A/N: I thought it only fair to warn you all that this will be last update for several months while I do some story plotting on this, write more parts, and work on my other fics which I neglected all summer.
DISCLAIMER: As much as I'd like to, I don't own Alias or its characters. It is the property of ABC, Touchstone and Bad Robot Productions.
SUMMARY: Hope for those lost and wandering...
8th in the Cry of Orphans series
RATED PG-13
GENRE: Angst! Angst! And more angst! Did I mention Angst?
SPOILERS: None. This is a Future-Fic
DISTRIBUTION: I'd rather this is not distributed anywhere without my permission. I'll put it where I want it. But you're still welcome to contact me and try to convince me that my story should be in your fine archive.

For Paty. For Liv. For Prl. For Chim. For Bek. And for Chrissy. Without whom, I would never finish anything. Ever.

PRAYER OF ORPHANS
By Aliasscape
Copyright 2004

The bullet rocketed through the air, exploded into her flesh and burned a path through her.

But it was the terrified, brown eyes of the girl who showed no recognition of her that had made her want to cry. She had to take a step back to absorb the force and remain upright. She tasted blood in her mouth, and realized her teeth had nearly bit through her tongue as she'd released only a small scream.

She launched herself forward, snatching the gun from the girl's trembling hands, knowing she'd better disarm the child before she did anything else. The ten-year-old released the gun with no resistance. She was too frightened to fight back.

Sydney swallowed, putting the gun in the holster at her side. She never took her eyes off the girl whose eyes were wide and fixed on the blood gushing from the hole in Sydney's shoulder. Taryn's mouth was held open in a silent scream.

Sydney cautiously moved forward again.

Taryn flattened herself to the wall, fisting her hands and breathing erratically. Her brown hair was a tangled mess and was sticking to her sweaty forehead. The simple jeans and t-shirt she wore belonged in another place in time; somewhere outside the nightmare this had to be for her.

Sydney hesitated, blinking back tears that would have been acceptable if they had been caused by the pain emanating from her wound.

The child's terror was so visible. A terror that Sydney had once thought she could prevent her from ever feeling again. She'd failed.

Again.

She had to calm her. She had to make her feel safe.

"Taryn, I'm..." The words lodged in her throat. The thought disappeared into the air. Because who was she? Certainly not her mother. And she was hardly Vaughn's wife anymore.

"Taryn, my name is Sydney."

The name had been so completely meaningless to Taryn. She wanted to laugh at how fitting that was. Her name was meaningless.

Sydney Bristow was an agent for the CIA.

Sydney Bristow was a loving wife to Michael Vaughn.

Sydney Bristow would have been a good mother.

Sydney Bristow didn't exist anymore.

Sydney tried to give Taryn a comforting smile. "I know your father, Taryn. I came here to help him find you." She tried to catch the girl's eyes. "Come on, I know you must want to get out of here."

Taryn swallowed, again staring at the Sydney's wound.

Sydney glanced at it, trying not to wince when she moved her injured arm. "It's okay. I'm okay." She backed up to the bed, tearing a sheet. She used one piece to sop up excess blood, and then placed another against the wound, forming a makeshift bandage. "Will you come with me now?"

Taryn nodded ever so slightly.

Sydney moved out the door carefully. The child watched her and did her best to match Sydney's cautious movements, following at a safe distance.

But the unmistakable sound of gunfire above their heads urged the child forward. Sydney was more unnerved by Taryn's hand gripping onto her uninjured arm than the gunshots upstairs. Sydney moved more quickly into the kitchen. The other two guards she'd brought from the compound appeared in the front room. They urged her towards door, their eyes widening at her shoulder.

"You've been shot!"

Sydney felt Taryn's grip on her tighten. "Just get up there!" she ordered, harshly.

Vaughn was still up there.

But she couldn't say that out loud. She moved out the door. She had to get Taryn to the truck where she'd be safe. She moved through the foliage at a quick pace, but Taryn kept up and kept a hold on her hand. They reached the truck in a matter of minutes and climbed inside the back.

One guard was in the driver's seat. Another was leaned over Sark, who seemed barely unconscious as he lay on the bed of the truck.

"How is he, Luís?" Sydney questioned.

"He needs a doctor." Luís raised an eye towards her and frowned. "And it looks like you do too. What happened?"

Taryn stepped behind her, her fingers were digging into Sydney's arm tight enough to bruise.

"It doesn't matter what happened."

Luís tilted his head, trying to see the child behind her. "Is she okay?"

Sydney brought her hand out from behind her, forcing Taryn in front of her. She gestured for the girl to sit. "Are you okay?"

Taryn glanced at the two unfamiliar men but settled her gaze on the motionless Sark. She started to tremble. Sydney stepped to block her view. "Look at me." She knelt down and looked the girl in the eye. "Are you okay?"

Taryn stared right back into her eyes and nodded.

Sydney released a sigh, and her eyes narrowed on a bandage peeking out from beneath the right sleeve of Taryn's shirt. Sydney pulled back the shirt and looked at the bandage. She gave Taryn a questioning look. "When did..." She pulled back the bandage, peeking at the child's wound. It wasn't bleeding. It had been well taken care of. Taryn didn't even act as though it hurt when Sydney gently pressed the bandage back into place.

Sydney smiled for her again.

She couldn't hold the smile when she saw the last two guards tearing through the trees. They neared the truck and Sydney was certain of who she didn't see. They climbed into the back. "Where's--"

"He's not there!"

Sydney straightened, her face darkening. "What do you mean he's not there?"

Taryn's eyes ping-ponged between watching Sydney and the men, trying to make sense of their conversation.

"There was only this."

Sydney snatched the paper from the guard's hand and read it over. She sunk onto the bench beside Taryn. She looked towards the driver. "Go."

Luís raised an eyebrow. "We're leaving?"

Sydney looked at Sark. "You said he needs a doctor?"

Luís nodded.

"Then, we need to go." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "There's nothing for us here." The vibrations of the truck as it began to move caused her to wince.

Luís started towards her with gauze and disinfectant. She shook her head at him. Luís knew better than to try and push it. "I'm okay." She stopped and looked at Taryn, who was staring out the back of the truck, looking lost and so alone. "I'm okay," she repeated.

Because now she had to be.

No matter how hard it was.

"How is she?" her mother's voice.

"I don't know," the doctor's assistant responded.

She still didn't know how her mother hand returned to the room so fast. What she'd done with the baby in that short amount of time. At the time, she'd only cared that her mother had come back to the room and placed a hand on her shoulder. She hadn't seen her face, but she'd heard her voice clearly.

"It's all right if you cry."

She had rolled back over and let her mother take her in her arms. She had screamed before she cried. She couldn't even control her sobs and could hardly catch her breath. She had finished coughing instead of crying and had soaked her own face and as well as her mother's shirt. Shakily, she had released Irina and curled up. She let her mother think she'd fallen asleep. But she'd laid there affirming things in her mind.

She wasn't going to go back to Vaughn.

She'd given up her baby and she'd cried about it.

This was her home now.

And now she had to be okay.

She would make sure she didn't get up if she hadn't slept eight hours and didn't keep sleeping if she had. She would eat three meals a day without them being brought to her room. She set up a daily exercise routine to start working off the fat from the pregnancy.

Maybe the sooner she lost the weight, the sooner she wouldn't feel so empty.

She hadn't asked her mother what she'd done with the baby. Wherever it was, she knew it was surely being well taken care of. She told herself she didn't need to know exactly where. That she shouldn't dwell on it. That it wasn't really ever hers to worry about. That she didn't know anything about it. Except that wasn't exactly true.

Somewhere, there was a wrinkly, pink baby with hair so dark it was almost black.

It had only been a glimpse. She'd turned away, but the back of the infant's head was imprinted in her memory. And she couldn't keep it from coming to mind.

What if she had held it and felt nothing? Or worse, what if she'd held it and felt something? Even if only for a moment.

"Sydney, if you need to talk-"

"No, I'm fine."

Maybe she had needed to talk but she hadn't wanted to. She didn't want to keep dumping her emotions on her mother. It wouldn't have been normal to spend every other day crying on her mother's shoulder the way she had wanted to. And she truly didn't want to be that much of a bother.

"You've given me nearly constant attention since I arrived here, but there must be other things you need to do."

Irina's face had been expressionless, not revealing whether or not it had hurt that Sydney was pushing her away. Whether she'd found it suspicious, or somewhat relieving Irina had started leaving the compound regularly on trips. Sydney was certain her mother would have made herself available if she had expressed an interest in talking. But Sydney didn't have any interest in talking. She wouldn't have known what to talk about.

It was much easier to just choreograph her moves against a punching bag in the training gym. Kicking and punching it with force she hadn't been able to exert while she was pregnant. Letting her heart pounding drown out the sound of her thoughts. Bruising her knuckles even though she wrapped them.

"Has the punching bag learned its lesson yet?"

She had been able to get her mother to resume the business of her organization. But Sark still seemed to be around as much as ever.

"They're exercises, Sark. I'm just trying to get back into shape."

"Into shape or into fighting form?" he questioned, circling the punching bag.

She aimed a kick at the bag, designed to swing it in his direction. "Is there someone I need to fight?"

"I just see far more anger than I do exercise." He caught the bag and held it in a place.

She directed a series of punches, alternating arms, before pausing to speak. "I don't think there's anyone for me to be angry at."

Sark raised an eyebrow. He released the bag and headed out of the gym.

With further exploration of the compound, Sydney located a pool in the sublevels of one of the buildings. She hadn't thought to pack a swimsuit and so she had gone into town to buy several. She felt clumsy in the water at first, but she kept at it, adding diving practice. There was something so calming about the sound of the water lapping at the sides of the pool. It was relaxing for her to swim underwater, holding her breath for as long as she could.

She'd dive in and sit under twelve feet of water until she thought her lungs would burst and then rocket towards the surface, reaching it in what seemed like just in time. Except one time. One time she didn't go to the surface. She just opened her mouth and took a breath while still under. The clear blue water of the pool had disappeared into blackness. It was so peaceful.

She had awakened at the pool side, sputtering into Sark's mouth. He quickly turned her to her side as she gurgled out more water. She had stared back at him. He was fully clothed in slacks and a sweater but completely soaked. He gazed at her with searching eyes.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I bumped my head on the side of the pool," she lied, as she sat up.

"I don't see a bump," he responded, icily.

She swallowed, her throat raw from the water. "What were you doing in here anyway?"

He hadn't come out with an immediate answer. She had pushed him away from her and grabbed her towel as if she was feeling shy in the black bikini.

A guard was posted directly inside the pool room after that.

"For security."

Sark had told her.

She hadn't said a thing about it. In some ways, she was glad to have the guard there. It reminded her to behave. After all, it wasn't normal to open one's mouth under twelve feet of water.

She tried to find things to do around the compound to feel useful. Jessa did the cleaning so there was little she could do to add to that. So, she volunteered to make dinner a couple nights a week. She had missed cooking. She had made dinner for Vaughn so regularly. She knew it was so stereotypical that she had done the cooking, but as she had been trying to adjust into the routine of their marriage, she'd found it was something she really enjoyed doing. More so than she had when it was just herself to cook for. She took a small amount of pride in the meals she prepared for her mother and Sark those evenings. And it was easier to allow them to scrutinize her cooking rather than her.

It was after the incident in the pool, that she had started taking a second glass of wine after dinner to sip through a bath. She had missed being able to unwind with that familiar routine when she was pregnant. She would usually soak in the bubbles with her eyes closed and try to let her mind drift. And she would actually allow herself to think about the things she tried to keep out of her mind all day.

Were they still searching for her?

She could have asked Irina, but she knew it was a pointless question. Neither answer was going to satisfy her.

Were they worried about her?

She didn't want Vaughn or her father to worry. It was the reason she'd left the messages. To make sure they knew she'd left of her own accord. Maybe they hadn't wanted to accept that at first, but at least there was lack of any evidence to contrary.

Were they all right?

She didn't have any reassuring answers she could give herself about that one. She had to just hope so. She was always left thinking maybe she could call. She could hear his voice. As long as they'd known each other, she was certain she could probably tell by his tone how he was doing.

But what if he wasn't all right?

She wouldn't have any reassuring words. She couldn't go back. She would just torture herself with the information. And...

What if he was?

It was usually on that question that she'd down the last of her glass of wine, and sink deeper into the bubbles of her bath. It wasn't like it had been at first. There were no tears. Just an ache in her chest. Constant. Throbbing. She would just hug her legs and bury her face in her knees until it passed.

It was strange how little things could call to mind unwanted thoughts so easily. She was brushing her hair one morning and it occurred to how much longer it had grown since she'd left Vaughn.

Taryn's hair had finally been starting to really grow when she left. Straight and fine, golden brown hair. How much longer it must be now.

Sydney glanced at her now outdated photograph. Nine months old. Except now, she was twenty months old.

Sydney turned away from the picture back towards the mirror.

Taryn must be walking now. Saying so many words. Turning pages of books by herself. Running. Jumping. Changed so much. Changing so much.

The hair brush had dropped from her hand at her next thought.

Taryn probably didn't remember her any more.

Sydney stared at herself in the mirror and blinked slowly.

If Taryn forgot her, maybe she would forget about the pillow too.

She had straightened and resumed brushing her hair.

She realized looking back that she should have known that resolving to be okay, wouldn't instantly make her okay. But compartmentalizing had always worked so well when she was a spy. It had kept her sane. It had kept her sitting across a table from Sloane at SD-6 when all she'd wanted to do was rip his heart out. It had made it okay when she was exhausted from risking her life for the CIA and their only thought was the next mission they could send her on.

And yet perhaps that had been her downfall. Had she somehow compartmentalized away her ability to love her baby? By doing what it took to be good spy, had she forfeited any chance she might have had of being a good a mother?

She realized if that were true, she had so much more to add to the list of things being a spy had cost her.

She had tossed a glare at her reflection in the mirror.

Her body returned to its normal weight but it felt like an illusion. Her reflection seemed to be a rather inaccurate portrayal of her. She kept up a vigorous exercise routine anyway, trying to cope with the restless feeling that was starting to steal sleep from her again.

Sometimes she awoke to a cry. So real and loud that for a second before opening her eyes, she'd be certain there was a baby right beside her in the bed. Not just any baby. The cry wasn't unfamiliar. It was Taryn's cry. The terrified, screaming cry. And she realized it wasn't the cry that would unsettle her when she first awoke. It was the absence of it. The silence that would send her heart pounding out of control and make her hands tremble.

Her eyes would sting. She would fist her hands and hug her pillow to her chest, rocking every so slightly. She couldn't tell anyone. Phantom cries and silence. She was going insane. Sometimes, she climbed out bed as quietly as possible, went downstairs and walked around. It was purely by accident that one night she saw Jessa locking a storage room by inputting a security code. Sydney blamed her spy training for instantly committing it to memory.

When Sydney awoke from sleep in the middle of the night two days later, she went to the kitchen. She felt madly unsettled and the house was too quiet. She thought she would try a glass of red wine and a bath but the second the glass in her hand was full, she just drank it down. She had searched for a refill, but there wasn't another cooled, opened bottle. She settled for filling her glass with water. She started to head back to her bedroom, but the storage room was what she had come to first. She hadn't even hesitated. She'd entered the security code and pushed open the door.

It had been lined with shelves that held extra sheets and towels. There were cleaning products on the floor. A mop, bucket and a broom were against one wall.

Her heart pounded fast and uneven. Her hands stretched in front of her, uncapping a bottle of some disinfectant. She brought it close enough to her mouth that the lemon scent went up her nose, before another shelf took her notice. She set aside the disinfectant and noted the pill bottles.

Her head pounded in the erratic rhythm of her heart.

She grabbed the first bottle with a label that could help a headache. She popped it open, tilted the bottle to her mouth and drank the smooth, flat round pills without even counting. She took a swallow of her water to work them down and pocketed the empty pill bottle.

She had to get back to bed. She reached for another pill bottle, exited the storage room and was halfway up the stairs before she felt her stomach tighten. She stumbled into her room, closing the door hard.

Sleep. She fell back on her bed, spilling half her water. She closed her eyes, but immediately there was the cry. Loud. Terrified. Screaming.

Normally with her eyes closed, she had been able to picture Taryn's face, but that wasn't who she had pictured that time.

Dark hair, almost black. Brand new, pink arms and legs flailing.

It was Taryn's cry and yet it wasn't Taryn she'd seen in her head.

Her eyes popped open, she sat up. She managed to grab the picture of Vaughn and Taryn from atop the dresser and place it on the bed beside her. Despite her tumbling stomach, she took the full bottle of pills and started shoving them two at a time into her mouth and forcing them down with water. The last two, without water. The glass fell from her hand and crashed onto the floor. She curled into a ball on the bed, clutching her hands to her stomach.

And finally, she had begun to feel sleepy.

She didn't recall much of anything that happened right after that. There were faces, with their mouths open, speaking to her. She didn't recall being able to understand anything they said. She was told Dr. Andreas came and had administered treatment but she didn't recall that at all.

Her next clear, conscious memory was a stinging slap to her left cheek and opening her eyes to find her mother inches from her face, staring at her with furious eyes. There had been none of the tender, concerned, health inquiries she had awakened to the last time. Her mother's expression was severe and she spoke harshly.

"You want to kill yourself, then you can leave now. Because you are not dying here."

Sydney had lowered her eyes and placed a hand to her stinging cheek. She had been unsure what, if any, response to that would have been appropriate. She didn't want to leave. She had sat there probably looking as stunned as she felt.

"I want you to courier a package to Rome on Monday."

Sydney gave her mother a questioning look. "You want me to do work for you?"

"You can't be left alone, and sitting around here gives you too much time to plot your own demise."

She remembered staring at her mother, expecting her to burst into laughter for some reason. But Irina's expression had been cold and serious.

Sydney started to shake her head.

"Sydney, I'm not asking you to do anything against the American government. It's simply a delivery."

"Of what?"

"It's not important. Here is what is important: I will send three guards with you. If you attempt to harm them, evade them or they report you doing anything reckless to jeopardize yourself or your assignment, then when you return here, there are cells downstairs."

Sydney narrowed her eyes, not believing her mother for a moment.

Irina returned her stare with the same narrowed eyes. "If I have to treat you like a prisoner to keep you alive, I will."

The pain in Irina's voice had kept Sydney from saying anything. Her mother's demands weren't about controlling her; they were about trying to take care of her. She didn't want to fight that when she knew how worried Irina must be and she didn't doubt her mother's ability to follow through on her threats. Sydney didn't want to leave and she didn't want her life to become any more restricted. Thoughts of protest left her mind. She could surely do a simple delivery.

She was surprised at how little of Sark she saw that weekend. But he entered her room on Sunday evening.

"Out," he said to Jessa, and waited as the girl quickly left the room.

Sydney sat up straighter, giving him a questioning look.

He lifted a picture off her dresser. "I found you, with this picture in your hand."

She had only vaguely remembered picking it up, shortly before she'd started shoving down the pills. She had nodded, wondering what he must think of her.

"I can't help but think of them, worry about them, wonder about them."

Sark set down the picture, and moved towards the bed dropping a photo packet in her lap. "If you wanted to know how they were, all you had to do was ask."

He left the room before she had the chance to open the packet. There were three pictures, obviously recent, inside. The first was of Vaughn at a park, his hand outstretched to hold onto Taryn's hand. It was obvious neither had been aware of the camera. Vaughn was wearing sunglasses, making his expression hard to read but he wasn't smiling. It was surprising how much taller Taryn had gotten.

The second picture was of the same place, obviously a bit later in the day. Vaughn was sitting on a park bench no longer wearing the sunglasses, hugging Taryn protectively to him. Taryn was facing the camera. Sydney could see how much hair Taryn had grown. The toddler was staring seriously at some nearby ducks. Vaughn was staring seriously at nothing, his forehead crinkled.

Sydney swallowed and flipped to the last picture. Vaughn was knelt down tying the toddler's shoe. He had a smile that didn't quite reach is eyes. Taryn was grinning at him, one of her small hands resting on his shoulder to maintain her balance.

She took deep breaths, trying not to cry.

She had inquired about Sark as soon as Jessa had come back into the room, but was informed that he'd left the compound for the day. So, she had asked for a new picture frame. She placed the picture of Vaughn tying Taryn's shoe on the nightstand beside her bed.

That Monday, she got up and got dressed early. She met with her mother in her study around 9am and was introduced to the three guards, two male and one female, that would accompany her. They were dismissed and then, she was handed a silver case.

"You'll give that to Roberto Leone at this address. He will have something to exchange with you for it."

"What?"

"When you see it, you'll know."'

Sydney gripped the case. "You could send anyone to do this."

Her mother nearly looked amused for a moment. "Yes. But I'm sending you."

Sydney sighed. "See you when I get back." She turned to leave.

"Sydney." She had turned back around and met her mother's serious eyes. "Be safe."

Irina had said the words with such sincerity. Sydney had surprised herself with her response.

"I will."

And she had been. She was mostly quiet during the drive to her mother's awaiting jet. The three guards took their job very seriously, casting glances at her every so often as if they could read her mind and would be able to tell if she even thought about hurting herself. She tried to seem calm. But it had been a long time since she had been on a mission of any kind. She welcomed the familiar adrenaline rush, to be restless with a purpose.

She opened the case during the plane ride and flipped through the papers. They appeared to be schematics of some kind. She didn't look at them long as her guards seemed to watch her even more closely while she did. She found she wished she had more to review. A file of mission parameters and details the way the CIA or even SD-6 outlined for her. But she realized, she wasn't supposed to worry about those things. She was supposed to make an exchange like a junior operative. When the plane landed, she noted her guards preparing themselves with weapons in holsters. She felt like she should be arming herself as well. Her look must have given her away.

Sergei shook his head at her. "My orders were clear. You are not to have possession of any weapons. We're prepared to defend you, if necessary."

Because of course, she couldn't be trusted to carry around a gun. At that moment, even she wasn't sure what she might have done with one.

They had gotten into the awaiting vehicle and been driven to the address of what had looked like a warehouse. Besides a few boxes, there was only a table in the room.

A gentleman had been awaiting them with one guard of his own.

"Roberto Leone?" Sydney confirmed.

"Yes. You must be Derevko's representative."

Sydney nodded. "I am."

"You have my documents."

Sydney placed the silver case on the table, but didn't release it, awaiting whatever it was he was to give her.

Roberto stared at her, silently a moment, not moving. He looked at her as though she was transparent and his eyes gleamed. Sydney momentarily felt glad she had three guards behind her. Finally, he grinned and had his man bring forward a wooden box. They exchanged items simultaneously. Immediately, Sydney took note of the eye of Rambaldi embossed on the front of the box.

"Thank you."

They had both turned and exited the warehouse from opposite directions. Again, Sydney had found herself wanting details. Who the man was. Why he'd wanted the documents. She looked at the box. And what was in this box that her mother had been willing to trade for it.

She had hung onto the box the entire ride back to the compound and delivered it directly to her mother. Irina's eyes lit up immediately when Sydney handed it over. But she set the box aside and gave Sydney her full attention.

"Everything went well?"

Sydney nodded. "It was fine. Simple."

"Good. I hope you feel the same about your next assignment."

Sydney straightened. "My next assignment?"

"It will be at the end of the week."

Irina had watched her expectantly, ready for a protest. But Sydney had none. It was another opportunity to get out of the compound and do something with all her restless energy. She had spent an hour or two each of the days before the end of the week in the gym training. She had gone on at least two courier assignments a week for almost two months. She wasn't given details. She was simply to go and make exchanges. She never introduced herself by name. She allowed herself to be an enigmatic representative of Irina Derevko.

She realized now that the lack of information she was given had allowed her to relax and enjoy the assignments as if she had one task on a trip that was otherwise sightseeing. But being unknown was the most freeing thing. She could assume whatever demeanor she thought would do the job. She had found herself staying as serious as possible during the meetings, harsh even at times. It had made her feel the most comfortable and covered the lack of knowledge she had about what she was doing. She knew everything she did was reported back to her mother by her guards and figured if anything she did was unacceptable, she'd hear of it. But when no reprimands came, she felt free to keep the darkly serious persona. It gave her a reputation that made fewer problems arise during her meetings and around her mother's personnel when she couriered items between facilities.

She saw little of Sark during that time. It was only after those two months that he actually returned to stay at the house for longer than a few hours. She sought him out, pictures in hand, in the late afternoon the second day he was back.

She held up the photographs in her hand. "How did you-"

He looked at her expectantly.

"When did you-"

He kept his eyes on her in an intense stare.

She sighed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She stared at the framed picture on the top of the pile in her hands. Vaughn tying Taryn's shoe. "Why?"

"Because you needed to know."

"But I never said. How did you know?"

He bit his lip a moment. "Because I knew if I were you, I'd want to know."

She nodded.

He looked away from her a moment. "There's something else you should know."

She raised an eyebrow.

"The CIA, they've stopped looking for you." Sark's eyes momentarily dropped to the picture in her hand. "He's...stopped looking for you."

She swallowed and started to turn away, not sure what kind of reaction he was expecting or how she should feel about that information. She started to head back towards the house.

"Sydney?"

She spun back to look at him. "What?!"

The word came out full of far more emotion than she would have liked it to and she had quickly turned her back to him again.

"I only meant, they are carrying on without you. It's not a crime if you do the same."

She hadn't answered him. She had just gone to her room. She wanted to be alone.

She had stared at the pictures on her dresser and then the ones in her hand. She wanted them to get on with their lives. She wanted him to be happy without her.

And yet she didn't want him to be happy without her.

She stayed in her room the rest of the evening, missing dinner, and most of the next day. But she knew it'd worry her mother too much if she missed dinner two evenings in a row. Especially since she was to have a short meeting with Irina to prep her for her next assignment. She had settled into a chair on the opposite side of the desk in her mother's study. Irina had seemed engrossed in some papers at first, but she'd looked serious when she looked up.

"So, what am I delivering tomorrow?"

Irina stared at her a moment. "Sydney, do you think you're up to doing more than being a courier?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Surveillance."

She nodded. "When?"

"Sydney, this is your choice. If you don't feel up to it."

"No, it's fine, Mom. When?"

"Next week."

"You don't have anything sooner?"

Her mother had raised an eyebrow, but sent her to Moscow only two days later. More responsibility had been exactly what Sydney felt she needed to keep her mind busy. Her three guards were still her constant entourage and her protectors. And courier missions were still peppered in. But she liked the surveillance. She liked using her own mind to plot the best way to get the photographs and video or where to plant bugs. It was much closer to the spying she remembered. She had two months of at least two missions a week but it was one of her random courier assignments that had changed everything again.

Sydney looked over the vials of liquid. "That concludes our business."

Erik Atwood closed the briefcase of cash. "Except one thing. This is going to be the last shipment."

Sydney narrowed her eyes at him. "You said you could produce at least two more."

The man shifted. "I miscalculated."

"I see," Sydney responded.

He stepped away from the desk and turned to leave.

As he passed, Sydney kicked her leg around and connected with the Atwood's knee, sending him toppling to the ground. He quickly rolled over, but Sergei and Tasha had trained weapons on him, daring him to move.

"Now, the truth," Sydney ordered.

Atwood stared defiantly at her.

She waved a hand and Sergei cocked his weapon, placing it to the man's neck.

The man swallowed. "My last two shipments were bought out."

"By whom?"

He hesitated, not moving from his position on his hands and knees.

Sergei's rifle prodded the man's neck.

"By whom?" Sydney demanded.

Atwood sighed. "I'm told it was for a man named Sloane. Arvin Sloane."

Sydney stared, then directed an angry kick at the man's head, sending him unconscious.

Sergei looked up at her in surprise.

"Let's go," she said, coldly. "Now."

She had arrived back at the compound and briskly walked into her mother's study without knocking. Her mother had apparently been in a meeting with the commander of the guard, but Sydney hadn't cared.

Sydney deposited the container of vials on her mother's desk. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Irina gave her a questioning look.

"About Sloane."

Irina dismissed the commander. "We'll finish this later, Max."

Sydney waited as the man exited the study, closing the door behind him. "Why-"

"Sit down, Sydney."

Sydney sighed and sat down in the chair. "When did Sloane re-emerge?"

Irina sighed. "A month after you first came to stay here."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"If you recall, Sydney, you were pregnant and recovering from an attempt to commit suicide. Your focus needed to be on your health, not Sloane."

Sydney conceded to that. "But what has he been doing? Does the CIA know-"

"They know. They suspected him for awhile as being responsible for your disappearance."

Sydney raised an eyebrow in surprise. "So they've known all this time?"

Irina nodded.

"Are they any closer to catching him or stopping him?"

"They've made some minor hits to the organization he's established, but no, nothing damaging."

Sydney nodded and made a decision. "I want to know everything he's been up to. All the information you have about his operations and facilities for the last year."

"Sydney, are you really ready to-"

"Mom, maybe I needed to be babied when I first got here, but that is not what I need right now." Sydney stood up. "The man who lied to me and manipulated me for seven years of my life is running around like he's untouchable. I won't sit back and do nothing about it."

"The information you requested will be brought to you in the library within the hour."

"Thank you."

Sydney had gone and eaten half a late lunch and met the guard in the library forty-five minutes later. He had brought three discs for her and she sat down with her laptop and perused them. She shouldn't have been surprised by what she read, shouldn't have been surprised that Sloane was still the devil she'd thought him to be. Although, she was certain Emily's death had affected him and not for the better.

The reports Irina had acquired painted a rather clear picture. Sloane was still on his obsessive hunt for Rambaldi and was doing anything he thought would bring him the items he wanted. He was using whatever things of value he could get his hands on by whatever means necessary and trading those for leads on Rambaldi artifacts. Her stomach was in angry knots by the time she finished the last disc.

As if on cue, Jessa had entered the library.

"Your mother thought you might like some tea."

Sydney had accepted it. It was peppermint and helped her stomach. She had left the library found her mother in the sitting room with a cup of tea of her own. Sydney sat down across from her.

"You know what I want."

Irina stirred her tea. "Yes. You're not ready."

"Agreed. I can't put a bullet in his heart as long as you still won't let me carry any weapons."

"You're not ready."

"I may be out of practice but I still remember how to aim and fire. "

Her mother abruptly set aside her tea. "I'm not talking about the handling of a weapon. I'm talking about the emotional repercussions of taking lives."

"The emotional repercussions of taking Sloane's life I can handle," Sydney answered dryly.

"You'll have to locate him first. That's going to take time. You must have noted that even with all the reports assembled, there are no leads on his current location."

"I can wait. But I'm not going on anymore blind missions with three guards as babysitters. I want full briefs on all my assignments. I want to know what I'm delivering and why. Who I'm surveying and why. I want to know if there's any chance that the people I'm dealing with might be able to give me information on Sloane. And anything you learn about his movements, I want to know." She realized how demanding she sounded as she finished and added, "Please."

"Would you also like your own office?" Her mother looked amused. "The things you've requested, you can have but with these exceptions. Your guard detail remains and for now, you will continue without any weapons--"

"Mom, I--"

Irina scolded Sydney with her eyes for interrupting. "In the field."

Sydney raised an eyebrow.

"But I know you'll want to build back up your skills, so I will allow you to do target practice here. Supervised... for now," she added before Sydney could object.

Sydney had agreed to her mother's terms and added target practice into her weekly routine for the days she was home.

She also got regular briefs on her missions, and began truly learning the players in her mother's world. She was somewhat discouraged that the reports on Sloane were few and far between and missions related to him were even scarcer. She tried to think positively that it was time to build up her skills. But sometimes she arranged a target practice session simply because it felt good to take her frustration out on something.

Sydney filled the target sheet of bullet holes peppering in and around the target's heart and up to its head.

"Aren't we eager to kill some 'bad guys'?"

Sydney let out a sigh and turned her aim from the target to him. "Yes, actually. I am." She pulled the trigger.

He smirked at the anti-climactic click of the empty barrel, then looked at her used target sheets. "Not bad," he said.

Sydney turned to reload. "But not very good either." She looked up at him. "When did you get here?"

"An hour ago. But I was in a meeting with your mother until now."

Sydney nodded and changed her target sheet. "And how did things go in Marseilles?"

"As expected."

"So did Leroux give you any information on Sloane's weapon's suppliers?"

"He apparently had none to give."

Sydney had frowned, hating the way she had to settle for second-hand information about the most key of missions. After another month and half, her mother finally allowed Sydney to only have one guard accompany her on her more covert assignments. And that was exactly what she'd been waiting for. She waited one more month before approaching her mother with a new request.

"Sark's going to Madrid in two days. I want to go with him."

Irina looked at her. "Does Sark know this?"

"If you agree to it, it won't matter to him."

"Sydney, it's a covert assignment, requires only a two person team —"

"Which you know I can do. Sending along Sergei or Lucas is just a formality now. Letting me go on an assignment with just Sark would be no different."

"All right, Sydney, you may accompany him. But he'll be on point, and I don't want you taking any unnecessary risks."

The trip to Madrid hadn't turned out anything like expected. She was to be a distraction while Sark slipped into the well guarded home of an antiques dealer and intercepted a Rambaldi artifact before it could be transported to Sloane. It was supposed to have been a quick in and out.

It had begun normally. She faked her car breaking down in the middle of the night and talked to the guard at the gate, hoping to get some assistance in fixing it, while Sark had made his way inside the house to get the artifact. It wasn't Sark's fault that he'd tripped an alarm. It hadn't been in the intel. The guard was smart enough that as soon as he heard the alarm he grabbed onto her. And for the first time in months, she had a real need to use all the training she'd been doing.

Her elbow swung into the man's jaw and he stumbled back a couple steps. He raised his weapon at her but she delivered a kick that knocked the gun several yards away as well as injured his hand. He backed up again then ran at her, she deflected the kick he aimed at her stomach but his fist still collided with her face. It was her turn to back up. When he ran at her again, she delivered a kick to his knee and sent him flat on his back. He looked dazed.

She knelt over him and immediately his hands grabbed her arms. She wrestled her hands away, grabbed him by his shoulders and pounded his head into the ground. Once. His hands dropped limply to his side. Twice. His eyes rolled back. Thrice. He gasped, his eyes bulging open. Quadrice. She felt his skull crush against the pavement.

She stumbled back away from him, catching her breath.

Footsteps approached. She grabbed the discarded gun and aimed it in the direction of the whomever was coming.

"I surrender," Sark answered, dryly. He held a wrapped artifact under one arm.

He looked at the scene as she lowered the gun. He stepped towards her, looking down at the dead guard. "Are you all right?"

Her stomach was churning. "Let's just get out of here."

It wasn't the first time she'd killed someone. But it was the first time she knew she hadn't had to.

She knew she was silent the entire ride back to the compound. She had held her hands tightly in her lap, replaying the scene in her mind. She let Sark take the lead during the mission debrief in Irina's study that evening. They were both dismissed but Irina came to her room that night with a familiar wooden box in hand.

Sydney opened it to find her gun, still loaded with the bullets she had put it in that horrible day over a year ago. "Thank you." She closed the lid slowly and put the box aside.

"You're welcome, Sydney." Irina turned to leave.

Sydney stood up from the bed. "Mom?"

Irina turned to her expectantly.

Sydney crossed the room and embraced her mother. "I love you."

There had been so much more she'd wanted to say to thank her mother for giving her a place to stay, for taking care of her, for helping her recover, for helping her feel like she had a home and somewhere she belonged. And for making her feel loved.

Her mother's eyes were glistening when they broke apart.

"See you tomorrow, Sydney."

Her mother had left, but Sydney hadn't felt ready to sleep. She had walked out to the balcony, surprised to find it occupied.

"I'm not going to jump," came a crisp, amused voice, as he repeated familiar words.

"Good," Sydney laughed as Sark turned around to look at her. She breathed in the cool, night air, satisfied with how at home she felt and startled by it too. She had never expected to feel at home there or to feel comfortable in the presence of Sark.

He approached her. "You aren't planning on leaving us, are you?"

She shook her head. "No."

He watched her carefully.

She returned his serious stare. "Disappointed?"

It took a half second before his stare mutated into a crooked smile. "No," he answered simply, and headed back inside.

As she watched him go, she had realized they were friends.

So, it shouldn't have surprised her, how unnerving it was to watch him lay lifeless on the bed of the truck. The truck rolled to halt as it parked inside the walls of the compound. She moved her shoulder slightly, forcing Taryn to sit up straight as the girl had nearly been asleep against her.

Sydney stood up, hopped out of the back of the truck, helping Taryn out behind her. A group of guards gathered around the truck. She pointed to Sark. "Get him to the infirmary."

Luís looked at her. "And you."

She sighed and looked at Taryn, thinking she had to be hungry. "Cuida usted por ella, y obtenga algo que ella puede comer," Sydney told Luís, thinking she could go and get the girl after she had her shoulder taken care of.

Taryn suddenly moved closer to Sydney as if she understood Sydney's command and didn't like it.

Luís looked at the child and back at Sydney. "Dudo que ella será permitirlo. "

Taryn visibly relaxed a little at his words. She gave Sydney a hopeful look that confirmed for Sydney that she had perfectly understood what they were saying.

She let a doctor tend to her shoulder while Taryn sat in a chair nearby. Then, she took the child to her study and got her some hot chocolate while she left a phone message for her mother. Sydney tried to compose her thoughts as she silently watched Taryn sip the drink.

"So, who taught you Spanish?" she questioned, trying to break the ice.

Taryn shrugged, uncomfortably.

Sydney sighed.

"Where are we?"

Sydney swallowed, as she realized she had never heard Taryn speak before. She had imagined what she must sound like, but the voice was still entirely new to her. "Argentina," she replied. "But we'll be leaving here in a few hours."

Taryn shifted. "Where will we go?"

Sydney moved to sit beside Taryn. "To one of the places I live." She smiled, trying to make the idea more appealing. "You'll get to meet my mother."

Taryn looked disappointed and put her almost empty mug down on the table. "I want my dad." She looked up at Sydney with tear-filled eyes. "I want to go home."

Sydney sighed. "I know."

Taryn looked up at her seriously. "It's not safe for me to go home, is it?"

Sydney shook her head. "But where I'm taking you, you'll be safe, I promise."

Taryn nodded and looked down. "Will my Dad be there?"

Sydney hesitated only a moment. "I'll bring him there."

Taryn started to smile. "Thank you." She wrapped her arms around Sydney and hugged her.

Startled, Sydney blinked, but awkwardly reached out to return the hug. She kept her hands feather light against the child, afraid that she would hurt her somehow. After a moment she relaxed, but tears stung her eyes as a realization hit her.

She was holding her daughter for the first time in nine years.

And she didn't want to let go.