Alternate Existence

She was just sixteen. She never wanted this. She never wanted any of it. She didn't want to be an agent. She didn't want to even learn to fight. And most of all, she didn't want to learn her mother was a foreign spy.

Chapter 9: Marching Orders

A/N: For the last time, people: I love ya'll and everything, but Denosivich is absolutely positively NOT Sark-like! Not good Sark, not bad Sark, there is no Sark element in this fic! (Okay, I just had to get my little rant out...let's all think happy thoughts now...)

A/N: And for the person that reviewed as mrs. michael vaughn, I am so disappointed in you. The name you reviewed under really gave me more faith in you than this...the Green-eyed Suit is supposed to be a familiar character! Think about that for a moment, please! And to clear up any other misconceptions, the Green-eyed Suit would be, at this point, about twenty-five-ish.

A/N: Only one more, I swear! Crates: Okay, so he is a little young, theoretically, but I wanted to put him in here, so the CIA and the United States government will just have to deal with our rookie agent, okay?!?!? lol. I appreciate your point, there's just nothing I can (or will, rather) do about it.

It was a couple of weeks before Sydney sorted the new information--and the new rules--out for herself enough that she dared talk to Jeffrey. During that time, she had seven training sessions, and to her surprise, the new power she felt in Lina didn't disappear, but continued to grow. Sydney began to see that natural talent Denosivich had claimed she possessed, after all, and she learned the art quickly.

Denosivich never pressed her about their meeting, and he never requested an answer. Only once did he remind her that his coworkers awaited her decision, and he'd do what he could to find out the answers to any questions she had.

Sydney realized her psyche was due some trauma either way she went. Denosivich didn't need to remind her of that. One way, and she had to lie to her mother forever; the other, she had to leave her mother forever.

Once, though, she had mentioned her father's death--she couldn't remember later the context in which she'd said it--and Denosivich's reaction had been instinctive. But he'd held it in check.

Sydney had registered that his expression was strange, but she didn't ask.

Finally, she surrendered to the inevitable and clutched at her locket as she returned from a session. She activated it before she ever entered the building and called Jeffrey from her cell phone. He practically sprinted down the stairs in his thirst for news of Sydney's secret life; the last he knew, her handler had promised the truth about Jessie.

He stopped feet away from Sydney and looked around to as if he expected to see microphones poking out form the walls.

"Is it safe?" he asked.

Sydney nodded; there was no reason to explain the locket to him.

"We don't have to worry," she promised.

"Good," Jeffrey sighed, climbing up next to her. "Are you okay? Did you find out about Jess?" His voice cracked just a little on his friend's name.

"I found out," Sydney said bitterly. "And a lot else with it."

Leaving out her connected feeling to the Green-eyed Suit, she told him about that night and what she'd learned. She told him about the necklace after all, and about her mother, and about Denosivich. She ended by shaking her head.

"I just feel like I can't do this much longer. I love my mother. But I hate Irina Derevko. It's like two different people. She even has this accent as Derevko, and I don't even know if it's real or not. I just want to go away, but they'd find me. The scariest part is, I know I can be what Lina Derevko is supposed to be. I could be a double agent, but I'm not sure I'd rather do that than just disappear. No more Sydney Bristow, no more Lina Derevko."

Jack Bristow walked into the New York City field office with an air of supreme confidence. He'd put in for the transfer as soon as they'd touched tentatively on Irina Derevko's position there. He'd known for years that Irina Derevko and Laura Bristow were the same woman, but he'd felt that was his own business, and was the only thing he'd ever kept from the CIA.

In the years before that discovery, he'd often wondered why his beloved daughter hadn't written or called or something. Laura had been bitter over the divorce, he'd thought, but surely she hadn't turned his Sydney against him?

But now he'd found his girl, after eight years. Did she even know he was CIA? Would she even look for him, or had Irina Derevko poisoned her mind against him?

Jack Bristow was no doubt a hardened CIA man with no connections, but that wasn't because he wasn't open to them. Well, he amended, may be he was, but if he could just get his little girl back, everything could be all right again.

Suddenly he realized the man walking through the bullpen style office space was heading for him. He'd read up on some of the top agents in this branch of the CIA. His visitor was none other than Calvin Denosivich, double agent in the KGB. What could the man want, unless…Surely the woman he'd once known as Laura Bristow hadn't brought Sydney into the KGB? Or may be they'd made the connection between Irina Derevko and Laura Bristow?

Denosovich soon cleared up those questions with very definite answers.

"Jack Bristow?"

"Calvin Denosivich?"

The two shook hands hurriedly.

"Agent Bristow, I'm here against all advice because I have intel I believe you have a right to. Your daughter…"

"Yes?"

"She's believed you were dead."

"She…what? Oh, God, I have to find her. I have to tell her she has a choice…" Jack said.

"I also must caution you, sir, that if you do so, you blow your ex-wife's cover, risk mine, and risk your daughter's life," Denosivich warned with respectful impudence.

Then Calvin Denosivich turned on his heel to slip back out of the building he so rarely entered, leaving Jack Bristow to sort out the fact that his daughter thought he was dead, his ex-wife was a spy, and a junior agent had just given him his marching orders.