A/N: Aren't you getting a little sick of me always saying 'Sorry this took so long'? Alright then, I'll say it in French. This update took forever. Je desolee. And merci beaucoup to Sandpiper, for helping so much with this chapter and putting up with me. ;-)

Written in Blood Chapter Ten- "This Could Be the End of Everything"

Oh simple thing, where have you gone?

I'm getting old and I need something to rely on

So tell me when you're gonna let me in

I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

And if you have a minute why don't we go

Talk about it somewhere only we know?

This could be the end of everything

So why don't we go

Somewhere only we know?- Keane- "Somewhere Only We Know"

"Dad. Come in," I ushered him inside after he'd rung the doorbell at about 7:30, arms stuffed with a bag of Chinese takeout. He set it on the table and immediately got to business as I gathered plates and silverware from the kitchen.

"I assume you've already realized the opportunity this mission provides to assure Vaughn's freedom."

I nodded. "Of course. It shouldn't be too difficult. The CIA has to release him for the mission of we lose valuable information to the enemy. So they let him go, we send him somewhere safe, and we tell Sloane and the CIA that he escaped."

"Correct, following Vaughn's meeting with Sloane and Giovanni."

I coughed at his addition, fighting to keep a piece of sesame chicken in my mouth. "Dad! We're not actually letting him go through with that."

"Sydney-"

"No, Dad! It's not questionable. We can't put him through those meetings. Sloane knows he's CIA, probably knows he's ranked highly enough to have valuable information about SD-6 and the mole. He could torture him! And Giovanni, who knows what that insane cultist might do-"

"Sydney!" I stopped mid rant and met my father's glare. He shook his head and sighed. "Yes, it's a dangerous move. But stop thinking with your emotions and start thinking with your mind. It's the only choice we have. Sloane needs to believe the mission went off without a hitch. If he doesn't, he'll only resort to other techniques in order to get the information he wants, in which case he'd obtain it and the CIA wouldn't. Not to mention that you'd have to work out an entire act to play for Dixon for him to believe it. And do you really think that Sloane would believe that after all the people you and Dixon have taken down that were twice your size and number, you couldn't manage to restrain a man of average size and what Sloane believes to be average field skills in the ten minute journey from the area he lives in to the Credit Dauphine building?"

"Ok, ok. Yes, I know. I knew before, I just... Dad, I'm worried about him."

I wouldn't call the change that occurred in his tone 'softening,' but it was certainly easier to listen to than his lecture. "I know, Sydney. And I can't honestly assure his safety. But we either take this risk or let him rot in that cell for the rest of his life."

I nodded and took a deep breath, relieved that the tears hadn't decided to make an appearance at the party yet. Visions of Vaughn being treated as an American traitor by Arvin Sloane plagued my mind, a morbid example of irony if there ever was one. Still, my father was right. I let my silence tell him of my acceptance.

"Now where can we send him?" he asked, returning us to the task at hand.

I thought for a minute, still disturbed by my mental images. "He has family in France, his mother and aunt. But that's the first place they'd look."

Another moment passed before I spoke again. "I'll find somewhere. I'll ask him after we've ditched the security unit."

It was cutting it a little close, but better off than choosing an unsafe place for him.

"Alright. I'm going to go settle the situation about Vaughn's release with Kendall. Go prepare whatever you need to, everything will most likely be in place by tonight."

I nodded and stood up, my legs unbearably heavy with the enormity of the situation. "Thanks, Dad."

A curt nod and he left, leaving me alone with a pounding head and two half full plates of lo-mien and egg rolls.

"Vaughn."

"Hey."

"Holding up okay?"

"A little tired of being forced to recap our every meeting, but I'm alright."

I kept my gaze on him skeptically, not really believing him but lacking the time to repeat the same 'How are you, really?' conversation a second time. "You're going to be released," I informed him, and watched the surprise and curiosity flash across his eyes. "Temporarily, at least," I added, and proceeded to explain to him the details of Sloane's desire to meet him, and my mission to 'capture' him and bring him to Giovanni.

As I described what he'd have to do, I saw a hint of fear play across his features. "I'm being interrogated by Sloane and meeting with an Italian Rambaldi fanatic?"

I couldn't let him know that I was just as worried. "My father and I will be escorting you to SD-6. We'll do everything we can to move the meeting with Sloane along as quickly and easily as possible. The same goes for Giovanni."

I knew from the hesitancy of his nod that he didn't believe me. He knew exactly what Sloane and Giovanni would want, and most likely would, do to him. He didn't press the issue, however.

I noticed then that there was something besides anxiety in his eyes: questioning. I knew he was wondering if there was another component to the agenda. I answered him silently, a slight nod. Yes, Vaughn, we're getting you the hell out of here. He understood and brought about another important matter. "How are you going to bring me into Sloane? You can't exactly take Dixon to the basement of the CIA building and break me out of custody."

"You'll be released and positioned into a situation that would be typical of your everyday life. Dixon and I will 'locate' and apprehend you... the same way we would any detainee."

For maybe the first time in days, Vaughn looked slightly amused, knowing what I meant by this statement. I returned the small smile, glad we could at least have some semblance of light-heartedness. It wasn't going to last long.

"Anyway, it'll probably be sometime tomorrow. I just have to get everything in order and give it enough time for Sloane to think I've tracked you down."

He nodded. "Okay."

I couldn't leave him like that, not just yet. Our hands once again united through the space in the glass, and I squeezed gently, providing him with a gaze that I hoped he took as 'Don't worry, this will all be over soon.' He smiled a little an squeezed back. We separated our hands but not our eyes, as I gave him a small wave and began to walk slowly away from the glass.

"Bye, Syd," he said softly as, finally, I broke our gaze to turn forward, moving through the rising metal bars and leaving Vaughn behind in his cell, hopefully for the last time.

I picked up the phone the next evening and inhaled what seemed like not quite enough air as I dialed Dixon's cell phone number, prepared to tell the partial fabrication that could make or break my handler's fate.

"Dixon, I've been researching all day and I've got something. Every Wednesday night, Michael Vaughn and a group of acquaintances visit a nearby hockey rink and play a game or two against each other or sometimes the locals hanging out at the rink."

"Sydney, it is Wednesday."

"Yeah. See you in 45 minutes."

I won't lie. Seduction is usually the easiest part of a mention. Certainly the least enjoyable, but the easiest none the less. Getting a greed driven bastard to want your 'feminine majesty' isn't a great feat compared to the fighting, stealing, hiding, and escaping. Sometimes, though, certain circumstances reverse things. This was one of those situations. Several factors were standing in the way of my simple success:

1) A 40 degree ice rink isn't an unproblematic place to "dress down" for.

2) I suck at ice skating. I haven't skated since I was five.

3) The man I'm seducing already wants me and has to pretend he doesn't.

4) I already desperately want the man I'm seducing.

This was definitely not my easiest mission ever, especially knowing where its accomplishment would lead. Selfishly, I wondered if it was worth it. Going through with this meant freeing Vaughn. Keeping him locked up denied him freedom. But locked up he'd still be near me.

"Syd, we're here," Dixon's voice beckoned me back to earth. "We're here. Do your thing."

I nodded and adjusted the collar of the sheer black shirt I was wearing over a red sleeveless turtleneck. Then, flashing Dixon a little smile of confidence, I climbed out of the car and walked towards the rink entrance. He lingered long enough to put the distance of strangers between us before following.

A deep chill settled into me as I entered the building and I shivered, wishing my shirt were heavier. But that's not the way these things work, is it? Scanning the rink, I spotted him quickly. Speeding skillfully across the ice gripping his hockey stick, a blur of blue jeans, brown fleece, and disordered sandy hair, you'd never guess this man had spent the last 48 hours in a Central Intelligence Agency high security cell.

I managed to drag my stare away and conspicuously began to saunter towards the skate rental booth. I laced the skates up as fast as I could and, with a final wink from Dixon by the vending machines, glided onto the rink with as much confidence as I could muster. My heart was smashing against my chest like a puck into a goal.

As he stopped to catch a breath, I caught his eye and grinned what I hoped was my Seductive Grin and not my Warm Fuzzy Reserved For Vaughn Grin. A few of his friends who noticed looked curiously in my direction. I began to skate slowly towards him, mentally preparing cunning dialogue in my head.

"Hi," I let the word slither past my lips when I reached him.

He paused, as any man would, and slowly the corner of his mouth tugged upward. "Hello."

"You're pretty good on the ice," I complimented.

"You were watching me?"

I let a grin answer his question. Ok... so far, so good. Just keep playing it cool, Syd. "Do you skate often?"

"As much as possible. I come here once or twice a week... never have seen you, though."

"Well, I-"I never had the chance to complete my excuse for not having been a regular at the rink. Just then, my left blade caught an uneven rise in the ice, just enough to send me toppling face forward. Right into my handler, boyfriend, and mission. He flew backwards.

Before I could let out a yelp of surprise, I found myself lying facedown on top of Vaughn, who must have instinctively thrown out his arms to catch me because they were now wrapped protectively around my back. Case in point, we were now in quite a compromising position for anyone, let alone two complete strangers. They really need to use the zamboni more often in this place.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm my heart, I realized this was a perfect way to keep in character. Catching his sage gaze with mine I offered a tiny smile and let my words escape in a husky tone. "Well... this certainly wasn't how I'd planned to get you into this position. But while we're here... hi, I'm Sydney."

"Michael. Pleased to meet you."

"I'll bet you are," I replied slyly, gradually climbing off of him and rising to my feet. Leaning down, I offered him my hand. He took it and stood. I gripped his hand more tightly and pulled him back to me, leaning in close. "So, Michael... you like hockey?"

He nodded, biting back the beginnings of an amused grin. Thank God there was humor to be found in this situation, because otherwise we would have had to dwell on the fear that was rapidly filling our hearts.

Ignoring it as it crept up again, I added deeply, "You're pretty good with that stick of yours."

Like we hadn't all seen that one coming.

"Well, I try to be," he answered just as smoothly.

The show wouldn't take much more to be convincing enough. Just one more final touch. "You must be a natural at scoring," I tugged on his hand again, pulling him closer, and leaned up. I whispered into his ear, "Maybe you could give me a few pointers sometime." I pulled away and smiled widely, then let go of his hand and began to skate slowly away backwards. That had been a hell of a lot easier than I'd thought.

I saw Weiss come up behind Vaughn and shoot a grin in my direction, giving him a congratulatory slap on the back as any guy would who thought his best friend was about to 'score big.'

That had gone well. Now came the difficult part; the horrifying part that set off the dread swirling through my stomach and veins for hours. I turned slightly to see Dixon, who gave a small nod of 'good job' and began to inch closer, preparing to assist if necessary.

Vaughn handed his hockey stick to Weiss and skated across the ice in my direction, following my lead. When he reached me I grabbed his wrist and latched myself onto his side, feeling the "fun" of the situation slipping quickly into oblivion and being replaced by a deep-set heaviness.

We sat side by side on a long bench, unlacing our skates in silence. I managed to maintain the strained smile on my face, offering him a suggestive dimple or two at his occasional glances. We both undid our laces considerably slowly, carefully working out each knot, taking our time.

Finally, we ran out of lace and thus, ways to stall. We stood up cautiously and I saw Dixon heading outside, hand in his pocket in position to reach for his handcuffs. He tossed me one more glance before exiting the building, waiting for me to follow.

I looked up at Vaughn and saw my own fear and uncertainly reflected in his eyes. In what was probably too gentle of a gesture for the part I was playing but too in need of comfort to care, I took his hand and began to lead him outside to the parking lot. I shot a subtle but understandable 'It'll be all right,' glance that I didn't quite believe myself. He gripped my hand more tightly in response and I pushed open the exit door with my free hand.

Outside, the air still seemed oddly chilly. Though it made the condition worse to do so, our hands separated at the sight of Dixon leaning casually against the jet black minivan we'd arrived in, waiting for me to give him the signal to assist me. No one else was within visible distance, especially in the dark. This was it. It had all come down to this moment.

My heart pounding and apprehension almost at its peak, I turned to Vaughn with the intention of pressing a flirtatious peck to his cheek. I quickly found that, with growing fear, he must have lost all sense of logic and because right there in the parking lot, Dixon bearing witness, he turned his head and my 'peck' landed on his lips, transforming it into a deep, reassuring kiss.

At first, common sense was screaming at me to pull away. Milliseconds later I realized that the Sydney I was pretending to be wouldn't pull away from the Vaughn he was pretending to be any sooner than I would, in reality, pull away from him. So I gave in and allowed myself, and him, this stolen moment of comfort.

When his lips were on mine, I could forget. There was nothing... no parking lot... no minivan... no Dixon... no Sloane...no prophecy or Rambaldi... no gleaming silver handcuffs in my pocket, awaiting their time to bite down on and suffocate the wrists of the man making me forget them.

I pulled back after seconds, afraid we'd already gone too far to make it believable to Dixon that it had only been part of the act. I couldn't look up into his eyes after that, but I think he felt my gratefulness for his risky but needed action. We took a few more steps towards the minivan until it couldn't be put off any longer. I reached into my pocket and yanked out the handcuffs, whirling around and snapping them onto Vaughn's wrists as painlessly as I could without being obviously gentle.

I shoved him towards Dixon, fighting to remain stoic, and watched as Vaughn was roughly heaved into the back of the van. "What the hell is going on?!" he shouted, struggling with his cuffed hands to rub the back of his shoulder that had been slammed into the wall of the van.

"My name is Sydney Bristow, I'm an intelligence officer. Michael Vaughn, you are now under arrest and officially in the custody of the Central Intelligence Agency."

END CHAPTER