Title: Between the Memory and the Moment
Author: UConn Fan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: They were inevitable, weren't they? AU Post-The Telling
"How long . . . " she stuttered, unbelieving that this man before her was not her Vaughn. This man barely knew her, knew only her name from her connection to the infamous Jack Bristow. To Sydney it was a small consolation that in any reality some things remained the same. "How long have I been . . ."
Vaughn swallowed and met her eyes, unflinching, "dead?" he finished. Silently she nodded, bracing herself for the worse but hoping for the best. "Almost two years."
"Two years?" she blinked away her tears, feeling her body tremble, her earlier aches and nausea long forgotten. "But . . . where have I been?"
"I can't answer that," he shrugged with an appropriate amount of detached sympathy on his face. The expression you'd give a stranger, someone you passed on the street outside of a funeral home. Not the type of look she was used to receiving from Vaughn. "They're expecting us back in Los Angeles," he slowly stood as she sucked in a breath.
"How long do I have?" she questioned, on her feet as only a short distance separated them.
"Um . . . " Vaughn started and glanced down at his watch. Immediately Sydney lunged at him, fighting through the cobwebs in her mind where instincts had once lay, grabbing his shirt and jacket and backing him brutally against the safehouse wall.
"I don't know who the hell you are, but you are *not* Michael Vaughn," she spat bitterly. "Who the hell are you -"
"Ms. Bristow -" he struggled to speak.
"Who are you!? Who sent you? Is it Sloane? Do you work for Sloane?" Sydney loudly demanded, flexing her elbow to press uncomfortably on his larynx.
"Please, Ms. Bristow -"
"What have you done with Michael Vaughn? Tell me you son of a bitch!"
"Ms. Bristow, I'll show you my identification -"
"A college student could forge a fake ID!" she spat. "Where is Vaughn? Tell me!"
"Sydney!" he struggled to speak, blinking away the tears as he fought for breath. "Please -"
"Why did Sloane send you? What do you want?!" she angrily demanded, shoving him closer to the wall as the door opened and the agents surveilling the room stormed in.
The instincts were only soft shadows on her conscious as she found herself fighting a small handful of guards, the injured form of whatever Michael Vaughn clone they'd sent her way lay temporarily out of commission on the floor of the Hong Kong safehouse. She found herself attacking them with a sense of uncertainty that she wasn't used to, but she still managed to be successful. Moments later she sped down the safehouse hallways in search of an exit, her sprints half a step shorter than she was accustomed to. Only more guards awaited her outside the aged building, and she found herself battling them in the littered alleyway that she had stumbled upon. As the two guards lay on the ground, unconscious and her own body aching in spots she forgot existed, she felt a sharp sting to her left shoulder.
Turning around she wasn't surprised to see Vaughn, his eyes shaking but his hands steady as he aimed the dart gun in her direction. Blinking back her tears, she took a wobbled step back, only to see Vaughn slowly walking towards her. His eyes were uncertain, and she felt her heart breaking. "Don't . . . " she pleaded, her voice unsteady and breaking even to her own ears. "Please . . . Don't . . . " Sydney cried as she felt her body slump to her knees as this man, this apparent stranger, stepped closer. "Vaughn . . . " she started to feel the tears, her body physically exhausted and drained from the dart he'd just injected into her system. "Just don't," she cried, feeling the tears start as he hesitantly took her into his arms, his embrace awkward and uncomfortable as she felt the tears and the tranquilizers wear away at her consciousness.
She needed a shower, at least that's what Sydney thought when she woke up. The smell of hospital floor wax and saline solution mixed bitterly with her own personal perfume of dried sweat and travel grime. Whatever dreams she'd experienced in her unconscious state hadn't brought back any memories or nightmares, just a massive black hole. Yet another to add to this new life she had suddenly found, full of questions and uncertainties, including where she was and how she'd arrived there.
Opening her eyes, the hospital room appeared to be like every other hospital room she'd ever been in. A television was on softly and had been propped up on the wall in front of her, a window with the long blinds drawn to the right of her along with a table with a phone. Off to the side of the room was a movable dinner tray, empty and a reminder of her sudden hunger. Slowly sitting up, she felt the IV line draw deeper into her skin, stinging as she rested, still exhausted against the well-fluffed pillows.
"Hey, you're up," a friendly voice called as the hospital door swung open. Sydney could only smile as she looked up to see Eric Weiss smiling at the foot of her head.
"Eric."
"You remember me," he smiled, sliding a chair over to sit next to her bed. Only then, as she noticed the guarded and locked door that he'd entered through, did Sydney realize she was in a CIA hospital - no surprise, given the circumstances. "I offered to come sit with you. We only met a few times before you . . . disappeared, so I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me or even remember me, it's not like we were close -"
"I remember you," she smiled. Even if she didn't remember him in this world, she remembered enough from the life she knew and took solace in this sudden friendly face. "Do you . . . " Sydney looked briefly around the room and back at him, her smile having faded. "Do you know where my father is? What is he doing? Is he okay?" she questioned. Quietly she added the last question, her brown eyes not quite meeting Weiss as she asked, "Where's Vaughn?"
"Yeah . . . Mike told me that you have some memory loss . . . some confusion . . . " he trailed off as she nodded. "It's okay Sydney, it happens. I'm sure you'll remember most of it with time."
"I hope," she softly spoke, briefly looking back out the window. Then she looked back at him, "So where's my father?"
Weiss sighed and sat back in his chair, "Jack left the agency after your death. I think they're still trying to get a hold of him . . . You know your father Sydney, he's never an easy man," he chuckled.
"Tell me about it," she smiled, brushing hair off of her face. Again her grin disappeared, her tone heartbreakingly low and lost as she looked back at him. "That was really Vaughn in Hong Kong, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was," Eric confirmed with a slight nod of his head. "Do you remember, at all, how you got Agent Vaughn's phone number?"
"I . . . I don't know," she lied with a slight shrug. "Is . . . Is he okay? I didn't mean to hurt him . . . "
"He's fine. A little banged up. Pretty impressive moves by the way. I remember you told me that you used to coach the girl's track team at the high school but I don't think you ever mentioned that you knew kickboxing and self defense," he commented.
Silently Sydney tucked away the casual tidbit of information that he'd dropped, mentioning it as though she knew every detail of her life when in fact everything was a mystery. Instead she shrugged, "I guess it was just instinct."
"Impressive instinct," he chuckled. "If you do decide to join the agency, I'd expect them to offer you a field grade. You stood out when we started your field training, but nothing like what you did in Hong Kong."
Again all she could do was quietly smile and nod. "Thank you for sitting with me Eric . . . But do you think I could take a shower?"
"I don't see why not," he answered. "Let me check with your doctors, I'm sure they'll want to talk to you now that you're up."
"Sure," she smiled, grateful for the support, her mind swarming with questions that Weiss - and perhaps no one else - could answer. She was aware that she had to tread cautiously, pick up what she could about this new existence to ensure that she wasn't tossed aside as another sociopath. Sydney had suffered through an unfortunate stay at an insane asylum and had no intentions of being shoved in one again, especially when she was certain of her own sanity.
"Ms. Bristow, I'm glad to see your awake," a male voice chimed in. Sydney looked up and forced a smile as a middle-aged, graying doctor walked in with Weiss trailing a few steps behind. "Your vitals look stable," he noted as he studied the machines that surrounded her before finally meeting her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," she let it easily slip, every inch of her body on edge as it struggled not to react to such a blatant lie.
"Agent Weiss says you'd like a shower."
"Yes, I would," she agreed.
The doctor nodded, looking over her chart. "I don't see why not. I'll bring a nurse in here to take out the IV, although we'll leave the heplock in until we discharge you."
"How long will that be?" Sydney demanded as the doctor started back towards the door.
The doctor paused to briefly look at Weiss before he turned fully back to his patient. "I'd like to keep you here overnight to observe you, and if all goes well, we can send you home in someone's care . . . It's my understanding that they're still trying to get a hold of your family."
"The agency is trying," Weiss confirmed.
"I don't want to discharge you until tomorrow Ms. Bristow, and I would be more comfortable if you had a back-up plan to stay with someone else."
"I don't think I have much of a choice," she said, her smile small and ironic. "I don't think I have a place of my own anymore."
"I'm sure the CIA can make accommodations for you if someone isn't found," Weiss suggested.
"Good," the doctor agreed. "I'll go speak to your nurse Ms. Bristow."
"Thank you," she called weakly as the doctor disappeared out her door.
"Great bedside manner, huh?" Weiss teased.
"Yeah," she smiled softly, looking down at her hands. "Something like that."
"Listen, Sydney," he started out cautiously, settling back into his chair at her bedside. "I know you must have a ton of questions . . . This can't be easy for you. So I just wanted you to know that whatever you need, whatever questions you need answered . . . I'll answer them for you. Anything, just ask," he assured her.
There were millions of questions, and none of them seemed sufficient enough to be the first answered. Finally, she looked over at him, a rare expression of solemnity on his face as he braced himself for whatever Sydney Bristow threw his way. "What day is it?"
"October 2nd."
"October 2nd," she repeated softly as the emotions ran across her face. The math was obvious. Calculating the time a flight would take from Hong Kong and the time difference, it was obvious that in this world she had once again met Michael Vaughn on October 1st. "October 2nd, 2005 . . . " she tried, the unfamiliar year bitter on her tongue. Two years lost, two years unaccounted for, too much to process in such a short time.
"Does that have some sort of meaning for you?"
"No, no," Sydney quickly dismissed. "I just . . . I can't believe two years has gone by and I can't remember anything," she answered, hating having to lie to anyone. Weiss was on her side, and while she knew she couldn't tell him everything, she desperately wanted to be able to be truthful with him and with everyone. "How do you just lose two years?" she softly asked, blinking away the moisture in her eyes as she sympathetically looked at her sole friend.
"I wish I knew Sydney," he sighed, his body deflated against the hospital chair as a nurse entered the room.
"You're awake," the smiling nurse greeted.
"Hi," Sydney forced a smile, quickly wiping away her tears.
Leaning forward, Weiss' brow scrunched as he spoke, "what the hell is that?" he questioned, gesturing to the roll of what appeared to be saran wrap in the nurse's hands.
"The doctor signed an order for Ms. Bristow to have a shower," she explained. "This may hurt a bit," she softly added in Sydney's direction as she swiftly removed the IV, leaving only the heplock. "In order for Ms. Bristow to take a shower, we need to protect the heplock to ensure that she doesn't pick up an infection or an air bubble," she informed them. "Agent Weiss, perhaps you can attempt to get a hold of Ms. Bristow's family?" she suggested.
"I'll take that as my cue to leave," Weiss chuckled, standing and looking at Sydney. "I'll be back in a little while."
"Thank you Eric," she softly called as he left the room.
"When you get out of the shower, we'll remove this, of course," the nurse politely smiled, gesturing to the saran wrap that she had wrapped around Sydney's arm. "I'd allow you to get into some of your own clothes when you get out of the shower . . . but it doesn't look like that's possible."
"It's not," she sighed, wondering just what happened to her belongings. Or better yet, what had happened to her for them to all believe she was dead.
"I'll get you a fresh johnny coat though," the nurse assured her. "If you need anything in the shower or at any time, my name is Lee. Just press the call button and you'll get the nursing station."
"Thank you Lee," she smiled as the shorter nurse slowly helped her to her feet.
"The agent who met with you in Hong Kong reported that you appeared to be limping, but we performed various tests and we were unable to find any fractures or breaks," Lee explained. To Sydney it was only a small comfort as her body continued to ache with each small movement. "Hospital beds aren't always very comfortable though, are they?" she joked as her patient smiled gratefully. "Would you like something to eat? I can have them send you a tray. We'd like you to start eating, unless you're feeling ill -"
"That would be fine," Sydney promised as she slowly approached the bathroom. "Thank you Lee."
"Be careful Sydney, and if you need anything, you'll find a call button by the light switch," she explained.
Quietly Sydney thanked her, shutting the heavy bathroom door behind her. For a moment she allowed herself to stand in the dark room before she flicked on the switch, her eyes instinctively closing at the harsh fluorescent glow. When she opened her eyes, she reached around to untie her hospital gown and slowly peeled it away from her body. Unable to stop the thought that she felt unfamiliar in her own body, she reached down to remove the small white socks from her feet, she pulled to her full height and finally examined her body from the first time since her return.
There were no scars, no bruises, apparently not a single blemish that hadn't been caused by nature or genetics. Not a clue to who she was or more importantly where she'd been. Any marks from childhood had long since healed, and her body showed no evidence to support the life she remembered leading. Sydney felt every inch of her body and soul simmering in an agonizing juice of pain. Taking a thin white towel, she placed it close to the shower stall and turned on the water, testing to make sure it was hot enough to nearly burn her skin, before she stepped inside.
Alone, with only the green-tiled walls to keep her company, her conscious mind couldn't help but turn back to the one presence she'd needed most in the hospital room. The one person she apparently didn't know. None of that made sense, none of it seemed possible, yet judging by the expression on his face, a look of detached horror and mixed pain, perhaps even pity, it was true.
Vaughn.
Exhausted, she leaned heavily against the cold tile, only half focused on her attempt to wash herself with the hospital issue soap. Instead her memory assaulted her mind, her heart and her senses with everything that had built the couple they had been. Everything that she'd held closest to who she was, and the one thing she'd never thought she'd lose.
Bozo hair . . . Joey's Pizza . . . piers . . . guardian angels . . . hockey . . . Kings . . . picture frames . . . Vatican . . . train stations . . . grasshoppers . . . dead watches . . . mini golf . . . Nice . . . drawers . . . Santa Barbara . . .
So in love . . . so in love . . . so in love . . . *soinlove* . . .
Now . . .
Nothing . . .
*Nothing*.
Somewhere along the way the water trailing down her face began to originate at her eyes, increasing with each passing moment. The ring on his finger had been obvious proof that he was no longer hers, only adding to the pain of knowing that in this universe he'd never been hers to begin with. How it all could just disappear so quickly, how two years of pain and love and suffering and triumph could vanish in the blink of an eye, left her numb. Michael Vaughn had no obligation to her, no emotional or even professional ties to her, except perhaps to have heard her name in passing through the halls of the CIA building. Now when she needed him most she had no claim, past or present, on him at all.
The water grew cold before she finally slipped it off, doing her best to strangle the sobs as the sound of the pounding water died. Sydney pulled back the curtain and grabbed the thin cotton, doing her best to dry herself. When she left the small sanctuary of the shower, she noticed the hospital gown and socks that were folded neatly on the top of the toilet seat. No matter how grateful she was to Lee for her help, Sydney could only hope the nurse hadn't heard her tears.
She took her time to change, continuing her study of her body and face. For some reason she was surprised that she didn't look older. Instead the face that greeted her in the mirror was identical to the face she had seen in her most recent memories, memories of moving around her tiny bathroom with Vaughn as they prepared for the day. There weren't any extra wrinkles or lines, nothing to show the passage of time that her body had apparently undergone without her. With a heavy sigh, Sydney watched her shoulders slump briefly as she brushed her hair back into a ponytail and made sure that her gown was tied correctly before she reentered her room.
Again she was alone, with the exception of the guard that seemed on constant post outside of her room. During her shower, Lee had lived up to her word and a warm tray of food rested on the movable dinner tray. Sydney took her time eating her meal in peace and turned on the news, picking up what she could. To her surprise the recall of Gray Davis had succeeded and Schwarzenegger was now governor of California. The Lakers were preparing to defend their World Championship from the previous season while all southern California baseball teams had been eliminated from any hope of a postseason. In the time she'd disappeared Bush had been re-elected president, the country was still in a desperate hunt for the terrorists and terror cells, despite the late 2003 capture of Saddam Hussein, and Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck had managed to marry briefly, divorce, and were currently planning their second wedding.
Sydney wasn't sure of how long she'd been alone, but she was nearly asleep when the door finally opened and Eric Weiss reentered. An orderly had briefly joined her, drawing blood and taking her tray back to the cafeteria, but that was it. The light that had once snuck in from under the hospital blinds had completely disappeared and she had nearly been successful in shutting off all the painful questions her mind posed while she nearly won her battle to capture some sleep.
"How are you feeling?" Weiss softly smiled, sitting down in his chair as she opened her eyes and sat up slightly in the bed.
"Okay," she lied. "My father?" she croaked wearily.
"No luck," he smiled sympathetically. "We've decided that we're just going to take you to him tomorrow. Enough of this trying to get him on the phone crap," he encouraged.
"They're letting me go home?"
"Tomorrow. Safehouse, although I'm currently trying to get clearance for you to stay with me," he explained. Hastily, his face beginning to burn, he added, "I have an extra room, and it's not much, but it's something. I figured it might be better than a safehouse . . . Hell, trust me, I've had to guard those places, it *is* better than a safehouse," he vowed. "Plus I know there are plenty of open apartments in my complex, so it might be a place to start," Weiss gently explained.
"Thank you."
"Hey, just doing my job," he reminded her.
Sydney allowed him a small smile and looked away. Finally she turned towards him and questioned, "clothes?"
"Your clothing sizes were on file in what the CIA saved of your orientation dossier. My best friend's wife is taking care of it now. You should have some things to wear by the time they discharge you," he explained. Her eyes closed at the mention of his best friend's wife, all but certain he meant Mrs. Michael Vaughn but praying that somehow he didn't. "The nurse said you ate well. That's good."
"If they call that food," she croaked as he chuckled. Growing somber, Sydney met Eric's eyes, "What's going on with my father? I know you said he left the agency . . . why?"
"After your . . . death," he struggled with the word. "Jack blamed himself . . . No matter what we uncovered, no matter what anyone else told him . . . remaining with the agency was too difficult. Jack was always intense at work . . . But after everything that happened, it was becoming too personal . . . He had to leave."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know," Eric shrugged. "I heard that he was offered various positions in the private sector. We didn't exactly keep in contact after he left . . . so I'm just not sure. Devlin is trying to get a hold of some information, and he said he'd get it back to me before tomorrow."
The door of the hospital room opened, bringing in with it the bright lights from the hallways as Lee stood apologetically in the doorway. "Agent Weiss, I'm afraid visiting hours are ending."
"Of course, I was just about to tell her about all the hot girls that have been throwing themselves at me since she left," Eric cracked as Sydney laughed, briefly feeling her spirits lift for the first time since her disappearance. The man stood and squeezed her hand. "I'll be back bright and early in the morning to get you out of here."
"Thank you Eric."
"Don't thank me Sydney. It's not a problem," he smiled at her. Leaning in to lightly touch her cheek with a kiss, he whispered near her ear, "I think Lee's got a thing for me anyway," he teased. As he pulled back, Sydney laughed and collapsed against the hospital pillows, watching him leave for the night.
For a woman who remembered herself as a nearly legendary CIA operative, Sydney was disappointed that she hadn't deduced their destination before Weiss arrived the next morning to begin their search for her father. After his tenure with the CIA and his abrupt departure, Jack Bristow hadn't left for a high paying job in the private sector, but instead had entered academia. Currently he was in his first full year as a professor of aerospace engineering at UCLA. Somehow, given the twisted memories that she had, it only seemed fitting.
Sydney was still haunted by a million questions as she changed into the clothes that Eric had bought her and thanked Lee and the hospital staff. The jeans and shirt were comfortable, leaving her to assume that she had at least that to be grateful to Mrs. Michael Vaughn. In the end, her heart couldn't help but concede that if his wife made Vaughn happy, Sydney couldn't help but be grateful to her for that as well.
Despite her questions, she was quiet as her friend drove her to the familiar campus. Sydney wondered if he'd accepted tenure at the prestigious university to feel closer to her or perhaps closer to memories of happier days, back when they all believed that Laura Bristow was an English professor there. Weiss did his best to fill her in on a variety of humorous anecdotes, some from the time she was missing and others from the time before they ever met. Even with her lack of inquiries, she was a careful listener, doing her best to try to pick up on whatever clues he'd unconsciously drop her. So far there'd been nothing, but he had made her laugh, something she was eternally grateful.
The government-issue sedan finally died down in front of the building where Jack Bristow's morning class was being held. According to the schedule that Devlin had given to Eric and he'd then passed on to her, Jack's class would be ending within minutes. Sydney thanked Eric for the ride as he reminded her to call him when she was done, going to go obtain some breakfast and allow her some time to be with her father. After believing your only child was dead for two years, Eric reasoned the least he could do was offer them some privacy.
Even after all of her years at UCLA, the building was unfamiliar to her. Instead she followed the signs and Eric's recent directions as she approached an open door and students slowly trickling out. Jack's class had not been taught in a massive lecture hall but one of the smaller classrooms on campus, a class suited to fit perhaps forty, a group of students who were currently moving past her. Sydney stepped into the room, standing in the back for a moment and silently observing her father. Jack moved about the front of the room, erasing the notes he'd made on the blackboard in his nearly illegible hand. Turning around, dressed in an outfit that reminded her of what he wore when they rescued Will from Taipei, he froze as his eyes landed on her in the otherwise empty classroom.
"Sydney," he softly said, his surprise so heavy that he was unable to hide it behind even his best poker face.
She did her best to smile through her tears, taking a few small steps towards the front of the classroom. "The CIA's been trying to get a hold of you . . . They left messages . . . "
"Yes . . . Well, we've been out of town. We just returned to Los Angeles this morning."
Silently she nodded, taking another few steps closer. "Everyone . . . they told me they thought I was dead, that everyone thought I was dead . . . No one's telling me anything though Dad. I don't know how they all thought I was dead or how I supposedly died . . . What happened to Will and Francie? Do you know where they are? The only person I've really seen is Eric Weiss and he barely knows more than I do -"
"Sydney," Jack spoke softly, placing his hands on her upper arm. "You must calm down," he commanded, the current of his voice gentle in a way that was foreign to any ear but his daughter's. "Sit down," he gestured for her to take a seat next to his desk as he took one as well. "Start from the beginning."
"I woke up in Hong Kong . . . everything I remember . . . everything I remember doesn't make any sense Dad . . . No one will tell me anything! I don't know who to call or what to expect . . . Please dad, what happened to me?"
"We did believe you were dead . . . I didn't want to believe it at first . . . At the time I didn't," he confessed softly, briefly looking away. Finally he turned back to her in his normal tone as he continued. "There wasn't a body Sydney. There were the skidmarks on the bridge . . . They pulled the car from the water and given the water temperature and the conditions that night . . . We were told just to assume that you tried to swim to shore and failed."
"Swim to shore?" she sniffled as her eyes widened. "That's how mom died . . . "
"Sydney?" Jack spoke.
"Dad, how could you believe . . . Everything dad, the skidmarks . . . the car from the water . . . That's how mom died. You had to have known dad . . . That's how mom staged her death -"
"Sydney, your not making any sense," he stopped her, clearly agitated and concerned.
"Yes I am!" she protested. "I *am* making sense dad! Sloane and Sark must be behind this . . . " she estimated, mostly to herself. As her mind raced she brought her hand up to her forehead, her eyes briefly shutting as she struggled to remember anything at all. "This doesn't make any sense," she murmured.
"Jack?"
Sydney felt her heart stop. Opening her eyes, she watched as her father stood and she slowly did the same, fully prepared and at the same time emotionally raw as she turned around. The sight was one that she could remember only from the earliest days of childhood. Everything, from the style of the outfit to the way her hair was kept, was reminiscent of the photographs and scattered memories that Sydney had held so dear. There was nothing dark, sharp or even suspicious about the woman before her.
"Laura," Jack softly responded.
Desperately sucking in the classroom air, Sydney released the only conscious thought she had at the moment, "Mom."
Author: UConn Fan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: They were inevitable, weren't they? AU Post-The Telling
"How long . . . " she stuttered, unbelieving that this man before her was not her Vaughn. This man barely knew her, knew only her name from her connection to the infamous Jack Bristow. To Sydney it was a small consolation that in any reality some things remained the same. "How long have I been . . ."
Vaughn swallowed and met her eyes, unflinching, "dead?" he finished. Silently she nodded, bracing herself for the worse but hoping for the best. "Almost two years."
"Two years?" she blinked away her tears, feeling her body tremble, her earlier aches and nausea long forgotten. "But . . . where have I been?"
"I can't answer that," he shrugged with an appropriate amount of detached sympathy on his face. The expression you'd give a stranger, someone you passed on the street outside of a funeral home. Not the type of look she was used to receiving from Vaughn. "They're expecting us back in Los Angeles," he slowly stood as she sucked in a breath.
"How long do I have?" she questioned, on her feet as only a short distance separated them.
"Um . . . " Vaughn started and glanced down at his watch. Immediately Sydney lunged at him, fighting through the cobwebs in her mind where instincts had once lay, grabbing his shirt and jacket and backing him brutally against the safehouse wall.
"I don't know who the hell you are, but you are *not* Michael Vaughn," she spat bitterly. "Who the hell are you -"
"Ms. Bristow -" he struggled to speak.
"Who are you!? Who sent you? Is it Sloane? Do you work for Sloane?" Sydney loudly demanded, flexing her elbow to press uncomfortably on his larynx.
"Please, Ms. Bristow -"
"What have you done with Michael Vaughn? Tell me you son of a bitch!"
"Ms. Bristow, I'll show you my identification -"
"A college student could forge a fake ID!" she spat. "Where is Vaughn? Tell me!"
"Sydney!" he struggled to speak, blinking away the tears as he fought for breath. "Please -"
"Why did Sloane send you? What do you want?!" she angrily demanded, shoving him closer to the wall as the door opened and the agents surveilling the room stormed in.
The instincts were only soft shadows on her conscious as she found herself fighting a small handful of guards, the injured form of whatever Michael Vaughn clone they'd sent her way lay temporarily out of commission on the floor of the Hong Kong safehouse. She found herself attacking them with a sense of uncertainty that she wasn't used to, but she still managed to be successful. Moments later she sped down the safehouse hallways in search of an exit, her sprints half a step shorter than she was accustomed to. Only more guards awaited her outside the aged building, and she found herself battling them in the littered alleyway that she had stumbled upon. As the two guards lay on the ground, unconscious and her own body aching in spots she forgot existed, she felt a sharp sting to her left shoulder.
Turning around she wasn't surprised to see Vaughn, his eyes shaking but his hands steady as he aimed the dart gun in her direction. Blinking back her tears, she took a wobbled step back, only to see Vaughn slowly walking towards her. His eyes were uncertain, and she felt her heart breaking. "Don't . . . " she pleaded, her voice unsteady and breaking even to her own ears. "Please . . . Don't . . . " Sydney cried as she felt her body slump to her knees as this man, this apparent stranger, stepped closer. "Vaughn . . . " she started to feel the tears, her body physically exhausted and drained from the dart he'd just injected into her system. "Just don't," she cried, feeling the tears start as he hesitantly took her into his arms, his embrace awkward and uncomfortable as she felt the tears and the tranquilizers wear away at her consciousness.
She needed a shower, at least that's what Sydney thought when she woke up. The smell of hospital floor wax and saline solution mixed bitterly with her own personal perfume of dried sweat and travel grime. Whatever dreams she'd experienced in her unconscious state hadn't brought back any memories or nightmares, just a massive black hole. Yet another to add to this new life she had suddenly found, full of questions and uncertainties, including where she was and how she'd arrived there.
Opening her eyes, the hospital room appeared to be like every other hospital room she'd ever been in. A television was on softly and had been propped up on the wall in front of her, a window with the long blinds drawn to the right of her along with a table with a phone. Off to the side of the room was a movable dinner tray, empty and a reminder of her sudden hunger. Slowly sitting up, she felt the IV line draw deeper into her skin, stinging as she rested, still exhausted against the well-fluffed pillows.
"Hey, you're up," a friendly voice called as the hospital door swung open. Sydney could only smile as she looked up to see Eric Weiss smiling at the foot of her head.
"Eric."
"You remember me," he smiled, sliding a chair over to sit next to her bed. Only then, as she noticed the guarded and locked door that he'd entered through, did Sydney realize she was in a CIA hospital - no surprise, given the circumstances. "I offered to come sit with you. We only met a few times before you . . . disappeared, so I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me or even remember me, it's not like we were close -"
"I remember you," she smiled. Even if she didn't remember him in this world, she remembered enough from the life she knew and took solace in this sudden friendly face. "Do you . . . " Sydney looked briefly around the room and back at him, her smile having faded. "Do you know where my father is? What is he doing? Is he okay?" she questioned. Quietly she added the last question, her brown eyes not quite meeting Weiss as she asked, "Where's Vaughn?"
"Yeah . . . Mike told me that you have some memory loss . . . some confusion . . . " he trailed off as she nodded. "It's okay Sydney, it happens. I'm sure you'll remember most of it with time."
"I hope," she softly spoke, briefly looking back out the window. Then she looked back at him, "So where's my father?"
Weiss sighed and sat back in his chair, "Jack left the agency after your death. I think they're still trying to get a hold of him . . . You know your father Sydney, he's never an easy man," he chuckled.
"Tell me about it," she smiled, brushing hair off of her face. Again her grin disappeared, her tone heartbreakingly low and lost as she looked back at him. "That was really Vaughn in Hong Kong, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was," Eric confirmed with a slight nod of his head. "Do you remember, at all, how you got Agent Vaughn's phone number?"
"I . . . I don't know," she lied with a slight shrug. "Is . . . Is he okay? I didn't mean to hurt him . . . "
"He's fine. A little banged up. Pretty impressive moves by the way. I remember you told me that you used to coach the girl's track team at the high school but I don't think you ever mentioned that you knew kickboxing and self defense," he commented.
Silently Sydney tucked away the casual tidbit of information that he'd dropped, mentioning it as though she knew every detail of her life when in fact everything was a mystery. Instead she shrugged, "I guess it was just instinct."
"Impressive instinct," he chuckled. "If you do decide to join the agency, I'd expect them to offer you a field grade. You stood out when we started your field training, but nothing like what you did in Hong Kong."
Again all she could do was quietly smile and nod. "Thank you for sitting with me Eric . . . But do you think I could take a shower?"
"I don't see why not," he answered. "Let me check with your doctors, I'm sure they'll want to talk to you now that you're up."
"Sure," she smiled, grateful for the support, her mind swarming with questions that Weiss - and perhaps no one else - could answer. She was aware that she had to tread cautiously, pick up what she could about this new existence to ensure that she wasn't tossed aside as another sociopath. Sydney had suffered through an unfortunate stay at an insane asylum and had no intentions of being shoved in one again, especially when she was certain of her own sanity.
"Ms. Bristow, I'm glad to see your awake," a male voice chimed in. Sydney looked up and forced a smile as a middle-aged, graying doctor walked in with Weiss trailing a few steps behind. "Your vitals look stable," he noted as he studied the machines that surrounded her before finally meeting her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay," she let it easily slip, every inch of her body on edge as it struggled not to react to such a blatant lie.
"Agent Weiss says you'd like a shower."
"Yes, I would," she agreed.
The doctor nodded, looking over her chart. "I don't see why not. I'll bring a nurse in here to take out the IV, although we'll leave the heplock in until we discharge you."
"How long will that be?" Sydney demanded as the doctor started back towards the door.
The doctor paused to briefly look at Weiss before he turned fully back to his patient. "I'd like to keep you here overnight to observe you, and if all goes well, we can send you home in someone's care . . . It's my understanding that they're still trying to get a hold of your family."
"The agency is trying," Weiss confirmed.
"I don't want to discharge you until tomorrow Ms. Bristow, and I would be more comfortable if you had a back-up plan to stay with someone else."
"I don't think I have much of a choice," she said, her smile small and ironic. "I don't think I have a place of my own anymore."
"I'm sure the CIA can make accommodations for you if someone isn't found," Weiss suggested.
"Good," the doctor agreed. "I'll go speak to your nurse Ms. Bristow."
"Thank you," she called weakly as the doctor disappeared out her door.
"Great bedside manner, huh?" Weiss teased.
"Yeah," she smiled softly, looking down at her hands. "Something like that."
"Listen, Sydney," he started out cautiously, settling back into his chair at her bedside. "I know you must have a ton of questions . . . This can't be easy for you. So I just wanted you to know that whatever you need, whatever questions you need answered . . . I'll answer them for you. Anything, just ask," he assured her.
There were millions of questions, and none of them seemed sufficient enough to be the first answered. Finally, she looked over at him, a rare expression of solemnity on his face as he braced himself for whatever Sydney Bristow threw his way. "What day is it?"
"October 2nd."
"October 2nd," she repeated softly as the emotions ran across her face. The math was obvious. Calculating the time a flight would take from Hong Kong and the time difference, it was obvious that in this world she had once again met Michael Vaughn on October 1st. "October 2nd, 2005 . . . " she tried, the unfamiliar year bitter on her tongue. Two years lost, two years unaccounted for, too much to process in such a short time.
"Does that have some sort of meaning for you?"
"No, no," Sydney quickly dismissed. "I just . . . I can't believe two years has gone by and I can't remember anything," she answered, hating having to lie to anyone. Weiss was on her side, and while she knew she couldn't tell him everything, she desperately wanted to be able to be truthful with him and with everyone. "How do you just lose two years?" she softly asked, blinking away the moisture in her eyes as she sympathetically looked at her sole friend.
"I wish I knew Sydney," he sighed, his body deflated against the hospital chair as a nurse entered the room.
"You're awake," the smiling nurse greeted.
"Hi," Sydney forced a smile, quickly wiping away her tears.
Leaning forward, Weiss' brow scrunched as he spoke, "what the hell is that?" he questioned, gesturing to the roll of what appeared to be saran wrap in the nurse's hands.
"The doctor signed an order for Ms. Bristow to have a shower," she explained. "This may hurt a bit," she softly added in Sydney's direction as she swiftly removed the IV, leaving only the heplock. "In order for Ms. Bristow to take a shower, we need to protect the heplock to ensure that she doesn't pick up an infection or an air bubble," she informed them. "Agent Weiss, perhaps you can attempt to get a hold of Ms. Bristow's family?" she suggested.
"I'll take that as my cue to leave," Weiss chuckled, standing and looking at Sydney. "I'll be back in a little while."
"Thank you Eric," she softly called as he left the room.
"When you get out of the shower, we'll remove this, of course," the nurse politely smiled, gesturing to the saran wrap that she had wrapped around Sydney's arm. "I'd allow you to get into some of your own clothes when you get out of the shower . . . but it doesn't look like that's possible."
"It's not," she sighed, wondering just what happened to her belongings. Or better yet, what had happened to her for them to all believe she was dead.
"I'll get you a fresh johnny coat though," the nurse assured her. "If you need anything in the shower or at any time, my name is Lee. Just press the call button and you'll get the nursing station."
"Thank you Lee," she smiled as the shorter nurse slowly helped her to her feet.
"The agent who met with you in Hong Kong reported that you appeared to be limping, but we performed various tests and we were unable to find any fractures or breaks," Lee explained. To Sydney it was only a small comfort as her body continued to ache with each small movement. "Hospital beds aren't always very comfortable though, are they?" she joked as her patient smiled gratefully. "Would you like something to eat? I can have them send you a tray. We'd like you to start eating, unless you're feeling ill -"
"That would be fine," Sydney promised as she slowly approached the bathroom. "Thank you Lee."
"Be careful Sydney, and if you need anything, you'll find a call button by the light switch," she explained.
Quietly Sydney thanked her, shutting the heavy bathroom door behind her. For a moment she allowed herself to stand in the dark room before she flicked on the switch, her eyes instinctively closing at the harsh fluorescent glow. When she opened her eyes, she reached around to untie her hospital gown and slowly peeled it away from her body. Unable to stop the thought that she felt unfamiliar in her own body, she reached down to remove the small white socks from her feet, she pulled to her full height and finally examined her body from the first time since her return.
There were no scars, no bruises, apparently not a single blemish that hadn't been caused by nature or genetics. Not a clue to who she was or more importantly where she'd been. Any marks from childhood had long since healed, and her body showed no evidence to support the life she remembered leading. Sydney felt every inch of her body and soul simmering in an agonizing juice of pain. Taking a thin white towel, she placed it close to the shower stall and turned on the water, testing to make sure it was hot enough to nearly burn her skin, before she stepped inside.
Alone, with only the green-tiled walls to keep her company, her conscious mind couldn't help but turn back to the one presence she'd needed most in the hospital room. The one person she apparently didn't know. None of that made sense, none of it seemed possible, yet judging by the expression on his face, a look of detached horror and mixed pain, perhaps even pity, it was true.
Vaughn.
Exhausted, she leaned heavily against the cold tile, only half focused on her attempt to wash herself with the hospital issue soap. Instead her memory assaulted her mind, her heart and her senses with everything that had built the couple they had been. Everything that she'd held closest to who she was, and the one thing she'd never thought she'd lose.
Bozo hair . . . Joey's Pizza . . . piers . . . guardian angels . . . hockey . . . Kings . . . picture frames . . . Vatican . . . train stations . . . grasshoppers . . . dead watches . . . mini golf . . . Nice . . . drawers . . . Santa Barbara . . .
So in love . . . so in love . . . so in love . . . *soinlove* . . .
Now . . .
Nothing . . .
*Nothing*.
Somewhere along the way the water trailing down her face began to originate at her eyes, increasing with each passing moment. The ring on his finger had been obvious proof that he was no longer hers, only adding to the pain of knowing that in this universe he'd never been hers to begin with. How it all could just disappear so quickly, how two years of pain and love and suffering and triumph could vanish in the blink of an eye, left her numb. Michael Vaughn had no obligation to her, no emotional or even professional ties to her, except perhaps to have heard her name in passing through the halls of the CIA building. Now when she needed him most she had no claim, past or present, on him at all.
The water grew cold before she finally slipped it off, doing her best to strangle the sobs as the sound of the pounding water died. Sydney pulled back the curtain and grabbed the thin cotton, doing her best to dry herself. When she left the small sanctuary of the shower, she noticed the hospital gown and socks that were folded neatly on the top of the toilet seat. No matter how grateful she was to Lee for her help, Sydney could only hope the nurse hadn't heard her tears.
She took her time to change, continuing her study of her body and face. For some reason she was surprised that she didn't look older. Instead the face that greeted her in the mirror was identical to the face she had seen in her most recent memories, memories of moving around her tiny bathroom with Vaughn as they prepared for the day. There weren't any extra wrinkles or lines, nothing to show the passage of time that her body had apparently undergone without her. With a heavy sigh, Sydney watched her shoulders slump briefly as she brushed her hair back into a ponytail and made sure that her gown was tied correctly before she reentered her room.
Again she was alone, with the exception of the guard that seemed on constant post outside of her room. During her shower, Lee had lived up to her word and a warm tray of food rested on the movable dinner tray. Sydney took her time eating her meal in peace and turned on the news, picking up what she could. To her surprise the recall of Gray Davis had succeeded and Schwarzenegger was now governor of California. The Lakers were preparing to defend their World Championship from the previous season while all southern California baseball teams had been eliminated from any hope of a postseason. In the time she'd disappeared Bush had been re-elected president, the country was still in a desperate hunt for the terrorists and terror cells, despite the late 2003 capture of Saddam Hussein, and Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck had managed to marry briefly, divorce, and were currently planning their second wedding.
Sydney wasn't sure of how long she'd been alone, but she was nearly asleep when the door finally opened and Eric Weiss reentered. An orderly had briefly joined her, drawing blood and taking her tray back to the cafeteria, but that was it. The light that had once snuck in from under the hospital blinds had completely disappeared and she had nearly been successful in shutting off all the painful questions her mind posed while she nearly won her battle to capture some sleep.
"How are you feeling?" Weiss softly smiled, sitting down in his chair as she opened her eyes and sat up slightly in the bed.
"Okay," she lied. "My father?" she croaked wearily.
"No luck," he smiled sympathetically. "We've decided that we're just going to take you to him tomorrow. Enough of this trying to get him on the phone crap," he encouraged.
"They're letting me go home?"
"Tomorrow. Safehouse, although I'm currently trying to get clearance for you to stay with me," he explained. Hastily, his face beginning to burn, he added, "I have an extra room, and it's not much, but it's something. I figured it might be better than a safehouse . . . Hell, trust me, I've had to guard those places, it *is* better than a safehouse," he vowed. "Plus I know there are plenty of open apartments in my complex, so it might be a place to start," Weiss gently explained.
"Thank you."
"Hey, just doing my job," he reminded her.
Sydney allowed him a small smile and looked away. Finally she turned towards him and questioned, "clothes?"
"Your clothing sizes were on file in what the CIA saved of your orientation dossier. My best friend's wife is taking care of it now. You should have some things to wear by the time they discharge you," he explained. Her eyes closed at the mention of his best friend's wife, all but certain he meant Mrs. Michael Vaughn but praying that somehow he didn't. "The nurse said you ate well. That's good."
"If they call that food," she croaked as he chuckled. Growing somber, Sydney met Eric's eyes, "What's going on with my father? I know you said he left the agency . . . why?"
"After your . . . death," he struggled with the word. "Jack blamed himself . . . No matter what we uncovered, no matter what anyone else told him . . . remaining with the agency was too difficult. Jack was always intense at work . . . But after everything that happened, it was becoming too personal . . . He had to leave."
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know," Eric shrugged. "I heard that he was offered various positions in the private sector. We didn't exactly keep in contact after he left . . . so I'm just not sure. Devlin is trying to get a hold of some information, and he said he'd get it back to me before tomorrow."
The door of the hospital room opened, bringing in with it the bright lights from the hallways as Lee stood apologetically in the doorway. "Agent Weiss, I'm afraid visiting hours are ending."
"Of course, I was just about to tell her about all the hot girls that have been throwing themselves at me since she left," Eric cracked as Sydney laughed, briefly feeling her spirits lift for the first time since her disappearance. The man stood and squeezed her hand. "I'll be back bright and early in the morning to get you out of here."
"Thank you Eric."
"Don't thank me Sydney. It's not a problem," he smiled at her. Leaning in to lightly touch her cheek with a kiss, he whispered near her ear, "I think Lee's got a thing for me anyway," he teased. As he pulled back, Sydney laughed and collapsed against the hospital pillows, watching him leave for the night.
For a woman who remembered herself as a nearly legendary CIA operative, Sydney was disappointed that she hadn't deduced their destination before Weiss arrived the next morning to begin their search for her father. After his tenure with the CIA and his abrupt departure, Jack Bristow hadn't left for a high paying job in the private sector, but instead had entered academia. Currently he was in his first full year as a professor of aerospace engineering at UCLA. Somehow, given the twisted memories that she had, it only seemed fitting.
Sydney was still haunted by a million questions as she changed into the clothes that Eric had bought her and thanked Lee and the hospital staff. The jeans and shirt were comfortable, leaving her to assume that she had at least that to be grateful to Mrs. Michael Vaughn. In the end, her heart couldn't help but concede that if his wife made Vaughn happy, Sydney couldn't help but be grateful to her for that as well.
Despite her questions, she was quiet as her friend drove her to the familiar campus. Sydney wondered if he'd accepted tenure at the prestigious university to feel closer to her or perhaps closer to memories of happier days, back when they all believed that Laura Bristow was an English professor there. Weiss did his best to fill her in on a variety of humorous anecdotes, some from the time she was missing and others from the time before they ever met. Even with her lack of inquiries, she was a careful listener, doing her best to try to pick up on whatever clues he'd unconsciously drop her. So far there'd been nothing, but he had made her laugh, something she was eternally grateful.
The government-issue sedan finally died down in front of the building where Jack Bristow's morning class was being held. According to the schedule that Devlin had given to Eric and he'd then passed on to her, Jack's class would be ending within minutes. Sydney thanked Eric for the ride as he reminded her to call him when she was done, going to go obtain some breakfast and allow her some time to be with her father. After believing your only child was dead for two years, Eric reasoned the least he could do was offer them some privacy.
Even after all of her years at UCLA, the building was unfamiliar to her. Instead she followed the signs and Eric's recent directions as she approached an open door and students slowly trickling out. Jack's class had not been taught in a massive lecture hall but one of the smaller classrooms on campus, a class suited to fit perhaps forty, a group of students who were currently moving past her. Sydney stepped into the room, standing in the back for a moment and silently observing her father. Jack moved about the front of the room, erasing the notes he'd made on the blackboard in his nearly illegible hand. Turning around, dressed in an outfit that reminded her of what he wore when they rescued Will from Taipei, he froze as his eyes landed on her in the otherwise empty classroom.
"Sydney," he softly said, his surprise so heavy that he was unable to hide it behind even his best poker face.
She did her best to smile through her tears, taking a few small steps towards the front of the classroom. "The CIA's been trying to get a hold of you . . . They left messages . . . "
"Yes . . . Well, we've been out of town. We just returned to Los Angeles this morning."
Silently she nodded, taking another few steps closer. "Everyone . . . they told me they thought I was dead, that everyone thought I was dead . . . No one's telling me anything though Dad. I don't know how they all thought I was dead or how I supposedly died . . . What happened to Will and Francie? Do you know where they are? The only person I've really seen is Eric Weiss and he barely knows more than I do -"
"Sydney," Jack spoke softly, placing his hands on her upper arm. "You must calm down," he commanded, the current of his voice gentle in a way that was foreign to any ear but his daughter's. "Sit down," he gestured for her to take a seat next to his desk as he took one as well. "Start from the beginning."
"I woke up in Hong Kong . . . everything I remember . . . everything I remember doesn't make any sense Dad . . . No one will tell me anything! I don't know who to call or what to expect . . . Please dad, what happened to me?"
"We did believe you were dead . . . I didn't want to believe it at first . . . At the time I didn't," he confessed softly, briefly looking away. Finally he turned back to her in his normal tone as he continued. "There wasn't a body Sydney. There were the skidmarks on the bridge . . . They pulled the car from the water and given the water temperature and the conditions that night . . . We were told just to assume that you tried to swim to shore and failed."
"Swim to shore?" she sniffled as her eyes widened. "That's how mom died . . . "
"Sydney?" Jack spoke.
"Dad, how could you believe . . . Everything dad, the skidmarks . . . the car from the water . . . That's how mom died. You had to have known dad . . . That's how mom staged her death -"
"Sydney, your not making any sense," he stopped her, clearly agitated and concerned.
"Yes I am!" she protested. "I *am* making sense dad! Sloane and Sark must be behind this . . . " she estimated, mostly to herself. As her mind raced she brought her hand up to her forehead, her eyes briefly shutting as she struggled to remember anything at all. "This doesn't make any sense," she murmured.
"Jack?"
Sydney felt her heart stop. Opening her eyes, she watched as her father stood and she slowly did the same, fully prepared and at the same time emotionally raw as she turned around. The sight was one that she could remember only from the earliest days of childhood. Everything, from the style of the outfit to the way her hair was kept, was reminiscent of the photographs and scattered memories that Sydney had held so dear. There was nothing dark, sharp or even suspicious about the woman before her.
"Laura," Jack softly responded.
Desperately sucking in the classroom air, Sydney released the only conscious thought she had at the moment, "Mom."