.

"And then, we can have a pillow fight and paint each other's nails!" he continued, grinning. I glared and swatted his arm. He's been around wisecracking Weiss too much; he's been infected with snappy comebacks and sarcasm. He mock pouted and pointed to the bathroom behind us.

"Just go change."

I huffed and stalked off.


Bathrooms aren't soundproof, and as I tried to orient myself properly inside the small stall, I wondered once again why the hell I was stuck in here changing instead of out in the cabin. I can understand Vaughn's preoccupation with keeping me all to myself, but international criminals had seen me in less than this, and a wandering pilot taking a small siesta from his duties wasn't a huge concern of mine when it came to changing. Still, he'd insisted I'd change where prying eyes couldn't see and left it at that. It was an argument I wasn't going to win, and he did have a point - I didn't particularly like other people seeing me in anything less than a full outfit, but the job called for it at times, and I was nothing if now committed to it.

It just meant I couldn't put on a show for him and watch his face turn an inhuman shade of red. He's so shy, it's like a large bulls eye is plastered on his forehead with the message 'embarrass here' written in black letters across it.

But as I said, the bathroom isn't soundproof, and I could hear his cell phone ring as the plane jolted, wheels bouncing on the runway beneath us. He groaned and answered it with a joyful 'hello'. Must be Weiss, I thought, and went back to the task at hand. Then:

"You what? Weiss! You - she's not supposed to know!"

I looked up at this, wondering a. why he was yelling so loud, and b. what I wasn't supposed to know. We'd already had this conversation, about secrets between us, and I could feel my blood begin to boil as he went on. First, talking to Will about something, and now this. With more force than necessary, I buttoned the front of my suit coat and growled under my breath. The guilt from selectively forgetting to pass on the piece of paper Weiss had given me melted away, and my curiosity - the reason I'd kept it - seemed well placed now.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'llI'll figure something out," he continued as I slipped on my shoes. Now I was even glad I was forced to change inside this bathroom that had to have been designed around someone smaller than normal people - maybe a kid or something. Because it wasn't to scale. Really.

There was a pause, a sharp intake of breath, and then: "Yeah, I'll tell you everything when we get back. Justyou've got to swear to me you won't tell anyone - especially Sydney." Pause. "Right. I'll remember that. Bye, Eric."

Well, then. I guess if he was going to be like that, I could forget about spending the holidays with him.


"Okay, Syd, you'll do wonderfully, and then we can go home. It's too cold here."

He'd been irked by the silent van ride to the bank, and was trying extra hard to get back in my good graces. I was perfectly fine with the silence and was trying to figure out what was going on.

I came to a conclusion as I opened the passenger door and flashed him a flirtatious smile - he'd never do anything intentional to harm me. If he was keeping something from me, it was because he wanted to surprise me and not in a bad break up kind of way. The evidence, while it could be taken in bad light in parts, made sense this way when put in context. He was talking to Will - someone he'd go to when he wanted to know my reaction to something. Weiss wasn't in on it for a while and he's a blabbermouth. And he was talking about having a delivery on Christmas day.

No, Vaughn was crafting something for me and hadn't remembered his girlfriend was an international super spy. His skills were far from mine, the poor man, no matter how hard he tried. Plus, this would make for great fun.

I smiled as I approached the front of the building, impressed with the tall glass front yet confused as they were supposed to keep things secret yet made it so the whole world could look in. "Cold? Didn't you grow up somewhere around here?"

"Does that mean I have to like it? It's freezing in this van," he whined.

"At least you don't have to wear a skirt outside."

"Point made."

Good. I could just see him, sitting in the back of the van in a warm winter coat with the heat running full blast as he sat in front of a bank of monitors.

"You never told me your wish, Vaughn," I switched the subject, pulling open one of the heavy glass doors. I marched up to the counter, assertive, and smiled at the secretary behind the desk.

"It's a secret. You're on," he replied. Leave it to him to use the mission as an excuse to avoid my question. Holding in the desire to chide him for his secret keeping (in more way than one), I announced myself to the secretary.

"Marion Schwartz," I said in my best New Yorker accent. "I have an appointment with Chance Gunther..."


I hate airplanes.

Two flights in one day didn't seem justified by the information I'd been able to gather on the elusive international banker. And while we did have a valuable back door into his computer systems and records, I liked seeing immediate results to our holes in Sloane's armor. Long-term was fine, and something I understood, I just liked knowing what I was doing was doing something. Planting bugs and back door patches to programs felt like a waste of time, and probably would until we actually got to use them. They had yet to prove their worth to me.

"What did they say again?"

Vaughn shifted. "Refueling. Going to take another half hour or so."

"I thought it took shorter than that."

"There's a line."

"What, is there an embargo on airplane gas over here?"

"I really don't know the answer to that question."

I sighed and pulled my jacket closer around me. "And why can't we go eat or something?"

Vaughn groaned and ran a hand down his face before turning to me. "We'd get halfway through our meal and be called away. Plus, I didn't exactly bring that much money."

"You know more than anyone that credit cards work overseas," I shot back, expecting a witty retort. Instead, he blanched and mumbled something about 'limit' and 'exceeded' while he bashfully turned his head, finding something about the fountain standing to our left. I poked his arm.

"You're not the only one with credit cards. I'm hungry. We could hop out for some fast food or something."

He said nothing, just fiddled with his thumbs like I'd just called him into the pricipal's office and was about to scold him for something. And for as much as I'd liked too, I kept my mouth shut and leaned my head on his shoulder as we walked down a Niederdorf on the east bank of the Limmat River, his hand snaking around my waist as we passed cafés and tiny shops filled with all kinds of trinkets.

He was right when he said Switzerland in winter was breathtaking. The Alps were a gorgeous backdrop to the lit-up city, the life flowing in and out of the alleyways almost pulling us with it. We remained alone in our own little world, grinning and chatting with each other as we walked the streets as normal tourists.

"Let's sit down for a moment," Vaughn finally remarked, leading me to a nearby empty bench. I complied, but felt for my legs that would soon be freezing from sitting on the vacant bench. Instead, I was pleasently surprised as Vaughn took a seat and pulled me onto his lap, hands running down through my hair.

"Vaughn," I warned him testliy as his fingers continued to work through my locks, scratching at my scalp as he moved away from the ends. I closed my eyes and concidered leaning into him when I felt half my hair being pushed over my shoulder and the other being pulled.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Braiding your hair," he replied, weaving strands of my hair together as if he'd been doing it every day of his life, fingers working expertly as they looped and hooked hair.

"What about the hair ties?"

"In my pocket, well, around my wrist now. I can litterally feel my masculinity declining."

I decided not to gace that with a comment and enjoy his work instead. The band snapped on one pigtail braid within another minute, and he shifted me on his lap to work on the other side.

"Tell me about your favorite Christmas," he whispered.

"Hrmm," I started, feeling a little put on the spot. "I had to be about five. Mom was cooking all kinds of cookies in the kitchen and my father was chasing me around the living room because I'd stolen one before it had finished cooling."

"I can see that."

"He just wanted the cookie for himself - Mom had given it to me because I was cute, but refused to let him have any. Well, I decided to take a detour around the back of the tree in the corner and"

"Oh no"

"Fell right over onto the coffee table," I laughed, leaning up to look at Vaughn's profile as I felt his laughter under my arms. He pushed my head back to where it had been and finished up. "Broke it right in half. Never stood straight after that."

"Did he get his cookie?"

"Casualty of the fallen tree," I replied promptly. "But it was a great Christmas. I think the imperfection of the tree made it morespecial. Mom came out and gave us a whole plate of cookies to snack on while she straightened out the tree. I sat on the floor next to my dad and we finished the whole plate - she hadn't expected that, and said we got no more cookies."

"Christmas isn't Christmas without home baked cookies," Vaughn pointed out. I nodded and grinned. He patted the top of my head and sat back on the bench as I ran my hands down the braids, the weaves perfect and proportionate.

"True. So my father and I snuck down in the middle of the night to make another batch for her. Well, my father's no chief - "

Vaughn's cell phone rang and vibrated in his coat pocket, causing the both of us to jump in surprise and fly apart. He grinned sheepishly and answered it. I sat looking expecting at him, wondering who was on the other end, but all he said was 'okay' and disconnected.

"Plane's ready."