Disclaimer: Don't Own ALIAS

"I know it's crazy. I'm not even Catholic. Actually, I'm not really much of anything. Do you think my lack of religion is what drove me to be who I am today? Interesting point, I suppose. Don't know why I'm asking you. You're a vegetable. Actually, honestly, I hope you die. And, I think I'm going to get Sydney back." Sark told the brain-dead Lauren. "Yeah, that's it… I'm going to get Sydney back."

--

Sydney woke up, groggy. She felt like she had been hit in the head with a hammer. Of course, that was the aftereffect of the tequila. Tequila? When had she had tequila?

A groan next to her brought it back.

Candles, music, couch… it was originally suppose to just be a romantic date at her apartment. Her and Vaughn. No sex, yet. It was too early. Too raw. They had started on the couch. That's where her clothes probably were. Near the couch. From the couch to the bedroom. They had almost ended up on the bedroom floor. But, they made it to the bed. The bed. That's where it had happened, finally, at last, icing on the cake. She got Vaughn back and the great sex that went with it. She had missed him. She knew she had. But there was a new void in her life. A void that wouldn't go away, no matter how hard she tried to fill it with Vaughn.

--

"Mais vous aren't un parent ! Vous aren't a autorisé de la prendre de de soutien de vie !"

"But you aren't a relative! You aren't authorized to take her off of life support!" The doctor protested.

"Bien, son mari a-t-il l'autorité pour enlever le soutien de vie ?" "Well, does her husband have the authority to remove life support?" Sark asked.

"S'écarter, bien, techniquement." "Err, well, technically." The doctor nervously replied. "Mais nous aurions besoin d'une ID de photo que vous êtes Michael Vaughn." "But we would need a photo ID that you are Michael Vaughn."

"Comment pensez-vous que je suis entré ici ?" "How do you think I got in here?" Sark questioned, showing the doctor an ID.

"Bien, alors, dire vos derniers adieux…." "Well, then, say your last goodbyes…." The doctor muttered.

(A/N: excuse my French)

--

"Hey, Syd, do you feel like a train ran into you skull?" Vaughn asked.

Sydney giggled. "Yeah, except that would probably kill you."

"This tequila might, too. Next time let's go with something less strong."

"Like what?"

"Like Chateau Pertreuse… maybe '82."

"Why that?" Sweat began to form on her forehead, the back on her neck. Her pulse began to beat faster than before.

"I tried it once… in London… with one of my friends… it's not a bad year, and the wine's not a bad one."

"When were you in London, with a friend, drinking wine?" Her nervousness changed to suspicion.

Now I've said too much. Vaughn thought. How do I get myself out of this without revealing my little secret?

"Michael…"

"Huh?"

"You never answered my question."

"Before I met you, there was someone else in my life, Syd. You know that. There were several, actually. One time we went to London and had a glass. It was fun. But that was before."

"Oh, okay." Deep down inside, Sydney didn't believe his explanation.