Early Monday arrived as Vaughn stepped inside the CIA headquarters, making a rare appearance at the offices where he once appeared daily. Picking up his voice messages on his cell phone as he pulled into the parking garage, he took care of the errands he had to run around the office before stopping at a familiar door.
"Come on it," Weiss called as he stepped in. "Hey, what are you doing here?"
"I just had to do a few things," he explained, sliding down into the visitor's chair as his friend focused on his work. "What are you doing here?"
Looking up, the expression on Weiss' face was humorous as he lifted his eyebrows, "Devlin wanted me to finish some report that Haladki screwed up."
Vaughn smirked, "There's nothing new about that."
"Tell me about it," he rolled his eyes. When he glanced up again, he caught the troubled expression on Vaughn's face. In response, Weiss dropped his pen and sat back. "What's wrong?"
"I got a note," he held up the offensive scrap of paper. "They're sending Sydney to see Barnett."
"That's really not a huge surprise Mike."
He shook his head, no longer looking at Weiss, "She's not going to respond well."
"She'll get over it. It's standard procedure, nothing you can do can get her out of it," he reminded him, returning to her work.
"I saw her this weekend."
"Who?" Weiss questioned, only half focused on his friend, his concentration directed towards the report he had to correct.
"Sydney."
"What?" his head snapped up. "Why? Where? Was it a coincidence or are you stalking her at the supermarket?" he quipped.
"No. I paged her," he conceded.
"Mike -"
"She was upset Friday. After hearing about Sloane . . . Something was bothering her."
"That's why they're sending her to Barnett."
"Come on, you and I both know that the good agents never give Barnett half as much as they should. If you're good at what you do, you don't talk about it, ever."
"And Sydney's one of the good ones?"
"She's going to be," he insisted. "Barnett's going to want her to tell her every detail that she's feeling, everything she can't remember and then make her sit there and listen while she dissects her."
"Like Barnett did to to you?" his friend shot back. As Vaughn's eyes darkened and his gaze lowered, Weiss sighed. "I'm sorry, that was unnecessary -"
"I told Sydney about it," he sighed.
"I've been trying to talk to you for months and you've known Sydney for -"
"She's going to be my partner. I don't want her to find out second hand two months from now and question our trust. Anyway, she was in love when she disappeared. She misses him. It's hard for her since he's still there, but he has this whole new life . . . In a way, we're in the same position. I could tell that she wouldn't react well to the news that they were going to send her to Barnett and I thought . . . We talked."
Weiss sighed sadly and leaned forward on his desk, "Mike -"
Vaughn looked up at him, his eyes on fire, "She called me Eric. Out of the blue, she had my number, she knew who I was and she called me . . . I thought she was insane," he conceded. Quietly he questioned, "Do you think she's crazy?"
"No," he shook his head and sighed. "I helped train her, remember?"
"There were some things I didn't tell Devlin or Jack . . . When I got back from Hong Kong," he admitted, his eyes lowered as his best friend scrutinized him cautiously.
"What?"
"You can't tell anyone Weiss," Vaughn warned, looking up at his friend.
"What did she say?"
"In her dossier, it listed Francine Calfo and William Tippin as two of her contacts - they're two of her best friends," he explained. Weiss nodded, recalling the names from the file he'd seen years ago when they recruited her and on multiple occasions when they investigated Sydney Bristow's supposed death. "She told me that they'd doubled Francie. She was legitimately scared and upset Weiss; she thought they were dead. Then, when I asked her how she got my phone number, she said I'd given it to her."
"When?" Weiss brow grew tight as he waited the answer from his pallid friend.
"When I was assigned her handler," he swallowed. "Then . . . when she attacked me, she demanded to know who'd sent me. Actually, she asked if Sloane had sent me and who I worked for." Weiss sat back, clearly shaken as his friend slowly continued. "She had no idea Eric. None of the things that happened to her before she drove off that bridge meant anything to her. So, do you think she's insane?"
"No," he answered after silently contemplating the response. "No. She's brilliant, I've seen the girls test scores, there's no way she's insane. Her imagination is vivid, isn't it? It would have to be to enter this field . . . She's just compensating. Her mind was just compensating with her imagination to make up for the time she lost," Eric suggested, clearly making up the reasoning as he went along. "Think about it. How terrifying would it be to wake up and find out you'd lost two years? To not remember anything or anyone from the last two years of your life? That people thought you were dead? Even if she wasn't completely aware of losing two years, she certainly had to know something was wrong when she woke up in Hong Kong. It's understandable that her imagination began to fill in the gaps."
"How does that include me?"
"I might have shown her a picture of you, she could have seen you when she came by to see me. Hell, you've worked with Jack before, Jack knows your father - maybe she picked up bits and pieces from conversation over the years. Sydney's got a photographic memory, it all sticks," Eric explained. "Do you think she's making it up?"
"For her sake, I hope not," he conceded. "Eric, you didn't see her face when she was talking about this man . . . To love someone like she loved him, to have that type of relationship, must have been incredible."
"But?" he sensed.
"But," Vaughn sighed. "I've thought about what she said and there have been moments when I wish she was making it up. I wished that this man really wasn't that great and hoped that her mind made the relationship out to be so much better than it actually was. She's already in a lot of pain Eric, and I can't imagine how heartbreaking and horrible it would be to love someone that much, to have something so perfect and lose them."
"You loved her," Eric softly pointed out as Vaughn's head flew up, his expression panicked. "Lauren?"
"You didn't see her face," he whispered again, tearing his eyes away.
"Why do you think she's telling you all this?"
"She's in a difficult place Eric. You said it yourself. She needs someone who will listen without trying to get answers out of her. Someone she trusts."
"Why not her friends? Will and Francie?"
"Why would she want to burden them now? They thought she was dead too. Can you imagine finding out one day that the best friend you thought you'd lost two years ago wasn't really dead? Right now it's understandable that they're overwhelmed by everything and confused. I'm sure they've helped her, but they've got a lot of questions now. Maybe more than Sydney has."
"So she talks to you."
"Once Eric," he reminded him sharply. "I called her, she talked, and I listened."
"Like Barnett?"
His eyes rolled as his eyebrows rose, "Not exactly."
"Be careful Mike," he advised his friend as Vaughn slowly pulled to his feet.
"Someone needs to be there for her," Vaughn reminded him. Every logical fiber in his body was screaming to slow down, to keep Sydney Bristow and all her mysterious reappearance from the dead at arms length. Except it was instinctive to respond to her, and it was quickly becoming apparent that arms length was far too great a distance.
"Yeah," Weiss muttered as his friend walked out of the room. "But who's going to be there for you?" he questioned aloud in the empty office.
Since their conversation, the questions had begun to haunt Sydney's thoughts. With sleep nowhere in sight, she got out of bed, suddenly determined, and got dressed. Less than an hour later, she grabbed her keys and her ID badge and was out the door, heading towards the CIA headquarters. Perhaps many people weren't awake at that time of night, but archives were always open. Eventually she would have to confront Sloane as an obvious threat, and she wasn't going to lose ground because he had thirty years of knowledge about a world that he'd forced her into.
The archives were massive, the first place where she felt she could learn enough to fully battle Sloane. As the hours ticked towards the start of her work day, she sat in the back, no one but the late shift archivist and the janitor to keep her company. Pouring over folders, she began with Sloane, not at all surprised that he was a model agent during his brief career - what a better place to hide than right in front of them? What caused her stomach to turn were various accounts of how he'd saved lives, how he left the CIA a revered agent who helped them bring down the Alliance. The mere existence of the Rambaldi artifacts caused Sydney to doubt everything that he'd told her, despite the fact that it was the only logical argument, and his pristine CIA file only left her more dubious.
Less than two hours before she was due at the JTF, she approached the archivist, thanking him for his assistance with researching Arvin Sloane and then asked him for the references related to another man. She had tried her best to ignore it. For over two weeks she somehow kept her insatiable curiousity in check. On that sixteenth day, with her low-level security clearance in hand, she had the archivist pull the file.
Her name had been Lauren. She'd been the daughter of a respected east coast senator. She was a blonde. Her astrological sign was Leo. She'd been accomplished roller skater. She'd completed her undergraduate degree at the University of Virginia, studying Foreign Affairs. Obviously something akin to a genius, only in her late twenties she already held two Master's degrees - one in Security Policy Administration from George Washington University and another in U.S. National Security Policy from Georgetown. Even with all of that east coast education, all of her studies had been completed by the time she arrived in Los Angeles, just weeks before she turned twenty-seven.
Ironically they'd met during the two years that she still felt were unaccounted for in any of her realities. Eric would later tell her they met during a joint investigation between the NSC and CIA and had hit it off immediately. They'd married less than a year before Sydney reappeared, and had nearly five and a half months of wedded bliss before she'd died.
Even though this Vaughn had never been hers, the thought of his wedded bliss with the deceased woman left her heart torn apart as she sat pouring over the files on that early Tuesday morning. Briefly Sydney considered if that had been how Vaughn felt when she first met him in her world, still struggling with the loss of Danny.
In this life, with this nearly too understanding reincarnation of Michael Vaughn, she still missed the Vaughn she'd known before. She longed for the reassurance and the checkered history they had once shared. Sydney found herself wishing for more than she had a right to ask for, more than the kindness he'd generously extended to his new coworker, even if there were a handful of times when she felt his eyes sneak over her body in a not so subtle once over. Instead this man she would always love had to be breaking, a feeling Sydney knew all too well. Lauren had only been gone for four months. Her death, a brain aneurysm while on assignment in D.C. for the NSC, had been unexpected, with no opportunity for goodbye. In her mind she could imagine it, just a casual kiss goodbye and agreements to have dinner the night she returned, a night that never came.
As Sydney got out of the car and approached the JTF building, she contemplated how she could be there for him, wondering if he'd ever let her. Their first time around trust had been thrust upon them, neither having an option given their precarious situation. This time they had to earn it, gaining it in bits and pieces, no matter how painstaking the task. Vaughn had been there for her, holding the dustpan as she swept together the fragments of her life post-Danny and never left her side as she tried to assemble them into something meaningful. He'd loved her, from the very get go, and she couldn't imagine not loving him. For the first time since she turned up in this crazy existence, her own burdens didn't seem all that heavy, not when she desperately wished she could carry the heavy weight of grief that she could only imagine he carried.
Determined, she walked into the building prepared not to let what she just learned interfere with her day. After all, Arvin Sloane was arriving and he had to be her first priority, no matter how jumbled she felt for and about Vaughn. She traced her normal path through the JTF when Kendall came into view and called her name. "Sydney, just the agent I was looking for," he spoke. "Your excused from this morning's debrief."
"Excuse me?" she crossed her arms.
"You're needed over at headquarters. I've scheduled you to see one of our therapists, Dr. Barnett," he handed her a slip of paper, an unfamiliar office number written in by a messy hand.
"I don't think -"
"The agency would like you to speak to someone Sydney. We feel it would not only be on your best interest but in the best interest of the agency and your case as well."
"Does my father know?"
"Your father agreed with Directors Devlin, Vaughn and myself that it would be everyone's best interest. The sooner you get past this experience Sydney, the better it is for everyone," he explained. Sydney looked at him and did her best to not tell him this wasn't a type of thing she suspected you ever got over. She would move on, but it would always be there.
"Okay," she replied regrettably. This was a no win situation, and the former leeway she was accustomed to no longer existed, especially in relation to Kendall.
"Your appointment is at ten," he told her as she glanced at her watch. By the time she looked up, Kendall was already on his way to wherever he was going. In her estimates she had just enough time to get a cup of coffee and check in on Marshall before she had to sit through the cross-town commute to meet with Dr. Barnett. Sydney sighed, annoyed that the meeting was required as she walked to her desk. Once her things were settled, she began to walk towards Marshall's area when she heard a familiar voice call her name.
"Hey," he jogged over to her, half a smile on his face as he glanced around. "Do you have a second? We need to talk," he asked quietly.
Sydney glanced around at their coworkers, no one even noticing they were talking as she nodded at him. "Sure Vaughn," she answered. He smiled briefly in relief and lightly touched her elbow as he led her over to what Weiss had once playfully dubbed the flirting corner.
"They're making you see Barnett," he spoke as she turned to face him.
"How -"
"I knew they were going to, I just didn't realize it would be today," he explained. Vaughn shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, running his face quickly over his face before he looked over at her. "While you're gone, I'll keep an eye on Sloane, try to figure out what he's really up to."
"Vaughn . . ." Sydney sighed, studying her shoes as she crossed her arms. Finally she glanced back and met his eyes, touched by his concern even if she felt she didn't truly deserve it. For the first time since her return Sydney truly regretted all she was unable to tell him, hated how much of herself she couldn't trust him with. That had never been a problem for them before, but in this life it was a critical means to her survival. As much as she hated lying, she could stand looking anyone else in the eye with a false truth as long as she hadn't had to disrespect what they had by lying to him. Still, she had tried to tell him, tried to explain at the hockey rink that she didn't remember anything. To herself Sydney admitted she could have been more persistent, but at least it was an attempt. "Why are you doing this?"
"I trust your instinct Sydney," he told her, his voice wrapped around the word so gently it nearly broke her heart. "I believe in you."
At his words she dipped her head and brushed a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear. Vaughn's eyes remained silently studying her as she composed herself and looked back at him, the light that bounced off of her moist eyes betraying her emotions. "Thank you."
"You should go," he realized.
"I should go," she agreed. "I'll see you after."
"Right," he smiled as they went their separate ways.
Sydney arrived at the appropriate suite of CIA offices just minutes before her scheduled appointment. The secretary smiled as she gave her name and was directed to the correct office. The nameplate with credentials she remembered from Barnett's door were gone as were all the personal touches she remembered the good doctor having. Still the office was furnished with a pair of comfortable sofa and chair along with a more practical desk and set of chairs across from it. Sydney sat down on the sofa and looked around, noting that the office was nearly devoid of anything related to the office's occupant. The only thing of any personal value or meaning she could find was a New York Mets beanie baby on the desk, a few picture frames on the desk, and a diploma. Before she could cross the room to closely inspect the diploma, the door clicked open and she sprang to her feet.
The gray eyes that met hers certainly did not belong to Dr. Barnett. The redhead appeared to be shorter than she was, wearing a gray sweater and black slacks that took pains to hide the curves that came with pregnancy. Her eyes were warm but distant to match the smile on her face. She approached Sydney, her hand out and her face unreadable. "Agent Bristow, it's an honor to meet you. I'm Dr. Becky Cox."
Sydney smiled as she shook her hand, unable to stop her question, "I thought I was meeting with Dr. Barnett."
"You will be, eventually. However right now Dr. Barnett is out of the country on an assignment with the agency. I was given some of her cases in the meantime, including yours," she explained, silently motioning for Sydney to take a seat. A moment later the woman carefully balanced herself into the seat across from her. "How are you doing Sydney?"
"Better," she answered honestly. Her weekend conversation with Vaughn had helped, far more than she knew it should have. For a moment she would have loathed how one relationship with one man could impact her entire view of life - if that man had been anyone other than Vaughn. Once she had him in her life, she wanted him to remain there, in one form of another - although she as near certain this way was nothing short of torture.
"You've been back for a few weeks. I see here that you've got an apartment. You're back to work, I imagine that must help."
"It has," she replied.
"You were engaged Sydney, when you disappeared."
"I had an entirely different life when I disappeared Dr. Cox," she reminded the woman. Not that she had any reason to dislike her, but the general nature of her occupation annoyed Sydney. "I was in love, my parent's were entirely different . . . really, the only thing that hasn't changed is my job."
"No one can expect you to not grieve these things Sydney."
"There's no time for that," she pointed out. "Everyone's two years ahead of me. I can't stop to grieve, I can't stop to think about how much I don't have - I can't lose anymore time."
"Have you talked to them? Spent some time with your family and fiance?"
"The man I was with . . . We're not together anymore," she sighed, careful how she chose her words, uninterested in lying any more than she had to. "My mother . . . she's still convinced I was in some sort of fugue state," Sydney added. The topic had come up over dinner the previous night, leaving her to be struck with how different Laura Bristow truly was from Irina Derevko. Both, she saw now, fiercely loved her and likely truly did want what was best for her - even if Irina Derevko had an awfully funny way of showing it. Except Irina wouldn't have mourned her death, not without fighting to make damn sure she was actually dead. Laura, meanwhile, had mourned her in anguish and was convinced that her daughter had left them in a fugue and returned to them by a miracle. According to her father, she wanted to hear nothing about terrorists and abductions. Laura Bristow was never anything less than strong-willed, but when it came to her family there were some things she simply refused to handle.
"Your parents are entitled to grieve differently. Your father's been with the agency for many years Sydney, I'm sure your mother has considered losing him on multiple occasions. While it's doubtful you were in a fugue state, it's understandable that your mother accepts everything with that explanation," Becky calmly explained. "Does it make it difficult for you, not being able to share your actual experience with your mother?"
"I can't share what I experienced with anyone - I don't remember anything," she reminded. "Maybe it's for the best, that she believes I just didn't remember . . . There have been moments when I wished I could convince myself that," she admitted.
"But you know better."
"Yes," she looked at the doctor. "I know that the Covenant took me because they thought I was the woman Rambaldi prophesized. Beyond that, no one - not me, not my father or Director Kendall or Director Vaughn or even the CIA - knows anything else."
"Do you believe in what the Covenant does? About Rambaldi?"
Sydney chuckled bitterly, her gaze on the office window, "my life was so much easier before I ever heard that name."
"I imagine it was."
"I didn't," she admitted. "I'm not sure I do, still, but there are times when it's hard not to . . . But if I do believe in Rambaldi, what am I doing here?" she looked at Becky.
"What do you mean Sydney?"
"If everything - good, bad, every major world event and every action I ever do - is prophesized by this man who died centuries before I was even born, what am I doing? Everything I do will already be predetermined, there's no point in trying to stop the Covenant. In my case there's no point in making a decision about everything - it's all been settled by Rambaldi."
"So the prophecy takes away your free will, your ability to make your determination."
"That's what followers of Rambaldi believe, isn't it? That no matter what I do, I will take down the greatest power known to man. The only thing it doesn't mention is whether it's intention or unintentional," she muttered.
"We all have free will Sydney."
"That's what I used to think," she agreed. "But I don't. Not with the Covenant getting involved in my life and some combination of Nostradamus and Da Vinci making my decisions for me before I was even conceived."
"You don't have to believe Sydney. I believe that there are many high-ranking officials on the case who don't believe. But those who do are powerful - they have money and command over dangerous people - and keeping Rambaldi out of their possession is important."
"I never wanted to prove some prophet wrong. All I wanted to do . . . I wanted to do something useful, to help people."
Becky smiled encouragingly, "You are."
"The worse part is I'm not even sure I want to anymore. Not like I used to. Now I've lost two years and all I want is what I kept pushing away."
"What's that?"
Sydney smiled wearily at the pregnant doctor, her left hand placed protectively over her swollen belly with her aged gold wedding band visible on her finger. "I want to be married, to have a family . . . I kept telling myself that there'd be time for that one day. The problem is I could never quite figure out when one day would start."
"It's not as easy as it looks," the doctor chuckled as her patient smiled. "You're not old Sydney - you're thirty. What you're doing here matters. Give yourself some time. You're adjusting to something very traumatic. Once things are settled, if you feel comfortable in every aspect of your life accept your work, then I'd be concerned."
"I can't just walk away," she reminded her sadly.
"I know," Becky sadly agreed. "You're going to do good work though Sydney. Don't doubt that. You already have."
"Thank you."
The doctor looked up at her clock and back at Sydney, "I'm afraid this is the end of our time. If you ever want to talk, please feel free to stop by. My door is almost always open."
"Thank you," she spoke as both stood, the doctor slower to rise than Sydney, and shook hands.
"Good luck Sydney."
"You too," she wished and walked out of the room.
Sydney walked into the JTF just after noon. Vaughn glanced up from his desk, his expression clearly weary until he saw her. With a tilt of his head he pointed her towards their earlier corner, arriving within moments of each other. "How'd it go?" he immediately inquired.
She crossed her arms and looked at him, "Fine. It was fine. She was nice enough."
"Good," he nodded.
"What about Sloane? Where is he?"
"They introduced him in debrief. He did a little work with Marshall, gave him some story about the clock and then he went somewhere with Kendall."
"Where?"
"I don't know. I asked my father and he wouldn't tell me, just someplace where they needed him to look at something. Kendall said he'd be back tomorrow."
"Great," she groaned. "Did he say anything unusual?"
"Not during the debrief," Vaughn replied as she nodded. It took only a moment but he noticed her distant look, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "Are you okay Syd?"
She raised her head and smiled at him. "I'm fine," she assured him. "I should go. I have paperwork to do."
"Me too," he smiled as they walked back to their respective desks.
The day dragged out, one of those paperwork-clogged days that was never spoken about in the CIA recruit video. For an hour Sydney found sanctuary in Marshall's office, listening to him share what else he'd learned about Rambaldi from Sloane and finding it was nothing she hadn't already known. Early in the afternoon Francie called and she agreed to meet her friend in the early evening at the restaurant to catch up on girl talk while Will was working. Since she was no in hurry to rush home to another meal alone, she gladly accepted the invitation and looked forward to seeing her friend.
Conveniently her walk out took her past Vaughn one last time as the two shared a casual goodbye, his eyes warm as they parted ways for the day. The ride to the restaurant wasn't as long as she expected and she easily found a parking space. The warm reds of the restaurant greeted her as she surveyed it for the first time in two years. What was most amazing was that the restaurant was exactly the same as she remembered her Francie decorating it a lifetime ago.
Finding Francie was easy, her friend sitting at one of the few vacant tables in the back, pouring over a recipe book. Sydney smiled as she approached, placing her bag in a free chair and taking as seat. "Hey."
"Hey," Francie smiled up at her. "Will got me this new cookbook and I thought it would be a good idea to add some new things. The only thing is that I think I like every recipe but I don't want to go too far off from what we usually serve."
"Will got you a cookbook?" she chuckled.
"Yeah, I know," she rolled her eyes. "How was work?"
"Fine," she sighed, pulling her eyes away and studying the table's vase, complete with a single red flower.
"Syd, what's going on?" Francie questioned, looking up a few months later and catching her friend's clearly far off expression.
She thanked the waitress who brought over her customary tea and studied the mug in her hand. Finally she looked back up and Francie, a smile hinting at the corner of her lips. "I have a crush on a guy from work."
"Really?" a smile blossomed across Francie's face as Sydney nodded. "What about Danny?"
Both of their smiles briefly vanished as she sighed and took a sip of her tea. Eventually Sydney turned back to her friend and tried to explain, "He's married Francie."
"I know," she nodded. "He called and told us . . . I didn't want to tell you Syd. I was so mad at him. I can't imagine -"
"It was over," she stopped her friend. "We weren't going anywhere. I love him," she admitted. "He's a wonderful guy Francie, and most of the time we were together I was happy, but now . . ."
"Now you've got a crush on a guy from work?" Francie finished, a hint of her smile returning to her face.
"Yes," she grinned.
"What's his name?"
To Francie's amazement, Sydney's smile got bigger, "Michael."
"Well?" she pressed immediately.
"We work together," she pushed hair behind her ear and continued carefully. "He's smart and funny . . . and he's so cute," she added, feeling her cheeks burn and a rush of deja vu to the ache in her soul. "Hot cute," she amended before Francie could demand clarification.
"So? Go for it!"
"The ba-" she stopped herself, her eyes briefly shutting as she shook her head. Finally Sydney looked back at her curious friend, "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be crazy about that at work," she pointed out. The truth was they hadn't been crazy about it, but nothing they'd ever done as a couple had jeopardized their work at the CIA in any way and so no one dared to even make it an issue. That had been then though, when she had more than proven her value and he had been the only one really brave enough to stand by her during everything.
"So? Be discreet," she shrugged.
"It's not that simple Francie."
"Does he have a girlfriend?"
"No," Sydney conceded. "Francie . . . He was married. His wife just died a few months ago."
"Oh," she spoke, her grin disappearing. "How long ago?"
"A few months," she shrugged. "Not that long. I think he's still grieving."
"So are you, in a way," her friend pointed out. "Sure, you and Danny are history now, but it couldn't have been easy when you first saw him. Maybe . . . Maybe it'd be easier talking to this Michael guy than it is talking to me about it," she shrugged. "I mean Syd, I love talking to you - but if not talking to me about Danny gives you something to talk to this guy about, I'd understand."
"Maybe," she agreed. There was no easy solution - the path for them, if he were even interested in pursuing it, would apparently never be easy. They could never stumble into each other at the same time.
"You really like him, don't you?" Francie realized.
"I do," she admitted. That was an understatement, the truth something she could neither fully explain nor share with Francie. A truth she couldn't even yet share with Vaughn.
"There's nothing wrong with being there for him, being his friend."
"He's such a nice guy Francie."
"Bring him by for lunch or something. I can cook for him, Will can interrogate him - it'll be great," she suggested as Sydney laughed.
"We just started working together too. I don't want him to think I'm unprofessional."
Francie looked at her skeptically, "The last one anyone who knows you would think is that you're unprofessional. Your the most dedicated workaholic I know."
"He talked to me about her," Sydney admitted quietly.
"Michael told you about his wife?"
"A bit. Sort of," she shrugged. "He really loved her. I don't . . . I don't know how to compete with that. I wouldn't want to."
"Then don't," her friend spoke. "Be you. Be the wonderful Sydney Bristow and Michael will have no option but to fall for you."
"He's . . ." she struggled for the words, taking a sip of her coffee. "He's incredible Francie."
"Well go for it," Francie smiled. "Don't rush or anything Syd, you both have a lot to through, but you know . . . There's no reason you can't get through it together."
Sydney smiled and returned to her coffee, hoping perhaps her luck would shift and things would go her way.
"Come on it," Weiss called as he stepped in. "Hey, what are you doing here?"
"I just had to do a few things," he explained, sliding down into the visitor's chair as his friend focused on his work. "What are you doing here?"
Looking up, the expression on Weiss' face was humorous as he lifted his eyebrows, "Devlin wanted me to finish some report that Haladki screwed up."
Vaughn smirked, "There's nothing new about that."
"Tell me about it," he rolled his eyes. When he glanced up again, he caught the troubled expression on Vaughn's face. In response, Weiss dropped his pen and sat back. "What's wrong?"
"I got a note," he held up the offensive scrap of paper. "They're sending Sydney to see Barnett."
"That's really not a huge surprise Mike."
He shook his head, no longer looking at Weiss, "She's not going to respond well."
"She'll get over it. It's standard procedure, nothing you can do can get her out of it," he reminded him, returning to her work.
"I saw her this weekend."
"Who?" Weiss questioned, only half focused on his friend, his concentration directed towards the report he had to correct.
"Sydney."
"What?" his head snapped up. "Why? Where? Was it a coincidence or are you stalking her at the supermarket?" he quipped.
"No. I paged her," he conceded.
"Mike -"
"She was upset Friday. After hearing about Sloane . . . Something was bothering her."
"That's why they're sending her to Barnett."
"Come on, you and I both know that the good agents never give Barnett half as much as they should. If you're good at what you do, you don't talk about it, ever."
"And Sydney's one of the good ones?"
"She's going to be," he insisted. "Barnett's going to want her to tell her every detail that she's feeling, everything she can't remember and then make her sit there and listen while she dissects her."
"Like Barnett did to to you?" his friend shot back. As Vaughn's eyes darkened and his gaze lowered, Weiss sighed. "I'm sorry, that was unnecessary -"
"I told Sydney about it," he sighed.
"I've been trying to talk to you for months and you've known Sydney for -"
"She's going to be my partner. I don't want her to find out second hand two months from now and question our trust. Anyway, she was in love when she disappeared. She misses him. It's hard for her since he's still there, but he has this whole new life . . . In a way, we're in the same position. I could tell that she wouldn't react well to the news that they were going to send her to Barnett and I thought . . . We talked."
Weiss sighed sadly and leaned forward on his desk, "Mike -"
Vaughn looked up at him, his eyes on fire, "She called me Eric. Out of the blue, she had my number, she knew who I was and she called me . . . I thought she was insane," he conceded. Quietly he questioned, "Do you think she's crazy?"
"No," he shook his head and sighed. "I helped train her, remember?"
"There were some things I didn't tell Devlin or Jack . . . When I got back from Hong Kong," he admitted, his eyes lowered as his best friend scrutinized him cautiously.
"What?"
"You can't tell anyone Weiss," Vaughn warned, looking up at his friend.
"What did she say?"
"In her dossier, it listed Francine Calfo and William Tippin as two of her contacts - they're two of her best friends," he explained. Weiss nodded, recalling the names from the file he'd seen years ago when they recruited her and on multiple occasions when they investigated Sydney Bristow's supposed death. "She told me that they'd doubled Francie. She was legitimately scared and upset Weiss; she thought they were dead. Then, when I asked her how she got my phone number, she said I'd given it to her."
"When?" Weiss brow grew tight as he waited the answer from his pallid friend.
"When I was assigned her handler," he swallowed. "Then . . . when she attacked me, she demanded to know who'd sent me. Actually, she asked if Sloane had sent me and who I worked for." Weiss sat back, clearly shaken as his friend slowly continued. "She had no idea Eric. None of the things that happened to her before she drove off that bridge meant anything to her. So, do you think she's insane?"
"No," he answered after silently contemplating the response. "No. She's brilliant, I've seen the girls test scores, there's no way she's insane. Her imagination is vivid, isn't it? It would have to be to enter this field . . . She's just compensating. Her mind was just compensating with her imagination to make up for the time she lost," Eric suggested, clearly making up the reasoning as he went along. "Think about it. How terrifying would it be to wake up and find out you'd lost two years? To not remember anything or anyone from the last two years of your life? That people thought you were dead? Even if she wasn't completely aware of losing two years, she certainly had to know something was wrong when she woke up in Hong Kong. It's understandable that her imagination began to fill in the gaps."
"How does that include me?"
"I might have shown her a picture of you, she could have seen you when she came by to see me. Hell, you've worked with Jack before, Jack knows your father - maybe she picked up bits and pieces from conversation over the years. Sydney's got a photographic memory, it all sticks," Eric explained. "Do you think she's making it up?"
"For her sake, I hope not," he conceded. "Eric, you didn't see her face when she was talking about this man . . . To love someone like she loved him, to have that type of relationship, must have been incredible."
"But?" he sensed.
"But," Vaughn sighed. "I've thought about what she said and there have been moments when I wish she was making it up. I wished that this man really wasn't that great and hoped that her mind made the relationship out to be so much better than it actually was. She's already in a lot of pain Eric, and I can't imagine how heartbreaking and horrible it would be to love someone that much, to have something so perfect and lose them."
"You loved her," Eric softly pointed out as Vaughn's head flew up, his expression panicked. "Lauren?"
"You didn't see her face," he whispered again, tearing his eyes away.
"Why do you think she's telling you all this?"
"She's in a difficult place Eric. You said it yourself. She needs someone who will listen without trying to get answers out of her. Someone she trusts."
"Why not her friends? Will and Francie?"
"Why would she want to burden them now? They thought she was dead too. Can you imagine finding out one day that the best friend you thought you'd lost two years ago wasn't really dead? Right now it's understandable that they're overwhelmed by everything and confused. I'm sure they've helped her, but they've got a lot of questions now. Maybe more than Sydney has."
"So she talks to you."
"Once Eric," he reminded him sharply. "I called her, she talked, and I listened."
"Like Barnett?"
His eyes rolled as his eyebrows rose, "Not exactly."
"Be careful Mike," he advised his friend as Vaughn slowly pulled to his feet.
"Someone needs to be there for her," Vaughn reminded him. Every logical fiber in his body was screaming to slow down, to keep Sydney Bristow and all her mysterious reappearance from the dead at arms length. Except it was instinctive to respond to her, and it was quickly becoming apparent that arms length was far too great a distance.
"Yeah," Weiss muttered as his friend walked out of the room. "But who's going to be there for you?" he questioned aloud in the empty office.
Since their conversation, the questions had begun to haunt Sydney's thoughts. With sleep nowhere in sight, she got out of bed, suddenly determined, and got dressed. Less than an hour later, she grabbed her keys and her ID badge and was out the door, heading towards the CIA headquarters. Perhaps many people weren't awake at that time of night, but archives were always open. Eventually she would have to confront Sloane as an obvious threat, and she wasn't going to lose ground because he had thirty years of knowledge about a world that he'd forced her into.
The archives were massive, the first place where she felt she could learn enough to fully battle Sloane. As the hours ticked towards the start of her work day, she sat in the back, no one but the late shift archivist and the janitor to keep her company. Pouring over folders, she began with Sloane, not at all surprised that he was a model agent during his brief career - what a better place to hide than right in front of them? What caused her stomach to turn were various accounts of how he'd saved lives, how he left the CIA a revered agent who helped them bring down the Alliance. The mere existence of the Rambaldi artifacts caused Sydney to doubt everything that he'd told her, despite the fact that it was the only logical argument, and his pristine CIA file only left her more dubious.
Less than two hours before she was due at the JTF, she approached the archivist, thanking him for his assistance with researching Arvin Sloane and then asked him for the references related to another man. She had tried her best to ignore it. For over two weeks she somehow kept her insatiable curiousity in check. On that sixteenth day, with her low-level security clearance in hand, she had the archivist pull the file.
Her name had been Lauren. She'd been the daughter of a respected east coast senator. She was a blonde. Her astrological sign was Leo. She'd been accomplished roller skater. She'd completed her undergraduate degree at the University of Virginia, studying Foreign Affairs. Obviously something akin to a genius, only in her late twenties she already held two Master's degrees - one in Security Policy Administration from George Washington University and another in U.S. National Security Policy from Georgetown. Even with all of that east coast education, all of her studies had been completed by the time she arrived in Los Angeles, just weeks before she turned twenty-seven.
Ironically they'd met during the two years that she still felt were unaccounted for in any of her realities. Eric would later tell her they met during a joint investigation between the NSC and CIA and had hit it off immediately. They'd married less than a year before Sydney reappeared, and had nearly five and a half months of wedded bliss before she'd died.
Even though this Vaughn had never been hers, the thought of his wedded bliss with the deceased woman left her heart torn apart as she sat pouring over the files on that early Tuesday morning. Briefly Sydney considered if that had been how Vaughn felt when she first met him in her world, still struggling with the loss of Danny.
In this life, with this nearly too understanding reincarnation of Michael Vaughn, she still missed the Vaughn she'd known before. She longed for the reassurance and the checkered history they had once shared. Sydney found herself wishing for more than she had a right to ask for, more than the kindness he'd generously extended to his new coworker, even if there were a handful of times when she felt his eyes sneak over her body in a not so subtle once over. Instead this man she would always love had to be breaking, a feeling Sydney knew all too well. Lauren had only been gone for four months. Her death, a brain aneurysm while on assignment in D.C. for the NSC, had been unexpected, with no opportunity for goodbye. In her mind she could imagine it, just a casual kiss goodbye and agreements to have dinner the night she returned, a night that never came.
As Sydney got out of the car and approached the JTF building, she contemplated how she could be there for him, wondering if he'd ever let her. Their first time around trust had been thrust upon them, neither having an option given their precarious situation. This time they had to earn it, gaining it in bits and pieces, no matter how painstaking the task. Vaughn had been there for her, holding the dustpan as she swept together the fragments of her life post-Danny and never left her side as she tried to assemble them into something meaningful. He'd loved her, from the very get go, and she couldn't imagine not loving him. For the first time since she turned up in this crazy existence, her own burdens didn't seem all that heavy, not when she desperately wished she could carry the heavy weight of grief that she could only imagine he carried.
Determined, she walked into the building prepared not to let what she just learned interfere with her day. After all, Arvin Sloane was arriving and he had to be her first priority, no matter how jumbled she felt for and about Vaughn. She traced her normal path through the JTF when Kendall came into view and called her name. "Sydney, just the agent I was looking for," he spoke. "Your excused from this morning's debrief."
"Excuse me?" she crossed her arms.
"You're needed over at headquarters. I've scheduled you to see one of our therapists, Dr. Barnett," he handed her a slip of paper, an unfamiliar office number written in by a messy hand.
"I don't think -"
"The agency would like you to speak to someone Sydney. We feel it would not only be on your best interest but in the best interest of the agency and your case as well."
"Does my father know?"
"Your father agreed with Directors Devlin, Vaughn and myself that it would be everyone's best interest. The sooner you get past this experience Sydney, the better it is for everyone," he explained. Sydney looked at him and did her best to not tell him this wasn't a type of thing she suspected you ever got over. She would move on, but it would always be there.
"Okay," she replied regrettably. This was a no win situation, and the former leeway she was accustomed to no longer existed, especially in relation to Kendall.
"Your appointment is at ten," he told her as she glanced at her watch. By the time she looked up, Kendall was already on his way to wherever he was going. In her estimates she had just enough time to get a cup of coffee and check in on Marshall before she had to sit through the cross-town commute to meet with Dr. Barnett. Sydney sighed, annoyed that the meeting was required as she walked to her desk. Once her things were settled, she began to walk towards Marshall's area when she heard a familiar voice call her name.
"Hey," he jogged over to her, half a smile on his face as he glanced around. "Do you have a second? We need to talk," he asked quietly.
Sydney glanced around at their coworkers, no one even noticing they were talking as she nodded at him. "Sure Vaughn," she answered. He smiled briefly in relief and lightly touched her elbow as he led her over to what Weiss had once playfully dubbed the flirting corner.
"They're making you see Barnett," he spoke as she turned to face him.
"How -"
"I knew they were going to, I just didn't realize it would be today," he explained. Vaughn shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, running his face quickly over his face before he looked over at her. "While you're gone, I'll keep an eye on Sloane, try to figure out what he's really up to."
"Vaughn . . ." Sydney sighed, studying her shoes as she crossed her arms. Finally she glanced back and met his eyes, touched by his concern even if she felt she didn't truly deserve it. For the first time since her return Sydney truly regretted all she was unable to tell him, hated how much of herself she couldn't trust him with. That had never been a problem for them before, but in this life it was a critical means to her survival. As much as she hated lying, she could stand looking anyone else in the eye with a false truth as long as she hadn't had to disrespect what they had by lying to him. Still, she had tried to tell him, tried to explain at the hockey rink that she didn't remember anything. To herself Sydney admitted she could have been more persistent, but at least it was an attempt. "Why are you doing this?"
"I trust your instinct Sydney," he told her, his voice wrapped around the word so gently it nearly broke her heart. "I believe in you."
At his words she dipped her head and brushed a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear. Vaughn's eyes remained silently studying her as she composed herself and looked back at him, the light that bounced off of her moist eyes betraying her emotions. "Thank you."
"You should go," he realized.
"I should go," she agreed. "I'll see you after."
"Right," he smiled as they went their separate ways.
Sydney arrived at the appropriate suite of CIA offices just minutes before her scheduled appointment. The secretary smiled as she gave her name and was directed to the correct office. The nameplate with credentials she remembered from Barnett's door were gone as were all the personal touches she remembered the good doctor having. Still the office was furnished with a pair of comfortable sofa and chair along with a more practical desk and set of chairs across from it. Sydney sat down on the sofa and looked around, noting that the office was nearly devoid of anything related to the office's occupant. The only thing of any personal value or meaning she could find was a New York Mets beanie baby on the desk, a few picture frames on the desk, and a diploma. Before she could cross the room to closely inspect the diploma, the door clicked open and she sprang to her feet.
The gray eyes that met hers certainly did not belong to Dr. Barnett. The redhead appeared to be shorter than she was, wearing a gray sweater and black slacks that took pains to hide the curves that came with pregnancy. Her eyes were warm but distant to match the smile on her face. She approached Sydney, her hand out and her face unreadable. "Agent Bristow, it's an honor to meet you. I'm Dr. Becky Cox."
Sydney smiled as she shook her hand, unable to stop her question, "I thought I was meeting with Dr. Barnett."
"You will be, eventually. However right now Dr. Barnett is out of the country on an assignment with the agency. I was given some of her cases in the meantime, including yours," she explained, silently motioning for Sydney to take a seat. A moment later the woman carefully balanced herself into the seat across from her. "How are you doing Sydney?"
"Better," she answered honestly. Her weekend conversation with Vaughn had helped, far more than she knew it should have. For a moment she would have loathed how one relationship with one man could impact her entire view of life - if that man had been anyone other than Vaughn. Once she had him in her life, she wanted him to remain there, in one form of another - although she as near certain this way was nothing short of torture.
"You've been back for a few weeks. I see here that you've got an apartment. You're back to work, I imagine that must help."
"It has," she replied.
"You were engaged Sydney, when you disappeared."
"I had an entirely different life when I disappeared Dr. Cox," she reminded the woman. Not that she had any reason to dislike her, but the general nature of her occupation annoyed Sydney. "I was in love, my parent's were entirely different . . . really, the only thing that hasn't changed is my job."
"No one can expect you to not grieve these things Sydney."
"There's no time for that," she pointed out. "Everyone's two years ahead of me. I can't stop to grieve, I can't stop to think about how much I don't have - I can't lose anymore time."
"Have you talked to them? Spent some time with your family and fiance?"
"The man I was with . . . We're not together anymore," she sighed, careful how she chose her words, uninterested in lying any more than she had to. "My mother . . . she's still convinced I was in some sort of fugue state," Sydney added. The topic had come up over dinner the previous night, leaving her to be struck with how different Laura Bristow truly was from Irina Derevko. Both, she saw now, fiercely loved her and likely truly did want what was best for her - even if Irina Derevko had an awfully funny way of showing it. Except Irina wouldn't have mourned her death, not without fighting to make damn sure she was actually dead. Laura, meanwhile, had mourned her in anguish and was convinced that her daughter had left them in a fugue and returned to them by a miracle. According to her father, she wanted to hear nothing about terrorists and abductions. Laura Bristow was never anything less than strong-willed, but when it came to her family there were some things she simply refused to handle.
"Your parents are entitled to grieve differently. Your father's been with the agency for many years Sydney, I'm sure your mother has considered losing him on multiple occasions. While it's doubtful you were in a fugue state, it's understandable that your mother accepts everything with that explanation," Becky calmly explained. "Does it make it difficult for you, not being able to share your actual experience with your mother?"
"I can't share what I experienced with anyone - I don't remember anything," she reminded. "Maybe it's for the best, that she believes I just didn't remember . . . There have been moments when I wished I could convince myself that," she admitted.
"But you know better."
"Yes," she looked at the doctor. "I know that the Covenant took me because they thought I was the woman Rambaldi prophesized. Beyond that, no one - not me, not my father or Director Kendall or Director Vaughn or even the CIA - knows anything else."
"Do you believe in what the Covenant does? About Rambaldi?"
Sydney chuckled bitterly, her gaze on the office window, "my life was so much easier before I ever heard that name."
"I imagine it was."
"I didn't," she admitted. "I'm not sure I do, still, but there are times when it's hard not to . . . But if I do believe in Rambaldi, what am I doing here?" she looked at Becky.
"What do you mean Sydney?"
"If everything - good, bad, every major world event and every action I ever do - is prophesized by this man who died centuries before I was even born, what am I doing? Everything I do will already be predetermined, there's no point in trying to stop the Covenant. In my case there's no point in making a decision about everything - it's all been settled by Rambaldi."
"So the prophecy takes away your free will, your ability to make your determination."
"That's what followers of Rambaldi believe, isn't it? That no matter what I do, I will take down the greatest power known to man. The only thing it doesn't mention is whether it's intention or unintentional," she muttered.
"We all have free will Sydney."
"That's what I used to think," she agreed. "But I don't. Not with the Covenant getting involved in my life and some combination of Nostradamus and Da Vinci making my decisions for me before I was even conceived."
"You don't have to believe Sydney. I believe that there are many high-ranking officials on the case who don't believe. But those who do are powerful - they have money and command over dangerous people - and keeping Rambaldi out of their possession is important."
"I never wanted to prove some prophet wrong. All I wanted to do . . . I wanted to do something useful, to help people."
Becky smiled encouragingly, "You are."
"The worse part is I'm not even sure I want to anymore. Not like I used to. Now I've lost two years and all I want is what I kept pushing away."
"What's that?"
Sydney smiled wearily at the pregnant doctor, her left hand placed protectively over her swollen belly with her aged gold wedding band visible on her finger. "I want to be married, to have a family . . . I kept telling myself that there'd be time for that one day. The problem is I could never quite figure out when one day would start."
"It's not as easy as it looks," the doctor chuckled as her patient smiled. "You're not old Sydney - you're thirty. What you're doing here matters. Give yourself some time. You're adjusting to something very traumatic. Once things are settled, if you feel comfortable in every aspect of your life accept your work, then I'd be concerned."
"I can't just walk away," she reminded her sadly.
"I know," Becky sadly agreed. "You're going to do good work though Sydney. Don't doubt that. You already have."
"Thank you."
The doctor looked up at her clock and back at Sydney, "I'm afraid this is the end of our time. If you ever want to talk, please feel free to stop by. My door is almost always open."
"Thank you," she spoke as both stood, the doctor slower to rise than Sydney, and shook hands.
"Good luck Sydney."
"You too," she wished and walked out of the room.
Sydney walked into the JTF just after noon. Vaughn glanced up from his desk, his expression clearly weary until he saw her. With a tilt of his head he pointed her towards their earlier corner, arriving within moments of each other. "How'd it go?" he immediately inquired.
She crossed her arms and looked at him, "Fine. It was fine. She was nice enough."
"Good," he nodded.
"What about Sloane? Where is he?"
"They introduced him in debrief. He did a little work with Marshall, gave him some story about the clock and then he went somewhere with Kendall."
"Where?"
"I don't know. I asked my father and he wouldn't tell me, just someplace where they needed him to look at something. Kendall said he'd be back tomorrow."
"Great," she groaned. "Did he say anything unusual?"
"Not during the debrief," Vaughn replied as she nodded. It took only a moment but he noticed her distant look, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "Are you okay Syd?"
She raised her head and smiled at him. "I'm fine," she assured him. "I should go. I have paperwork to do."
"Me too," he smiled as they walked back to their respective desks.
The day dragged out, one of those paperwork-clogged days that was never spoken about in the CIA recruit video. For an hour Sydney found sanctuary in Marshall's office, listening to him share what else he'd learned about Rambaldi from Sloane and finding it was nothing she hadn't already known. Early in the afternoon Francie called and she agreed to meet her friend in the early evening at the restaurant to catch up on girl talk while Will was working. Since she was no in hurry to rush home to another meal alone, she gladly accepted the invitation and looked forward to seeing her friend.
Conveniently her walk out took her past Vaughn one last time as the two shared a casual goodbye, his eyes warm as they parted ways for the day. The ride to the restaurant wasn't as long as she expected and she easily found a parking space. The warm reds of the restaurant greeted her as she surveyed it for the first time in two years. What was most amazing was that the restaurant was exactly the same as she remembered her Francie decorating it a lifetime ago.
Finding Francie was easy, her friend sitting at one of the few vacant tables in the back, pouring over a recipe book. Sydney smiled as she approached, placing her bag in a free chair and taking as seat. "Hey."
"Hey," Francie smiled up at her. "Will got me this new cookbook and I thought it would be a good idea to add some new things. The only thing is that I think I like every recipe but I don't want to go too far off from what we usually serve."
"Will got you a cookbook?" she chuckled.
"Yeah, I know," she rolled her eyes. "How was work?"
"Fine," she sighed, pulling her eyes away and studying the table's vase, complete with a single red flower.
"Syd, what's going on?" Francie questioned, looking up a few months later and catching her friend's clearly far off expression.
She thanked the waitress who brought over her customary tea and studied the mug in her hand. Finally she looked back up and Francie, a smile hinting at the corner of her lips. "I have a crush on a guy from work."
"Really?" a smile blossomed across Francie's face as Sydney nodded. "What about Danny?"
Both of their smiles briefly vanished as she sighed and took a sip of her tea. Eventually Sydney turned back to her friend and tried to explain, "He's married Francie."
"I know," she nodded. "He called and told us . . . I didn't want to tell you Syd. I was so mad at him. I can't imagine -"
"It was over," she stopped her friend. "We weren't going anywhere. I love him," she admitted. "He's a wonderful guy Francie, and most of the time we were together I was happy, but now . . ."
"Now you've got a crush on a guy from work?" Francie finished, a hint of her smile returning to her face.
"Yes," she grinned.
"What's his name?"
To Francie's amazement, Sydney's smile got bigger, "Michael."
"Well?" she pressed immediately.
"We work together," she pushed hair behind her ear and continued carefully. "He's smart and funny . . . and he's so cute," she added, feeling her cheeks burn and a rush of deja vu to the ache in her soul. "Hot cute," she amended before Francie could demand clarification.
"So? Go for it!"
"The ba-" she stopped herself, her eyes briefly shutting as she shook her head. Finally Sydney looked back at her curious friend, "I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be crazy about that at work," she pointed out. The truth was they hadn't been crazy about it, but nothing they'd ever done as a couple had jeopardized their work at the CIA in any way and so no one dared to even make it an issue. That had been then though, when she had more than proven her value and he had been the only one really brave enough to stand by her during everything.
"So? Be discreet," she shrugged.
"It's not that simple Francie."
"Does he have a girlfriend?"
"No," Sydney conceded. "Francie . . . He was married. His wife just died a few months ago."
"Oh," she spoke, her grin disappearing. "How long ago?"
"A few months," she shrugged. "Not that long. I think he's still grieving."
"So are you, in a way," her friend pointed out. "Sure, you and Danny are history now, but it couldn't have been easy when you first saw him. Maybe . . . Maybe it'd be easier talking to this Michael guy than it is talking to me about it," she shrugged. "I mean Syd, I love talking to you - but if not talking to me about Danny gives you something to talk to this guy about, I'd understand."
"Maybe," she agreed. There was no easy solution - the path for them, if he were even interested in pursuing it, would apparently never be easy. They could never stumble into each other at the same time.
"You really like him, don't you?" Francie realized.
"I do," she admitted. That was an understatement, the truth something she could neither fully explain nor share with Francie. A truth she couldn't even yet share with Vaughn.
"There's nothing wrong with being there for him, being his friend."
"He's such a nice guy Francie."
"Bring him by for lunch or something. I can cook for him, Will can interrogate him - it'll be great," she suggested as Sydney laughed.
"We just started working together too. I don't want him to think I'm unprofessional."
Francie looked at her skeptically, "The last one anyone who knows you would think is that you're unprofessional. Your the most dedicated workaholic I know."
"He talked to me about her," Sydney admitted quietly.
"Michael told you about his wife?"
"A bit. Sort of," she shrugged. "He really loved her. I don't . . . I don't know how to compete with that. I wouldn't want to."
"Then don't," her friend spoke. "Be you. Be the wonderful Sydney Bristow and Michael will have no option but to fall for you."
"He's . . ." she struggled for the words, taking a sip of her coffee. "He's incredible Francie."
"Well go for it," Francie smiled. "Don't rush or anything Syd, you both have a lot to through, but you know . . . There's no reason you can't get through it together."
Sydney smiled and returned to her coffee, hoping perhaps her luck would shift and things would go her way.