Okay, as promised, my favorite chapter. It's a lot longer than the other chapters because it's chocked full of great things. Let me know what you think please!!!

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A mannequin. Dress in an Elizabethan costume, the poor thing must have been kept around for literal kicks and giggles. Sydney swallowed a laugh and filed it away to tell Eric later.

She hurried out of the room and back down the stair case, turning her earpiece on. "Dad, I'm going downstairs."

"Be advised, two unfriendlies to your left."

Sydney nodded, and headed for the stage, the only area not covered by the cameras downstairs. Throwing curtains around and checking the dressing rooms, Sydney was turning everything up empty.

Finding the access stairs to the basement, she quickly checked that off the list of possible places.

"Dad, he's not here! I've checked every room. We've come to the wrong place. And my mistake's probably gotten him killed!"

"Sydney, now is not the time to dissolve into hysteria. Are you sure you checked every room?"

"I'm sure! You're looking at the building schematics. Bridgette is watching all the feeds for downstairs. There are no more rooms. He's not here. He's dead. He's dead!"

"Sydney! Look out!" Bridgette was yelling in her ear from the van, telling her that something was happening on the feeds.

Sydney turned to see a man running towards her, furry contorting his face. Acting quickly, she coiled her legs as he stepped within reach and swiped his legs with her left leg. He went down hard but kicked at her, connecting with her ribs. Her breath left her but she quickly recovered and reached for a broom behind her on the stage. Twirling it over her head, she beckoned the man to his feet with her other hand. Concurring, he hopped up and lunged towards her. But she was too quick. The broom handle came down quick and furiously on his head, splintering quickly. He was out.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. No! I don't know. I need some answers."

"Sydney, wait. There's something here that I missed. The wall to one of the rooms is a double reinforced brick wall. I seem to recall that old Shakespearian theaters' have a special room located over the stage, hidden from view, that allowed for supernatural events. See if that room is on the other side of that wall."

Searching the man, she found a flashlight and a set of keys which she quickly deposited into her own pocket. Scaling the steps two in a stride, she reached the landing in no time but, this occasion, instead of going right to where her father was, she turned left to where the "mannequin" room was. She crashed into the space now, toppling a coat rack behind the door. Rapidly, she turned the flashlight beam to every corner of the room, locating the light switch she had missed as well as a door on the left wall, the one closest to the stage.

"Dad, I found it!" But, in her haste, the explosion of the door and coat rack alerted the guards in the hidden room to her presence. Four men, each equaling twice the size of Sydney, came to greet her. There went her element of surprise.

The problem with men whose living comes from dealing with others that are tied to a chair? They get hung up on each other when dealing with someone not easily put into submission.

Sydney quickly dealt with the first while the second and third untangled themselves from each other. But, unfortunately, they figured it out and were swarming her rapidly.

What am I going to do? There wasn't enough room to maneuver around well and nothing to use against them like a broom so she had to fight with no assistance. But she had a good reason to fight. Eric.

She connected with the ribs of one while throwing her flashlight at another. Unfortunately, before too long, they were getting the best of her and she quickly was losing consciousness as a hand clamped down on her throat. Her tongue felt like it was growing in her head as she choked for breath. And then there was this sound, as if her eardrums had quickly deflated. But she could hear still and the hand around her throat loosened and let go.

The other two men were slumped on the floor, the third quickly joining them, and the figure in the doorway held a tranq. gun level with the ground.

"Dad!"

"Sydney, hurry! I have a feeling we'll be getting some company soon."

She nodded and dashed across the room to the hidden door. Her breath caught in her throat as she entered and saw a figure tied to a chair, facing the other way. It was him. His scruffy, brown hair. His broad shoulders. It was definitely Eric.

Running over to him, she crumpled to her knees by his side and took him in. Blood oozed down his face all over and, what wasn't swollen, was bruised and cut. Running her hand through his hair, his head listed away from her but then there was the smallest amount of resistance.

Moaning, he dropped his head backwards but decided there was less pain to keep his chin against his chest. Sydney quickly untied his feet and uncuffed his hands with the key she had borrowed and cupped the side of his face with her hand.

"Eric?" She whispered, not wanted to hurt him anymore than what he was. He lifted his eyebrows and then his eyes opened, ever so slightly.

"Syd?"

"Yeah. It's me. Listen, we've gotta get you out of here."

Opening his eyes fully, he turned his head slightly and drank her in as if he'd been in the desert for years. "Am I dreaming? How did you find me?"

"No. And I'll explain later. Come on Eric, let's get you home." Gingerly, she lifted his left arm over her head and around her shoulders. Slowly, they stood, Eric not too sure of his footing at first but finally making headway.

She wasn't sure how he was moving at all. His adrenaline tapped from the day's events and suffering from two beatings (and heavens knew what else), the man had to be getting help from some unseen force.

"Hey, that's an interesting password you've got."

"What can I say? I'm a firm believer in stating the truth."

"Is that so? I'll have to remember that for later."

When they entered the mannequin room, they found Jack positioned by the doorjamb, keeping watch on the hall. Seeing Eric's condition, he surprised both younger agents by coming to Eric's aid while Sydney took the lead downstairs. Thankfully, the last guard unaccounted for was still preoccupied and the three CIA agents made it safely outside to the van. Sydney hopped into the back after Bridgette opened the door for her and helped Eric climb in.

As Jack hurried around to the driver's seat, Sydney rested against the van wall and tried to loosen her neck muscles as best she could. Pulling her left knee close to her chest, she stretched her right leg out to the side to keep her leg muscles relaxed.

Eric was slumped over, trying to stop his lip from bleeding and keep his head on his neck with his other hand. Grasping his upper arm to get his attention, she locked her eyes with his, trying to assure him that everything would be okay. He frowned, as best he could, and shifted his weight to become more comfortable which turned his back to her a bit. He was sitting only inches away yet still miles from her. She tapped him on the shoulder, held out her arms, and motioned for him to lean back against her which he quickly agreed to. Wrapping her arms around him, it made it perfect for him to place his head back on her shoulder. He dropped his arm around her knee and hugged it to his side.

Turning his face towards hers he whispered, "Are you sure I'm not dreaming?"

"Yes."

Grasping her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "I don't know what butterfly flapped its wings to put you in my life, but I sure am thankful." And, with that, he passed out.

The butterfly effect. What better explanation for their life than the basic idea of chaos? Sydney pointed to the first aid kit which Bridgette opened and handed to her as she scooted over next to them.

"Sydney, I'm—."

"Please don't say anything." Angrily, Sydney ripped open a package of sterile gaze and tended to the cuts of Eric's face. A bad gash over his left eye looked as if it would need a stitch or two and his lips were badly split down the right side.

"Please don't be mad at me."

"Why would I be mad at you?" But it suddenly clicked in her head. "Oh, Bridgette, this isn't your fault. We went in unprepared and Weiss is suffering the consequences. That's all. Please don't mention it again."

Bridgette handed Sydney a strip of tape and nodded. "This man is very lucky that you love him, Agent Bristow."

Lucky? Is this what a lucky man looks like when she loves him? What had she gotten him into?

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Well, the idea for this story came from reading a Shakespeare play that explained there was a secret hut above the roof of the stage that allowed for the heavens to be a part of the production. That's where the title came from. Only one or two chapters to go.