A/N: Thanks for the reviews everyone...it's good to know people are actually reading this. As much as I like writing it, I don't know that I'd have the incentive to keep up with it if no one else was reading it. Lame, I know. Anyway...if you used to read the story but then forgot about it when I stopped regularly updating, check out the recap posted in chapter 7. Hope you like it : ) Expect another update most likely within a week.

End of Chapter 7:

Vaughn sighed. "You're right, Sydney. I'm not angry at you for shooting me. In fact I'm grateful you didn't shoot me in the head. Had I been in your position, I probably would have acted the same, though I don't know that I would have ever been able to voluntarily inflict pain on you, even if I found out everything I knew about you was a lie."

"Cut the romantic bullshit and tell me the truth. All of it."

Vaughn, seeing there was no way around it, took a deep breath. "Help me up," he said.

Sydney glowered and made no motion to help him.

"We can't talk about this here. Help me up and we'll go in the bathroom. Please?"

She rolled her eyes and reached down with her good arm to help Vaughn to his feet. She let him put his arm around her for support, and the two slowly made there way into the bathroom. Vaughn turned on the sink and Sydney started the shower. Then they sat down on the edge of the bathtub and Vaughn began the story. He started from the very beginning.


Chapter 8

"When SD-6 recruited you during your freshman year, you were led to believe you were working for a black ops division of the CIA. That's what SD-6 tells all its under officers. But nothing could be further from the truth. As I told you the other night, SD-6 is a branch of the Alliance."

"That's impossible," Sydney said adamantly. "There's no way they could trick an entire office of highly trained agents."

"Didn't you ever wonder why you were never taken to Langley? Why even if you were on a mission that went horribly wrong, you were ordered under no circumstances to ever contact the CIA? Didn't that seem strange to you?"

Sydney crinkled her eyebrows but said nothing.

"Didn't it seem a little bit unusual that the United States government would order the execution of an innocent man just because he found out his girlfriend was an agent?"

"Wait," Sydney interrupted, "that was my fault, I knew when I told him what the risks were..."

"That wasn't your fault, Sydney. Only a man with the conniving cruelty of Arvin Sloane could convince someone as intelligent as you to believe that you were responsible for Daniel Hecht's death."

Sydney hardly noticed the tears that were swelling in her eyes. She shook her head slowly. "It's impossible."

Vaughn instinctively grabbed her hand to comfort her, but she shot him a sharp glance and he let go.

"Look, Sydney, I know this might not help at all, but your father will back me up on this. And if we make it out of this alive, I can take you to the real CIA and prove to you that I'm telling the truth."

"Tell me about my father."

Vaughn explained to Sydney that Jack Bristow was a double agent for the CIA. The tears were now streaming down her face. She made no attempt to wipe them away.

"So he knew," she said flatly. "He knew all along. And he let Sloane recruit me. How could he do that?"

"I don't know," Vaughn said quietly. He longed to put his arms around her and kiss the tears away. "Your father has never been remotely forthcoming with me – or anyone else, as far as I know – about his personal life. I never even knew he had a daughter until I was assigned as your case handler."

"Tell me about that then. Why is there a case about me. Why are people trying to kill me. Why the hell are we at Arvin Sloane's house."

Vaughn told Sydney about the prophecy, about her uncanny resemblance to the woman in the portrait who Rambaldi predicted would render the greatest power unto utter desolation. He told her about how he was initially ordered to kidnap her from the frat party at UCLA and bring her straight into CIA headquarters for testing, but how he and Weiss talked Kendall out of it, telling him they would instead try to verify whether she was the woman in the prophecy simply by getting to know her and asking her certain prophecy-related questions.

"But I couldn't do it," he said. "There were so many times when I was around you that a Rambaldi question was on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn't bring myself to ask it…for some reason, even though rationally I knew that our whole relationship was a lie, I was able to pretend that it wasn't. But I knew if I started asking you those questions, the charade would be over. I couldn't bear that."

"Wow, Vaughn, that must have been really hard for you," said Sydney sarcastically.

Vaughn ignored her comment and continued. "That night at the beach, I was just as confused as you when those men opened fire on us – even more so when they turned out to be CIA. After you shot me, I called Jack and he came and picked me up and then we found you a few miles down the beach. Jack explained that someone from the CIA had leaked information to the FBI about your relation to the Prophecy. Naturally the FBI freaked out. They ordered you to be killed on the spot. You see, they weren't willing to take the risk that you might not be the woman Rambaldi spoke of. When they realized how many of Rambaldi's other wild prophecies had come true over the years, they panicked. So now both the CIA and FBI are on the lookout for you. Oh, and so is SD-6."

"But this is ridiculous," Sydney cried. "All this fuss over a scrap of parchment scribbled on by some whacko from the 15th century!"

"I know. It's crazy. But you know a little about Rambaldi from your work at SD-6. His followers will stop at no length to see that his prophecies come true."

"I still don't understand why we are at Sloane's house. Especially if SD-6 is after me."

"I didn't understand myself when Jack first told me we were headed here. But it makes perfect sense. Your father always house-sits for Sloane when he is out of town. Fortunately, he left for an emergency Alliance meeting in Europe just this morning. And think about it, Syd. Sloane's house is the last place the Alliance would look to find you."

When Vaughn told her that they were sleeping in Sloane's very bed, Sydney nearly vomited. But it was all beginning to make sense. Sloane's bedroom, bathroom, and personal office were the only places in the mansion not bugged or monitored by cameras. When Sydney had wandered out of the bedroom into the hallway, the butler-dressed man had seen her through a hidden camera. He immediately went to find her. Vaughn heard him coming down the hall and coughed loudly to divert his attention from Sydney. That's when the fight between them had started.

Sydney bowed her head. She felt as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Three days ago she had been a normal – well, semi-normal – college girl with a great job at the CIA. Now she was being told that the agency she risked her life for, that her boyfriend died for, was actually a terrorist cell. And her father had known all along and never said a word. Then, lest she forget, there was also the fact that a man who lived 500 years ago made a prediction that she, Sydney Bristow, who had never fired a gun in her life until a few years ago, was going to single-handedly destroy the world. She didn't believe it for one second. But three of the world's most powerful agencies did, and they were willing to do whatever it took to stop her.

It was too much. Using the skills she had acquired at SD-6, Sydney did her best to compartmentalize. The raw facts of the matter at hand were all she could process at the moment. She'd have to deal with the emotional side of things later.

"That butler probably called for backup," she said quietly. "We should move."

Vaughn repressed the urge to remind her that he had pointed out that very issue just a few minutes ago.

"Your father said there's a trapdoor behind the portrait hanging over the bed. It leads to a tunnel under the mansion that empties into the bay."

"Great," Sydney said unenthusiastically.

Sydney got up and walked into the bedroom. Vaughn limped unsteadily behind her. She climbed onto the bed and unhooked the painting. Sure enough there was a small door, just wide enough a person through its frame.

"Well, thanks for everything," she said. "It's been great knowing you. Really, you've brightened my life." She turned and hoisted herself through the door.

"Wait, stop, I'm not letting you go alone," said Vaughn, ignoring her sarcasm.

"That's touching, Vaughn, but even if I wanted your company, having a cripple limping along behind me isn't going to be very helpful."

Vaughn bit his lip to keep himself from reminding her once again that he wouldn't be a "cripple" if she hadn't shot him.

"Well, you don't have a choice. I'm wanted by the CIA and FBI too for abetting a criminal. And I'm not about to stand here and wait for them to arrest me."

Without waiting to hear her retort, Vaughn, standing on his good leg, climbed through the trapdoor. Sydney reached her hand out to close the door behind them. She hadn't heard the door of the bedroom open again, or the creaking of the wood floors under familiar footsteps.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Agent Bristow," said a cold, sickeningly amused voice.

Sydney lowered her hand immediately. For there, standing in the bedroom, was Arvin Sloane. He was holding a gun to Jack Bristow's temple.

Arvin Sloane had read Sydney Bristow's book. He knew her in and out, for the most part. That was how he knew everyone. And he knew she would forfeit her own life to save her father. Even though her father had never been a real father to her. Even though she had just discovered that he knowingly allowed Arvin Sloane to recruit her to SD-6, a terrorist organization. Even though, as far as she was concerned, Jack Bristow was a heartless, calculating man who had betrayed his own daughter without thinking twice about it.

Sloane was right.

In one swift, perfectly coordinated motion, Sydney dove out of the trapdoor, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder and tackled Sloane, knocking the gun out of his hand. She pinned him to the ground and held the gun to his temple.

"My, my," said Sloane, apparently unconcerned about the gun pointed at his head. "I've read your reports, Sydney, but I've never seen first-hand how brilliant you can be in the field. Very impressive."

Sydney released the safety on the gun.

"I don't think you really want to be doing that, Sydney," Sloane said calmly.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure that I do. But thanks for your input," Sydney replied.

"The CIA and the FBI both have teams waiting outside," said Sloane matter-of-factly, as if it were an every day occurrence. "Any minute now they will have infiltrated the mansion."

"I hope they brought a big mop to clean up your soon-to-be splattered brains," Sydney muttered, ignoring the warning look her father was giving her.

Sloane smiled in his cold, unsettling way. Sydney felt the usual prickle running up her spine.

"When you reach the end of the tunnel, Sydney, there is a code you will need to enter. Otherwise you won't be able to access the wetsuits and oxygen tanks. The tunnel empties out into the bottom of the bay. Without the proper equipment, you'll drown before you ever reach the surface."

"I'm a fast swimmer," said Sydney.

"But what about Vaughn? It was smart of you to shoot him in the leg, but that injury will make it impossible for him to survive the swim. And I know it has been many years since you set eyes on your father, but I see him every week, and I can tell you, he's not as young as he used to be."

Sloane played his game flawlessly, nailing all of Sydney's weak spots. A door slammed somewhere in the house and the sounds of quickly shuffling feet echoed through the mansion.

"They're coming. Are you going to put the gun down and let me lead you through the tunnel, or will we all die here today?"

Sydney slammed the gun across Sloane's face. Blood erupted from his nose and mouth.

"Tell me what the code is right now you sonofabitch, or I swear on my mother's grave I'll blow your head off."

Sloane smiled at the irony. "It's your choice," he said, swallowing a mouthful of blood. The footsteps were getting closer.

"Sydney, just do what he says," said Jack suddenly. "You know it's strategically the best plan.'

Sydney remained motionless for a few more minutes, her eyes burning with hatred and rage. Then she lowered the gun. Sloane started to get up, but she pushed him down again.

"I'll be leading us through the tunnel," she said firmly. She sprung herself back through the trapdoor. Jack and Sloane followed suit. Jack sealed the trapdoor shut just as the door to the bedroom swung open and the air they had just been breathing was permeated with bullets.

review! pleeeeease! it makes my soul happy. even if you hate this story more than anything youve ever seen in your entire life, REVEW! i can handle vicious criticism. i mean i might have to stab myself in the head if one of you cyber people doesnt properly appreciate my literary brilliance (har har), but you should still tell me.