A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews everyone. It might be a little confusing right now, but I promise, all your questions will be answered in due time. Probably. Muwahahaha. I'm having such a good time writing this story. I've been wanting to toy with the Julia Thorne story-line for ages, and when the Beatles song "Julia" popped up on my playlist the other day, I was suddenly inspired with an idea. So you have the Beatles to thank (or curse) for this. Anyway...I hope you enjoy. Let me know if anything doesn't make sense or is awkward-sounding.

End of Chapter 1:

Later that night as they lay at opposite ends of their king size bed, Vaughn saw that she was crying into her pillow. She did so silently...Vaughn knew she would have hated it if she knew he was a witness to her emotional display. He wouldn't have noticed at all, except for the almost imperceptible shaking of her thin frame. Crying at night wasn't an uncommon event for Julia, but it always broke his heart. He longed to put his arms around her, to cradle her, comfort her, but he knew better than that.

He had tried it once before and she nearly strangled him.

Suddenly the crying stopped.

"Michael," she whispered. There was fear in her voice.

"What is it?"

"Did you lock the door?"

He sighed. "Of course."

Chapter 2

Long after her husband's breathing had deepened and slowed to the peaceful rhythm of sleep, Julia lie awake and wide-eyed. Adrenaline raced through her veins any time the house creaked or she saw car headlights reflected through the window.

After about an hour of this torture – which in the last few months had become a nightly event – Julia, scrutinizing her husband to be sure he really was unconscious, sat straight up in bed and counted back from 1000, while simultaneously fixing her hair in a tight braid, undoing it, and redoing it, seven times. It was an old sleep-inducing trick she had learned from a Covenant psychologist.

When she lay back down, Vaughn's breath began to quicken, until he jolted in bed and cried out, "Syd, don't do this, you're making a mistake!" Julia turned her head away and inched herself even further away from Vaughn, so that she was practically hanging off the edge of the bed. She looked at the clock. 4:28 AM. She sighed.

Once his nightmare was over, Vaughn rolled over so that his body was pressed up against Julia's. Still sound asleep, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her so that her whole body was back on the bed. Soon his breathing grew slow and heavy again, and Julia allowed herself to be calmed by the steady rhythm of it. The next time she opened her eyes, the clock read 5:47 AM. She gently unraveled herself from Vaughn's embrace, rolled him back over to his side of the bed, and got up.

Vaughn was awakened from his sleep by a violent clanging sound two hours later. He jumped out of bed and stumbled down the stairs.

"Julia, are you ok?" he cried anxiously as he came into the kitchen. It was then that he became aware of the delicious aroma permeating the air.

She looked up at him blankly. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

"I heard a loud noise. I was afraid that maybe…"

"I dropped a pot," she said quickly.

"Oh." He breathed a sigh of relief. Then, surveying the room, he said, "Good God, you've cooked enough food to feed a small army. What's the occasion?"

"The Johnsons are dropping off Tara tonight for us to watch while they go to a movie," Julia replied, not looking up from the counter where she was chopping vegetables. "Don't you remember? Melanie asked us to do it last night – you were standing right there."

"I remember, I remember. But Tara is an infant…she's not going to be able to eat half of this stuff."

Julia paused from chopping onions for a moment and looked up at him. Although her expression was perfectly blank, he sensed a strange sort of tension brimming at the surface…but then, he reminded himself, Julia had always acted a bit strange when it came to little Tara Johnson.

"I mean seriously," he continued, "you're knocking yourself out over there, you've got to remember Tara is a baby…"

"I know she's a baby, Michael, she's 15 months old," Julia shot back. Her tone was still mild, but the quickness of the response and the momentary flash in her eyes suggested that she was perhaps not as calm as she was pretending to be.

"I just want everything to be perfect," she said quietly.

That was Julia. Everything looked perfect on the outside. But the inside? Was it hollow? Or was it just sealed off, a sea of turmoil churning somewhere deep underneath the layers of placidity?

"Well, is there anything I can help you with?" he asked.

"No."

Vaughn nodded, not surprised. Julia was a very independent, do-it-yourself kind of person. Similar to Sydney in that way.

"Alright," he said. "I'll be in the study."

He walked out of the kitchen and went upstairs. Julia looked up from the cutting board once he was out of the room and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

Access to secure server granted.

PianoMan417: How is she today?

HockeyDude523: About the same.

PianoMan417: About?

HockeyDude523: We are babysitting Tara Johnson tonight.

PianoMan417: I see. How is she behaving?

HockeyDude523: She spent the morning cooking a lamb roast and about seven other dishes to go with it. For a 15 month baby.

PianoMan417: Is it still correct that her only emotional displays to date have been connected with the child?

Vaughn thought back to the two sexual encounters – both of which had occurred many months ago – when he'd felt a connection between himself and Julia. But he decided to omit that information.

Hockeydude523: Yes, that's correct. The first time I ever sensed an actual emotion in her was at Melanie Johnson's baby shower, just a few weeks before Tara was born.

PianoMan417: Right, you told me that before. Watch her carefully tonight. If she betrays any hint of emotion – if she does anything out of the ordinary – I want to hear about it.

HockeyDude523: Of course. And you'll continue looking into Case 21225? You know, the key to this whole mystery probably lies in there…

PianoMan417: I'm aware. I wonder what the hell you think I spend my days doing?

Vaughn rocked back in the desk chair and ran his hands through his hair. He let out a painful sigh and then rocked back forward.

HockeyDude523: This isn't easy on me either, you know.

PianoMan417: I know. I'm sorry.

HockeyDude523: She's coming upstairs – I have to go.

PianoMan417: Take care of her.

HockeyDude523: I will.

Julia walked down the hallway and stopped in the doorway of the study.

"Is everything okay?" Vaughn asked.

"There's a new movie coming out tonight," she said. "Lots of blood and gore. I overheard some people at the party last night talking about it."

"You want to go this weekend?" he asked with a smile.

"You should go see it with some of the guys tonight."

"But I thought we were watching Tara tonight…"

"I can handle her on my own. And it's so rare that you get a night to yourself. Really, Michael, you should go. I want you to." She flashed him a regal smile.

He knew it would be good for him to get out of the house for a night…a brief respite from the monotonous agony that was his life with Julia, most of the time. But at the same time…Julia encouraging him to leave her alone was a rare event.

Although he couldn't claim that she loved him – even liked him, really – he could see that she had slipped into a sort of comfort zone when in his presence. She didn't need to be talking to him, touching him, or even in the same room as him, necessarily. Just knowing he was nearby, that he would come if she called him, seemed to give her a strange peace. So it was unusual that she would flat out ask…no, demand (he had seen the look in her eyes…it was an order, not a request) that he leave her alone for an entire evening.

Unusual, yes, but also, he thought, perfectly, wonderfully logical. Vaughn was acutely aware of Julia's sensitivity concerning Tara Johnson. But Julia was even more aware of Vaughn's perception that sensitivity. To have him there, watching her every move, waiting for her to betray an emotion, when they both knew that she was infamously emotionless, was simply not an option. So she had asked him to leave.

And despite everything, he hated to do it. Yes, he was desperately in need of a night to himself, a momentary escape. Hanging out with the guys, with normal people who weren't living in hiding, who weren't ex-spies, whose lives weren't full of lies, would be a healthy, rejuvenating move. But the truth was, ever since that night four years ago when he had gone out for a walk after Sydney Bristow agreed to marry him and returned to find their house burned to ash – the only relic of their life together, a small diamond ring that now rested on Julia's finger – he could never feel anything like ease when he was separated from her.

But Julia demanded it.

"Sure," he conceded. "That could be fun."

The movie had been going for about an hour when Vaughn felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He reached for it hastily…what if something had happened to her? The caller ID told him the call was coming from his house.

"Julia?" he whispered anxiously, quietly enough so that none of the guys would hear him call her by her real name. To them, she was Monica and he was John. Mr. and Mrs. John Turner.

All he got in response were muffled sobs. He stood up immediately, muttered an apology to the guys that he had to go, and made his way out of the crowded theater. He had never heard her like this. Sydney used to cry, but not Julia. Never Julia. Not when she was awake, anyway.

"Julia, what's the matter?"

"Something's wrong with the baby," she sobbed. "C-could you come home now, please?"

"Yes, of course…are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just hurry!"

"I'll tell you what, men," said one of the guys. They had all gone to the local bar after the movie finished. "I've never seen anyone as utterly pussy-whipped as John Turner. His wife raises one finger, and BAM, he's out the door on whatever cock-blasting mission she's conjured up for him. Never puts up a fight."

"Yeah, but she lets him sleep in the same bed as her," said one of the other men, swallowing a gulp of beer. "He gets to sleep in the same bed as Monica Turner. I bet there aren't many things any of the guys sitting here at this table wouldn't do for a woman like Monica."

The men chuckled, and all but the one who initiated the conversation, Chuck Barrels, nodded in agreement.

"I don't know," said Chuck, fingering his mug. "I just don't know. Monica Turner is good to look at. There's no denying it. But there's something about her that's not quite right, know what I mean? I can't put my finger on it."

"Well it's not her legs," said one of the guys.

"Or her ass," said another. Everyone laughed.

"Still," said Chuck, not placated, "there's something fishy about the Turners. I don't care how much sex he's getting from her – and something tells me that man hasn't been laid in a good while, actually – no man should allow himself to be leashed as tightly as John Turner is to his wife."

Vaughn sprinted to his car and drove off, weaving in-and-out of traffic going around 90 mph (he was pleased that he still remembered how to drive that way after having been out of the spy world for two years). He made it home in record time, jumped out of the car, and ran into the kitchen, where an ashen Julia was holding and frantically patting little Tara. Silent tears were streaming down her face.

"What's the matter with her?"

"She's not breathing right...What are you doing?"

Vaughn gently reached down to take the baby out of Julia's hands, even though he could tell Julia would have preferred to keep holding Tara herself. Tara was breathing in little choked gasps, and her face had taken on a blueish tinge.

"I think we should call 911," Julia said.

Vaughn looked up abruptly. "Julia…you know we can't do that. Imagine what could happen if the police got us on record…"

"TARA COULD DIE!" she screamed. "What could you possibly imagine that would be worse than that?"

Vaughn slapped the baby's back; she coughed and spit up a sliver of lamb roast. In a few moments, her breathing was back to normal. He laid her down in the portable crib the Johnsons had provided, and she promptly fell asleep.

Julia slumped down into a chair and buried her face in her arms. Her back was trembling, and Vaughn could tell she was still crying.

"I was never meant to be a mother," he heard her mumble between sobs.

He went over to her and gently put a hand on her back. She snapped her head up immediately and recoiled from his touch.

"We should have called 911," she said angrily.

"You know we can't do that," Vaughn replied, trying desperately to conceal his growing frustration.

"You're so selfish," Julia snapped. "All you can think of is your own safety. Tara could have died."

"I can't believe this," Vaughn said, throwing his arms up in the air, and for once, submitting to the anger. "I can't believe you're calling me selfish. I sacrificed everything for you, Julia. And for what? My very touch seems to repulse you."

Julia just stared at him, silenced for the moment. But Vaughn wasn't finished.

"I wish, for once, you would just tell me what's going on in your head. I stay here with you day after day, hoping and praying that you'll give me some sign that I didn't throw my life away for nothing, some sign that – "

"That what?" Julia interrupted. "That your precious Sydney Bristow is still alive?"

"No, I didn't say that – "

"Yes you did. You say it every day. Every time you look at me, speak to me, touch me…it's all you think about. You're in love with a woman I don't even know. So yeah, Michael, I too spend a lot of time wondering what the hell you're doing here. Because I can tell you one thing. I am not Sydney Bristow."

Vaughn slammed his fist on the table. "Damnit, that's not what this is about. I didn't even mean to bring any of that up. Let's talk about Tara."

He saw Julia tense up. "What about her?"

"I'm gonna be honest with you for once, Julia. I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same. You are a cold, seemingly untouchable person. But when you're with that baby, you come alive. I want to know why. Why does a little infant who's not even yours inspire in you emotions stronger than the ones you feel for your own husband?"

Julia shook her head. "I'm not having this conversation with you, Michael. You're imagining things. I'm going to bed. You can keep an eye on the baby until the Johnsons get back."

She turned and left the room. After Vaughn's anger had ebbed, he realized something. For the first time in two years, he had gotten under Julia's skin. He smiled.

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