Disclaimer : same as always (do I have to keep doing this???)

Story : ditto

Author : ditto

Summary, Rating, Dedication : ditto (Viva la Botep!)

Oh, and NO! THIS is NOT a Marshall and Syd fic. I cannot even picture it. I mean I love Marshall, but NO! If you're still confused re-read what the gypsy says to Sydney about the gift. Subconsciously, Syd is shopping for Vaughn.

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Sydney's cry echoed in the dark chamber. "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Oh, relax. He's just tied up in the kitchen. I'll bring him in as soon as we get these bonds of yours loosened. It does me no good to have a super spy without feeling in her arms. Hey," Bob said as if this thought had just occurred to him, "now I have two super spies! Hmmm . . . How can I make this work for me?" Bob's voice trailed off as he ventured out of the room.

Sydney pondered Bob's last comment. 'What did he mean? Is he going to breed us to create an ultra-super spy? Not that I would mind that . . .' Sydney once again gave into her dirty thoughts.

Later, Sydney sighed, knowing that with Bob's ultra-forgetfulness, it was going to be a while before he remembered to come in and revive the feeling in her fingertips. She might as well get comfortable.

Sydney woke up later with Bob hovering over her.

"How's that feel? Do I have them loose enough?" He questioned as if he actually cared. Sydney tested her wrists and head, finding that, unfortunately, Bob had just the right amount of tightness to make it impossible for her to escape her bonds. Stupid geniuses of the world were ruining it for the normal spy-folk with their equations and perfect measurements. Ugh!

"Yeah, it's good." She was groggy and tired, otherwise she probably would have thought of some brilliant way of breaking out. Then she reminded herself that she had Vaughn to think about now also. Not that Vaughn is a big baby who can't take care of himself, because everyone knows that Vaughn is definitely capable of many, many, many things . . . many things.

"Bob, where's Vaughn?" Sydney asked, recalling their previous conversation.

"Vaughn? Oh! Lover boy! Where is he? That's a good question, m'dear. I'll go have a lookie and see if I can find out." Bob swiftly exited the room.

Sydney took that opportunity to survey her surroundings for the first time. She was in what seemed like a bedroom turned into a laboratory. There were computer monitors and other various ultra-modern-inexplainable-only-the-person-who-made-it-knows-how-to-use-it-no-wonder-elderly-folk-don't-wish-to-learn-how-to-use-the-computer-anymore-wait!-that-made-no-sense-but-neither-does-the-computers-this-just-set-a-world-record-for-longest-dash-dash-thing-wow! equipment in the corner of the room. There were no windows, but there was a skylight that gave no actually light due to the fact there were mounds of dead leaves and things Sydney didn't even want to think about living up there. The racecar bed was not the child size Sydney had previously assumed, but it was a custom-built king sized bed. Sydney pondered the oddity of this before turning over to her other side.

There, in the other corner was another custom built bed, similar to the one Sydney was lying, or is it laying, in right now. The only difference was the shape, instead of being a hip racecar shape, this bed was shaped like a dragon with very shiny, scaly purple wings. Bob was getting to be a very interesting person.

* * * * *

Vaughn glanced up as the weirdo walked in the room. He was still stunned that this odd looking man had managed to tie him to a chair, or in other words, beat him up, but Vaughn is just too hott to be beaten, therefore, all verbiage relating to Vaughn being beaten must change into something a little less "he got creamed" and a little more "He conceded gracefully, knowing that the sooner the fight was over, the sooner he could be with Sydney."

"Who are you? Where is Sydney? What are you going to do to her? What have you done to her? Is she even alive? Where have you been? What are you going to do to me? Can I see Sydney?" All of Vaughn's anxieties that had been floating in his head for at least two hours came spilling out in a rush.

"Hmm. Interesting. Out of eight questions, five were related to Sydney. Two were related to me, and only one was related to yourself. Either you're extremely cocky or extremely stupid." Vaughn stared open mouth at this man.

"I had a speech prepared that will answer all of your questions. If you will shut up long enough to allow me to read it?" Vaughn nodded at the man, still shocked by the man's odd response to his questions.

"I . . . am Bob. I will be your plastic surgeon for the duration of your stay here at Chez Bob." Bob turned off his announcer voice long enough to whisper, "that's French for 'the place of Bob'."

Vaughn rolled his eyes. "I think I know what it means. I *am* French after all."

"Hmm. I didn't consider that. I concur with your statement."

"There's nothing to concur with. It's a fact, not an opinion or a guess. You can't concur with a fact." Vaughn was very frustrated and wished this Bob guy would get back to his flight attendant routine.

"Says who? Is the Academy of French People Who Make Up French Words and Their Meanings going to get me?"

"I suppose not, being as how concur is not a French word."

"Touché! However, the fact that you have a Academy of French People Who Make Up French Words and Their Meanings is awfully odd."

"Well, America has one too. Only they call theirs rappers."

"Finally, a person worthy of my attentions. I must admit, I was getting awfully bored with your girlfriend. We just talked about palindromes. I do love them, but it gets awfully dull after a while. You know - barbant. That's French for boring."

"Pali-what? And must I repeat myself? Once again, I'm French. Stop with the whole explaining-what-words-mean-when-I-speak-the-language thing. It's 'awfully' annoying."

"Right. So, we're back to the speech. You and Sydney are my captives. As of yet, I have no need to harm you, and I do not foresee the need to harm you, at least without anesthetics," he added as an after-thought. "I'll bring you to Sydney in a minute. I have not completely sorted out my thoughts of what I'm going to do to you because, well, I just met you. I prefer to get to know a person before making any long term commitment," Bob said, fluttering his eyelashes flirtatiously.

Seeing Vaughn's look of utter disgust and disbelief, it was Bob's turn to roll his eyes, "Relax, dude. It was a joke. If I was gay, I would have given up my scientific endeavors and gone away with Ivan all those years ago when he invited me." Bob's eyes misted over with memories for a moment before he continued, "Of course I would have had to change his name to Navan or Ivavi. Neither of those really have a 'ring' do they? Of course Sven wasn't going to give me a ring, so why should I give him one?"

"Didn't you say his name was Ivan? Who's Sven?"

"I was going through an experimental phase. You know how it is. All the other kids are doing it. I wanted to fit in. I started hanging with the same tall, blond Aryan-looking hunks all my girls who were friends were dating. Suddenly, I realized that they were more interested in me than the girls, and I gave it a shot. Nothing panned out. Guys really don't know how to buy Valentines Day gifts. I mean that ring from the Cracker Jack box? I don't think so! Even if he was trying to propose, still . . . Like a platinum band is that good? I mean where would we get married? It's impossible, especially with all the shit going on these days. Don't even go there, boyfriend!" Bob snapped his fingers and waved his left arm for emphasis.

"Umm. OK."

"Anyway, we better get you to Sydney. She's been worried about you. She must care about you. I don't know why. I mean, wrinkles in the forehead are so last week. Botox is in. Get with the pogrom."

"Do you mean program?"

"Technically yes. Realistically no. It really is an unmerciful, cruel and unusual punishment. Do you want a bunch of needles hanging out of your skin? I didn't think so. The Chinese can get away with it in acupuncture, but us Americans don't have enough finesse."

Bob started to unknot the ties that held Vaughn's legs to the chair. He started with the Buzz Lightyear tie, with the opinion that Buzz was weaker than Woody, and Woody would be able to hold Vaughn longer.

"You never answered my question about what you were going to do to Sydney. Why did you kidnap her?"

"Oh, that's right. I didn't say anything. Well, I plan to make reproductions of her."

Vaughn's forehead broke out in a mass of crinkles again.

"Stop doing that or I *will* give you Botox. I'm serious this time!" Bob groaned and muttered under his breath, "Stupid young people, thinking that their skin will last forever."

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A/N : Reproductions? What? Haha! Semi-cliffy!