Alternate Infatuation

Sequel to Alternate Existence. We all know that certain people are simply destined to be together. When Syd finally gets out of the life of espionage she was drawn into at sixteen, how will she find her own destiny?

Chapter 3: Self Induced Waterworks

Disclaimer: Author does not own most of these characters. Said author does not wish to be sued. However, Jeffrey is all mine! This is also my original plot, and if anything resembling it ever shows up on Alias, I'm suing!

A/N: Please don't shoot me…

Agent Michael Vaughn stepped into the director's office, wondering what new life-threatening chore the man had concocted for him. Not that he was quite so bitter. He'd just become cynical, and much more immune to the jittery variety of nerves.

"Agent Vaughn," the director said, gesturing to a seat. "You're familiar with SD-6, I believe."

"Yes sir."

"They've acquired some unknown intel. That intel led them to kidnap a programmer. We don't even have a name, just that the programmer is believed to be a key of some sort."

"Why do they want a programmer?"

"Honestly, Agent Vaughn, we have no idea. At this point, we don't even know enough to be sure they want her for her programming abilities. The communication we intercepted told us only that the programmer was a woman, and they've got her."

"And I have to get her out," Vaughn guessed.

"Hopefully she'll be able to tell us what SD-6 wants," the director nodded.

Sydney shifted slightly in the hard metal chair to get a better view of the bare concrete room. The only window was high and small and crossed by bars so thick only narrow stripes of light landed on the floor. A single naked bulb hung over her head and gave off a dim light.

Her hands were tied behind her and her legs tied to the painfully angled legs of the chair. She didn't need a mirror to know her hair was wild and that her eyes glowed with hatred.

What made it all that much worse was that she didn't hate these people because they were holding her captive. Well, not just for that reason. She hated the men all around her because they'd dragged her violently back into the life she was trying so hard to outrun.

Even knowing exactly what her situation was, Sydney consciously hesitated to play super spy again. She was here, not as Lina Derevko, but as Sydney Bristow. Sydney Bristow was not the spy.

Now, finally, she realized, when she least wanted it, she'd resigned her two personas into one. She couldn't help but do what spies do, even if she wasn't really predisposed to like the idea of a slow painful death.

The man who'd been called Sloane by the others walked back in, holding a photocopy of something. Without preamble he began to read.

"The woman here depicted will possess unseen marks, signs that she will bring forth my works." HE turned the paper where she could see the old ink sketch of a woman who looked very much like herself. He continued, not looking at the paper now, but rather at her. "She will wield ultimate power, unto utter desolation."

He paused again, this time watching her with a smirk that might have been meant to be a smile.

"You will, Sydney."

Sydney glared at him.

"I don't know why you brought me here," she growled. "Or who the hell you think I am, or what you think I have, but you're not getting anything from me."

Sloane merely smiled, that curve of his thin lips that held no humor, and walked out, shutting the door firmly and leaving her alone with her own thoughts again.

Vaughn sprinted up the hall, his trained feet barely making a sound against the white tiled floor. The two men guarding the door he sought entrance to both drew their guns, but they were at a distinct disadvantage; he anticipated their presence, but they'd had little warning of his. They fell heavily and without a sound.

To Vaughn's surprise, the door wasn't locked. Cocky sons of bitches, he thought.

He burst in, looking first for more guards. Finding none, he met the eyes of the furious woman bound to the chair. He saw the hate glowing from those dark eyes, then saw recognition lighten then even as he realized who the eyes belonged to.

"You!" he snapped before he could think.

She smiled at him ironically.

Vaughn moved deftly to untie the woman's hands from behind her back. It took him a few moments to register that the tangle of rope did not hold her; she held it.

"If you're here to extract me," she began sarcastically, turning to face him and releasing the rope. "I suggest you help me with my feet."

Between them, it took only moments to free her. They jogged together out into the hall, Vaughn wondering how well his escapee could keep up.

Before he had a chance to react, a man suddenly materialized behind him and held a gun to his head, shouting something in what might have been Swahili.

The brown eyed escape artist went all to pieces at the sight of the gun pressed against his temple. She gasped and began to sob and plead and babble incoherently, but the guard ignored her. Vaughn did too, focusing all of his mental energy not into figuring out the unknown language, but into getting the gun away from his captor.

All of a sudden, a leg came flying by his ear, and he heard the gun skitter across the floor. A blur flashed by his face, and the man behind him dropped to the ground with a shocked silence.

Vaughn turned to look at the wild haired woman standing next to him. He'd never even noticed her move closer. She was dry-eyed and composed now, though her self induced waterworks had left her face tear streaked, and was clearly waiting for him to collect his thoroughly scattered wits.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She only gave him a half-hearted cynical smile.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Yay!

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