Title: A New Flame

Timeframe: Late Season Three, after Remnants

Author: Edes

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me

Summary for Part 4: Melancholy and angst weigh on Will and Leah

A/N: Feedback welcome and appreciated!!! If you read it, I'd love to hear about it. Even if you think it stinks. Thanks again to Eyghon for the correction on "Tippin". I will do penance to the Alias gods for misspelling dear Will's name!

Part Four: Dark waters

[Leah]

The full moon cast an eerie glow over the marina. Dark waves rocked the secured boat, slipping over nearby rocks and making them glisten wetly. Leah huddled up inside Will's Badgers jacket and hugged her bent legs close. She smelled the plastic of dried paint on her cargos as she rested her head on her knees. The scent drove into her heart, and she felt a sick ache for her studio. For a world she'd left behind only hours ago.

She knew she should try and get some sleep, but instead of closing her eyes she looked out at the water through the small window. Her ankle still hurt. So did that withered place in her mind, the place he used to fill. Where are you, Brads? You would have had something funny to say about all this. How am I supposed to figure this all out without you?

The sound of the waves on the hull was no answer at all.

Leah sighed and turned her head away from the window to peer out of the semi-enclosed seating area on the small boat. She looked at Jonah—no, Will—as he sat, scanning the night for the roar of an engine, the footfalls of an assassin, anything that meant they had been found. His profile was outlined in moonlight. Strong nose, thin lips. Those eyes. Leah felt a small proprietary glow. I'm glad he is here with me. With a sigh, she pushed the feeling away. There are still secrets between us. He's still probably crazy. I must be, too. Why else would I be starting to believe him?

She thought back on everything he had told her, and decided again not to mention the suspicion weighing on her mind. Will won't know what is wrong with me. But Leah knew that was a lie. She knew she hesitated precisely because there was every possibility that he would know what was wrong with her. And she didn't want to hear it.

"Why did you want to know about Laura?" she had asked him earlier, as twilight fell and they settled into the boat. After he had finished his preposterous story about spies, the CIA, and the Witness Protection Program. Leah's eyes had shone with sympathy for Sydney and pity for herself as Will spoke.

"Leah, Laura Bristow died when Sydney was six," Leah caught her breath.The laughing little girl, living a life without a mother. Oh, poor Sydney.

Will continued. "Or, that's what everyone thought. Until a couple of years ago, when Syd found out that Laura had never died at all, but was--," he swallowed, "was a Russian KGB agent who had returned to her home country."

Leah thought she detected a punch line. Clearly, he's joking? But his eyes were grave; she didn't laugh. Perfect, gorgeous, warm Laura Bristow? A double agent for Russia? It sounded so preposterous, so…outdated. Aren't we friends with Russia, now? Not trusting her voice, Leah said nothing.

"It sounds crazy, I know. Her real name is Irina Derevko. She is an international terrorist, now, Leah. I thought you might be working with her. That was the reason for—well, for the whole gun thing," he finished lamely.

Leah couldn't speak. Why does it hurt this much? She hadn't heard from Syd in forever: Leah had moved to another school when she was almost six. They had each met new neighbors, new friends.

But a part of Leah had always remained in that summer. She could relive cart-wheeling with Sydney like it was yesterday. The feel of the grass on her hands or the sound of Syd's laugh in the air felt hardwired into her brain. Leah remembered Laura's voice with a surpassing clarity. In fact, whenever Leah reprimanded herself, used that internal grown-up voice that everyone carries around to self-inflict punishments or judgments, it was Laura's voice she heard.

And that, of course, was the whole problem.

[Will]

It was probably foolish, but he and Leah didn't go to a safe house. The Witness Protection Program ("the Program", it was called by Will and the few members he'd been allowed to meet, briefly) had one on the outskirts of town. He was sure the CIA had a few.

But Will remembered the time that he'd surrendered himself into the care of the CIA, entered one of those houses with blind trust. Sydney had told him he would be fine, but Sark, a batch of tranquilizer darts, and—later—a nameless, sadistic torturer all made a lie of her assurances. It didn't matter that he had survived, that Sydney and her father had risked their lives and their cover to save him. He still felt betrayed by that empty promise of safety.

Alone on the boat in the quickly chilling lake air, Will smiled wryly at the memory of his last time with Syd in a safe house. Warsaw. A bottle of vodka. The taste of Syd's lips and—later—the feel of her teeth on his skin. A night that had made him feel more whole, and more broken, than ever.

There was nothing like a safe house to make Will feel horribly exposed.

So they had gone to the marina and took out one of the boats under Mari's membership. They had sailed on the lake for the rest of the afternoon, Leah tending the sails, dressed in clothing bought at the marina gift shop with the last of Will's cash. A white fisherman's hat had hid her trademark hair. His jacket under her t-shirt had bulked out her petite figure. He stayed out of sight, crammed into the seating area. She joined him for brief moments when she could, and they traded the rest of their stories.

Hers was short, normal, like he had supposed earlier. She went to school. She painted. She was going to be an art professor. He thought she might be keeping something back—he wondered about the paintings over the bed still—but he didn't push her. She's lost someone, too.

His story was, of course, nearly absurd. He told her about Syd's finance's murder, his subsequent investigation and abduction, and the end of his career as a journalist. He told her that Syd's best friend, Francie, had been killed and replaced with a genetic double, Allison Doren, an enemy spy. He told her that the choice to enter the Program had been an easy one, once he thought Sydney was dead. It sounded insane to his own ears. It always did.

He didn't tell her that he'd been dating "Francie" when she tried to kill him and Sydney. After two years, he still couldn't believe he didn't see it immediately, didn't know something was wrong. He didn't tell her he loved Sydney, and would until he died. She might have guessed, though. Most people do.

It had been twilight then, and they had no trouble slipping back onto the boat after they had ostensibly returned it and signed out.

Will was on his second shift of watch. Leah was sleeping in the cramped seating area behind him. Or not sleeping, he decided as he heard a stifled sigh and restless noises.

His heart beat painfully in his chest when he thought about Leah. She had taken the news about Irina hard, even though it had been ages since she'd seen her or Sydney. Will wasn't sure why, but he wasn't about to begrudge her a few heady emotions. She had lived a normal life until this afternoon.

She has lost so much, so quickly.

He turned around to find her looking at him with limpid eyes. Her gaze seemed to peel back his skin until his heart was glinting in the moonlight, gory and beautiful.

She knows me.

The thought almost stopped his breath. Will knew the truth of it as soon as it formed in his mind. He suddenly wanted to cross to where she was, to comfort her. He dropped his eyes. He didn't dare. He'd pulled a gun on her today. She would think I was demented.

He looked at her again, cautiously. She is so small.

"Will?" she whispered. The sound almost blended into the waves—but there it was. In that one word, Will heard an unspoken request and felt it answered in his own body and mind.

He moved carefully into the tiny space to take her in his arms.

End of Part Four