A/N: I hope those of you that can vote have registered! Those registration forms were due Monday. Absentee ballots requests are due October 26th. Especially voters who range from 18-25. Vote, otherwise your voice will be lost.

I'm sorry for the long time between updates. I know I said Friday, but if you read Jasmine's post, then you know I got on the wrong bus. And that bus took me off campus. And I ended up in Old Town San Diego. Which is really far from campus/Scripps Institute. Yeah. So I lost about 3 hours of writing time that day. Then all last week and Monday, I had midterms (Which didn't go well at all). So, that's why you're getting an update today... and it's super long (for a post by me anyways).

Thanks to Jasmine for being my beta. Demon for inspiration. And Angel for my sanity.

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You're stuck in the airplane. Your legs are cramped in the tiny space, and it doesn't help that the person in front of you has decided to incline her chair back, shifting the dining table into your stomach. You don't know what situation you're heading into. It could be a trap. Maybe it's some elaborate plan by an enemy of the United States of America. Not that you care anymore. Let them end all your misery. Then you might be happy. But you hope they let your curiosity come to an end first. That phone call might just end all your questions. All you know is that you got a call from a Catherine Stepankov and that she evidently knows what happened to Sydney. Maybe something the CIA never found, never documented. Your mind wouldn't even focus on the rest of the conversation. The name Sydney dragged up too many memories you tried so hard to forget. That day was so clear in your mind. After that meeting, Jack Bristow pulled you aside in a dark corner and said the words you'll never forget.

She loved you, you know. If this unfortunate situation never happened, I'm almost sure you would have been my son-in-law. Thank you for being there for her when I wasn't.

You had told Jack that she loved him as well, even if he hadn't been there for her. You had seen it every time she spoke of her father, though she didn't realize it herself.

You close your eyes. It's still painful after twenty years. Twenty years without her. Something you never had wanted to imagine before. You never got the chance to say goodbye, to be there to say you loved her one last time. That's what you regret the most, never being allowed to say goodbye. You're hoping this trip brings some closure. Maybe that's what you need, closure. But you don't know anymore. It's been hard making any type of decision for so long. You had always imagined that you'd be making decisions together. But it didn't happen that way. You weren't ready to make decisions by yourself all over again; you were just starting to get used to the fact that you had to consider another opinion in any choice.

You wonder what your life would be like if only she had lived. Would you be watching your son graduate from graduate school right now? Would you be watching your daughter talk about marrying her boyfriend and begging you not to be too protective of her? You no longer know and you no longer know what to think.

You had all these wishes planned out, but it all shattered. You should have known nothing goes to plan... The best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray, you hear Sydney's voice whisper in your ear, always ready to bring forth a literary reference. You have long ago stopped turning around whenever you think you hear her. When you used to turn around, you were always met by disappointment, followed by a long string of degradations of how it's all wishful thinking. They were always figments of your imagination anyways. You miss her.

"Excuse me? Can I get out to the aisle please?" You automatically move away without thinking about what the man beside you said. You're still lost in your memories.

Move on, that's what everyone told you to do, and in a way, what you told yourself. Weiss set you up with a couple of women now and then. It never lasted more than six months. You'd hit a day in April or a day in October or the anniversary of your father's death, and you'd give up and realize you can't help but compare the women to Sydney. Sometimes it was as simple as the fact that her eyes weren't a warm honey brown like Sydney's. Most of the time, it was because you remembered your father's watch and how it stopped the second you met her. You never used to believe in regal tales like that, until it actually happened to you. Once the memory cut into your consciousness (since you tried so hard to suppress every treasured memory), you could no longer date the woman you were with. Just the thought that Sydney was supposed to be the one you were destined to be with and that you weren't with her made you think you were doing the wrong thing. It is always easier to get out early rather than later.

But you like to think Sydney was trying to find someone for you, someone that was a match, although not like the two of you were. Just... close enough that you could be happy, so that you won't have to live the rest of your life alone and miserable in a retirement house and no one to visit you. Sometimes, you wish you didn't love her like you did because it closed doors to other possibilities. But then you think it over, and you realize loving Sydney made you love everything else more, and any one second with her made life much more bearable. Then again, you don't have her anymore.

The watch on your wrist beeps signaling a passing of an hour, refocusing your senses on your surroundings. Just a few more hours you tell yourself until you get to Dulles. Ironic. The Dulles brothers--one CIA, the other the Secretary of State under Eisenhower. Another reminder of the life you have been trying to escape for the past fifteen years. It just wouldn't go away.

A refreshment cart is being pushed down the aisle and closer to you. When did the man next to you come back? You don't remember letting him back in. He must have stepped over you. The baby behind you has stopped crying, you realize, but you don't know how long ago, you can't seem to remember. Ever since that day in the conference room when Kendall told you that Sydney was pregnant, you haven't been able to look at a baby without resenting it. Why did that life live and his little one not? It wasn't fair. But it's never been fair, you tell yourself. You can no longer look at an innocent chubby face and not think of the life that you never got to live. You had a moment of thrill when Kendall told you Sydney was pregnant, until you realized that it would never happen. You never would be able to be a father.

"Sir, would you like something to drink?" the stewardess asks, taking you away from regrets.

"Umm... a coffee please? One cream." You reply automatically, a little harried and still a bit focused in your thoughts.

"No sugar?" she insists, leaning into your face a bit too much for your liking.

Your mind drifts to when Weiss asked Sydney for a hug. That was before your first date, you realize. That's why you gave up the two sugars in your coffee. Everything reminded you of her. Even sugar.

"Sir?"

"No, thanks." You respond.

"Are you sure? I can give you a lot of sugar." She bats her eyelashes and sets one hand on her hip after flipping her wavy blonde hair behind her shoulder.

Great. Flirting. Just what you need. You're fifty plus years old and stewardesses are still flirting with you. You don't know if you should take that as an insult or flattery.

"No thank you, ma'am," you say it a little harsher than necessary, but you really don't want her to think you're interested in her proposal.

"Fine. Going for the nuts?" She hands you a bag with a napkin and pushes her cart down to the next row behind you, the one with the baby. Who would have thought aviation mannerisms would still be the way they were twenty years ago? you think and slightly smirk.

The baby behind you is fussing again, most likely due to the altitude change. Slight turbulence doesn't bother you anymore. You're used to flying everywhere you need to be, especially because you were a CIA field agent. Flying now has because much less frequent, but there still are times you have to fly. You're a professor now, unmarried, childless, not in a relationship. Your students don't necessarily care about you. They don't think you're the best teacher in the department, but they also don't think you're the worst one there. Instead, you're the one in the middle that also follows the rule of three midterms per course, even if a midterm usually means in the middle of the term. But you think it's a better way of getting your students to be prepared for the final. It's a constant review that they have to be caught up with.

After five years at the CIA without Sydney, they managed to take down SD-6. That was the end of your work there. You felt no obligation to stay at a place that took three of the most important lives that are kept close to your heart. The Alliance collapsed and you were the one to shoot Sloane in the head. You claimed brief insanity to the CIA and they understood why. Everyone at the CIA new you loved Sydney for a long time. After she died, you felt no reason to hide your love for her, even if there was going to be a punishment. There was a picture of her you pulled from her file that sat in a silver antique frame next to your computer. Your superiors let that show of defiance slide by. Insanity was the reason they gave anyone who questioned it. The CIA probably knew the child was yours as well. After the fall of the Alliance, you felt like you have finished what Sydney could no longer finish. So you left. You became what she always wanted to be—a professor. You sent in a resume to UCLA and they accepted you without question. You had finished your Masters in International Affairs, which you are now grateful for, so they let you be a professor. It would most likely have been the job you would have changed to if you and Sydney had gotten married and settled down.

You had tried to cut off all connection from the CIA, but it was impossible. You go to O'Callaghan's every September 16th and have a drink with Jack. One time Irina even came along, but the next year she didn't come back. You don't know why. You never ask about her anymore, you only know she was allowed out of the JTF every once in a while with Jack. While sitting there, the two of you never talk, only take in each other's misery, pain, guilt, and love for Sydney Bristow. Jack was there brooding the loss of his daughter and grandchild, both taken before he died. You once heard him mutter under his breath, "It's wrong, it's wrong. She should be here instead of me." You're there trying to figure out how you got so far without both Sydney and your unborn child. You can no longer think of Sydney without remember your child as well. You and Jack were both there to keep each other from getting too drunk to stand. But then Jack passed away this year. Now it looks like you're going to go to O'Callaghan's by yourself on September 16th, take the darkest corner booth and drink yourself under the table.

Weiss still works for the CIA. He got married a few years back to a woman named Natasha and they are expecting their third child soon. You never can bring yourself to ask about the children, it just reminds you of what you lost, but you hear it from Craig sometimes, who transferred down to the LA branch of the CIA in the past two years. Weiss is a good man, but you don't really talk to him anymore. There was too much history, and he knew what you had gone through in those days after Syd died. You probably hadn't talked to him for two months before you called him yesterday to ask about a Catherine Stepankov.

The call to Weiss had been a swift decision. You didn't care about endangering yourself. You just wanted some background information to see if you can figure out the connection between you, Sydney, and the girl who called you. After a few minutes of debating on whether or not to help you, Weiss still had not come to a decision. So you threw down the reason why this was so important to you. You just had to say the word "Sydney" for him to understand. He was one of the few that understood your lack of closure and your inability to move on. He figured this was one of ways for you to leave your current status of limbo and live a little, finally settle down, and let your restless soul calm down.

You think back to this morning and the warning he heeded.

"Professor Vaughn," you automatically answered. The days of answering the phone with a simple "Hello," "Vaughn," or even "Agent Vaughn" were now far gone.

"Hey man."

"Weiss. What did you find out about her?" your voice was a little too eager, even to your own ears.

"There's nothing much to tell you. Why don't you come down to the park and I'll give you what I dig up. But like I said, there isn't much."

So you drove down to the park behind the JTF. And when you finally arrived, you had to forcefully block out the image of Sydney running down the paths in her jogging outfit and her hair tied in a ponytail in the back. Of course, you've only seen her jogging down the trails from the security camera hidden through one of the trees in the park.

You spotted Weiss on a bench facing an ice cream truck handing out treats to little kids. You steel yourself from the emotions pouring over you.

"Hey," you greeted him.

"Hey. You don't look too bad in that professor outfit. What have you been teaching these days? Something about an international syndicate and how they'll affect the outcome of world politics?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am," you deadpanned. You're not really in the right mood to be dealing with Weiss' attempts at making you laugh.

"Look. I'm just trying to cheer you up."

"I know and I appreciate it. But right now, I really want to focus on this."

"Sure, man." He dug into his briefcase and pulled out a thin manila folder. "This was all the information I could find. She doesn't have a criminal record, so you don't have to worry about that."

You took the folder and put it in your own briefcase without bothering to look at it. There would be plenty of time to read it later when you were closer to the subject of the file.

"Thanks. I really owe you one." You said, standing up again.

"Yeah... just... find something. And try to be happy again. You deserve it. You can't just keep hanging on to the past like you are."

"I know. That's what I'm looking for. And I just have a feeling that this Catherine person will bring me to whatever I need."

"Whatever you say. Just come back in one piece."

"I need to go, my flight leaves in a couple of hours. I'll tell you what I find when I get back."

And with that, you said your goodbyes and left.

Your watch beeps again. Another hour has passed. You look down at it. 10 o'clock in the morning. You still have another three hours before your flight will arrive. With a sigh, you get up and grab your bag from the overhead bin.

Now was as good a time as any to get started on reading what you couldn't bear to read before.

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TBC.

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I'm not making any more promises on what day updates are. I have another midterm tuesday. ::shrug:: It's up to my schedule. And hopefully I don't get on another wrong bus.

Thank you to Fair Cate, Fan-Kitty, jandl, alllieee, Sara, Valley-girl2, genevra, and Ren201 for their awesome reviews. Just two small notes:

Valley-girl2: I'm so sorry e-mails haven't been returned. ::flower:: I changed e-mail addresses. Also, all other fics have been finished ;)

Genevra: Welcome back to the world of alias fanfic.

And another thank you to: Valley-girl2 for adding me to your favorites list.

And thank you to: faith angelli, Queen Qwenyvere, LeiraNoxid, mathewperrysgirl, antz, sydofthesea, maggieann452, alllieee, valley-girl2, Ruby015, HandlesVartan, oOspuffy4everOo for adding me to their author alert watch list.

That's never happened to me before, so I have to say, I'm very excited. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. It lets me know my writing is appreciated and I'm very grateful for that.