A/N: Yes, I'm finally updating, but I did warn you all it would be a few months. And this is 30 pages long so I'll hear no complaints about how long it took. As for when the next update will be, uh...give me a couple months.

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: Sydney Bristow was in pieces…

9th 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.

FLIGHT OF ORPHANS

By Aliasscape
Copyright 2004

She couldn't do this.

She couldn't take care of this child. What did she have to offer her?

The truth.

But that would only add the chaos of her world. She couldn't do that.

She had to find Vaughn.

That was the clearest thought in her mind as she looked at the girl sitting across from her on the plane. The child glanced in her direction every so often, looking for direction. It reminded Sydney how unqualified she was to do anything for her. She hadn't been able to get the girl to eat anything. She hadn't been able to get her to sleep. She hadn't even been able to get rid of the awkward silence.

Nothing she could think of to say seemed appropriate enough or comforting enough. And so the thoughts just piled up inside her.

Sydney tabbed through tracking reports on Sloane while Taryn barely sipped a bottle of water. They could have been on separate planes. They could have been in separate worlds.

And Sydney's world was spinning much too fast. She could barely glance across the aisle and look at Taryn. Seeing the child up-close and in live-action was so beyond the photographs, the visit to the park, and the memories of a pudgy baby.

A pudgy baby with brown eyes identical to those of the ten-year-old stranger a few feet away.

Sydney realized she was just as much of a stranger to Taryn. She didn't know how she'd imagined it, but she hadn't expected to be able to be right beside her without the girl knowing who she was. Maybe she should have been glad that she wasn't fielding a dozen questions and trying to live up to whatever expectations Taryn might have for a mother. Glad that Vaughn had given her that freedom.

She wasn't.

But she told herself she didn't need anything else to worry about.

And it was obvious Taryn didn't either. She was so stiff in the chair. Sometimes it appeared she had fallen asleep, but she'd startle and her eyes would pop open. She would scan the plane with just her eyes and swallow hard. She would try to occupy herself by playing with her water bottle or flipping through her magazine. She was hardly as calm as she tried to pretend she was. Her whole body trembled intermittently.

But there was nothing Sydney could do for her.

Taryn needed Vaughn. And she needed to go home.

Sydney tabbed to the next tracking report.

"Sydney?"

She looked up at the little girl.

Taryn held her hands folded in her lap, as she tried to keep them from trembling. She looked cautiously curious. "Do you have any kids?" she questioned.

Sydney froze, momentarily wondering what had prompted the question. Taryn's eyes were fixed on her. Sydney shifted uncomfortably. She had told herself she wasn't going to lie to the girl. A short answer was the most honest one. "I did."

Confusion passed the girl's face and then faded. "Oh."

Sydney almost winced at the awkwardness of it. She could have let the conversation die. She didn't. "Why do you ask?"

Taryn shrugged. "I just wondered." She stared down at her shoes, kicking her legs as they dangled off the chair.

Sydney stared at her a moment longer, before deciding that there really hadn't been any reason behind the question. She let her eyes drift back down to the report on the screen in front of her. But when she looked up, Taryn's eyes were fixed on her again.

"Does it hurt?" Taryn questioned.

"Does what hurt?"

"Your arm."

Sydney glanced at her arm. The pain was dull with the medicine she'd taken for it, but it sharpened with sudden movement. "Yes, it does," she admitted.

The little girl looked down.

Sydney eyed the child's arm, wondering if she was in any pain. "Does yours?"

Taryn shook her head.

Sydney closed her laptop and put it aside. "Are you sure?"

Taryn shrugged slightly. "I'm sorry."

"About my arm? It's going to heal."

"About everything. For hurting you." She frowned to herself. "About Sark." She glanced towards the window, avoiding Sydney's gaze.

"He's going to be all right too, Taryn," Sydney responded, trying to catch the girl's eyes again. "And what happened to him wasn't your fault."

Taryn looked directly at her and straightened. "He was trying to protect me," she said seriously. "He was trying to keep them from getting to me, and they hurt him."

Sydney could hear Taryn's voice straining to stay calm and didn't want to upset her any further. "It's okay, Taryn. You're—"

"No, it's not!" the girl countered, forcefully. Angry tears burned her eyes. "It's not okay!"

Sydney swallowed, unsure what to say.

Taryn fiercely wiped the tears that kept coming as she tried to hold in her sobs. "Marina tried to protect me too, and they killed her. I saw them."

Sydney blinked. "You saw…"

Taryn nodded. "I was hiding. And they were yelling at her. And she was crying. And she wouldn't tell them where I was, and they just…they just shot her!" Her face puckered and she curled into her chair, coughing her sobs into her knees.

The more the girl cried, the more Sydney stiffened in her chair. The child had seen her own nanny murdered right before her eyes. What could Sydney possibly say to make that all right?

"I didn't do anything!" Taryn cried. "I didn't try to stop them. And I couldn't get out of the house. I couldn't…And I wanted my Dad. Just like at the safe house. Sark told me to hide, and I heard them…I heard them hurt him. And I had to hide, but it didn't matter. They found me anyway…And they…they…" She was breathing so hard she could hardly finish. "They put that bag over my head. I couldn't…I couldn't get away from them. And then I couldn't breathe…"

Sydney wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

She turned, blinded by tears, hyperventilating. "She can't breathe! She can't breathe!"

Sydney inhaled sharply, almost choking on the memory. She felt her own eyes stinging.

"I couldn't--I couldn't breathe and I thought…I thought I was going to die." the girl whimpered. "And I don't know why. I don't know what I did. What did I do, Sydney? Why did they want to hurt me?"

Sydney stood abruptly and took several steps into the aisle. She glanced back to see Taryn sniffling and watching her. Sydney stared back at the girl and opened her mouth to speak.

"Taryn, it's okay. You're okay."

But she couldn't catch her breath. She turned away seconds before she felt the tears coming down her cheeks. She quick-walked into the rear cabin of the plane, closed the door firmly and locked it behind her. She clenched her hands into fists. She wanted to pound them into the wall.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to explode. She sank back against the door, and her eyes drifted to the phone on the wall beside her. She grabbed it and dialed a familiar number.

"Jack Bristow."

His voice started her tears anew, and she only sniffled into the phone.

"Jack Bristow."

She blinked hard and started to put down the receiver.

"Sydney."

She froze. She'd known he'd know it was her.

He always knew.

He'd always known.

For the first year and a half after she'd lived with her mother in the compound in Belgium, the thought of calling her father hadn't been anything other than a passing thought. Her pregnancy and depression had had her living day-to-day with few aspirations of doing anything but getting through it. But the missions she was going on--a profession she had shared so much with her father--put him on her mind even more often.

Three months after she'd finally gotten her gun back, she had gone on a trip to Mexico City. She couldn't help but notice a woman helping her elderly father as he walked down the street with a cane. She watched them until they had disappeared up the road. She'd returned home late that night and slept late the next morning. But the first thing on her mind when she had awakened was the father and daughter she'd seen and then her own father.

She'd taken her phone from the table beside her, taken a deep breath and dialed. It was only after the phone was ringing that she'd realized the late hour it was in L.A., but before she could think of hanging up, the phone was answered.

"Jack Bristow."

His voice had sounded understandably tired. It was after midnight where he was. But she felt a rush of relief just to hear his voice.

"Jack Bristow," he repeated impatiently.

She'd planned to ask him how he was doing and make sure he knew that she was all right. Try to explain why she'd left. Why she hadn't come back. Why she hadn't talked to him in so long.

"Sydney."

It wasn't even a question. Whether he recognized the sound of her breathing or was just that hopeful, she didn't know. She gripped the phone so tightly in her hand that her knuckles whitened. She took a deep breath, ready to confirm for him it was her.

"Sydney, where are you?"

And then she'd realized how little she had planned ahead. He was her father. Of course he'd have a million questions. Questions she couldn't answer.

Questions she didn't have answers to.

She was living in her mother's compound, but her newfound relationship with her mother was exactly that. Hers. She couldn't expect her father, and by extension the CIA, to keep it a secret. To just let them be. Her father couldn't know where she was.

A sob had risen in her throat.

"Sydney?"

She held the phone away from her a moment, debating if she could even risk staying on the line any longer, but brought it back to her ear to hear her father speaking calmly.

"Sydney, you need to know, no matter what's happened, I will help you in any way possible."

She had sent the phone clattering back into its cradle and fallen back onto her bed in tears.

It was so easy for him to say that, but he didn't know what had happened and she doubted he'd still feel the same if he did. She'd felt stupid for even trying to make the call. For trying to make contact with the life that she knew she couldn't a part of anymore. For pretending to be a person that she wasn't anymore.

But the want didn't just go away. Even if she couldn't talk to her father, apart of her wanted to reach out to someone from her life before. A friend she could trust. Someone she had always felt comfortable talking to.

"Thanks for bringing these boxes over, Will."

"No problem, Syd. I can still hardly believe it. You're getting married in a week."

Sydney rummaged through the box on the table. "I can hardly believe it myself. Vaughn's so calm about this. He's at work right now. Somehow it feels like I'm the only one having a wedding. He just gets to come."

Will grinned. "Any word on your father?"

Sydney sighed. "I know he won't miss it, but I also know he still feels like we're rushing into this. He can barely say two words to Vaughn, unless I'm out of the room when I'm sure he tries to scare him out of this. Vaughn assures me it's not working, but I just wish my father could be happy for us."

"He's your father. It's his job to be protective."

"He thinks we're rushing into things." She frowned. "But even if we are, we've been through so much together. If Vaughn and I can withstand SD-6 and Sloane and the craziness that has been our lives the last two years, I don't know what could come at us now that we couldn't overcome."

She trusted Will completely. She had no doubt she could talk to him. But she'd brought her problems to his doorstep so many times. She wasn't sure it was right to keep doing so. Nor to burden him with keeping information from Vaughn. If he and Vaughn were even still friends. She hoped they were, that he was still involved in Vaughn and Taryn's lives. And still being as supportive as he always had been for her.

Even though she hadn't deserved it.

She had finally managed to emerge from her room an hour later and gone into her mother's study. But it wasn't her mother who had been in there.

"Where's she this time?"

The first year, Irina had always been around. Sydney had finally requested her space, but she regretted that as it seemed her mother was never around any more.

"Away on business," Sark answered simply. He wore his usual smirk when he looked up at her, but it suddenly dissipated. "Are you all right?"

"Fantastic," she responded, dryly and exited the study.

She'd gone out to the shooting range, intending to do a set. But he had followed her and was on the range before she'd finished loading her gun. He watched her expectantly.

"I'm prepping for Bombay," she tried.

He arched an eyebrow. "No, you're not."

He walked away before she could respond. She thought she'd be relieved he hadn't pushed her, but after three horrible sets, she realized it wasn't helping and went back inside.

Bombay was surprisingly uneventful, but Sydney still wasn't sleeping well when they returned. What had her father thought of her phone call? She'd ended it so abruptly he had to be wondering if she was all right. The last thing she had wanted was to make worry more. She'd called again the next morning. The phone was answered almost immediately.

"Sydney?"

The voice had been more hopeful than anything. He'd been waiting, expecting her to call back.

"Sydney, talk to me. Please. What happened? Why did you leave?"

She'd again, blinked hard and hung up the phone. It wasn't wrong for her father to have questions.

But her chest ached to hear them.

She tried not to focus on the words, just his voice.

She tried.

Sydney had not even attempted to bring the topic up with her mother when she returned. She'd avoiding saying much to Irina at all except about the upcoming meeting with a regular informant at the end of the week. Her mother had seemed preoccupied, and Sydney was thankful for that. She wasn't sure how Irina would feel about of her trying to call Jack. Or how Sark would for that matter. She was nearly silent with him on the flight to Tokyo.

It was routine. They met with Bergh every few months. He usually gave reliable intel on movements of organizations interested in Rambaldi artifacts. She had let Sark talk to Bergh and waited in the car. Though she had been able to hear the conversation between them through the comms, her mind was still elsewhere, contemplating writing her father a letter.

"Anything else?" Sark questioned.

"There was one last thing, regarding Sloane." Bergh's voice dropped to a whisper. "He's onto something new. Based on a manuscript from--"

Feedback blared into the comms and Sydney didn't hear the next word. Her eyes flew to the open window on the third story of the building behind them. She aimed her gun towards a figure in the window.

Bergh suddenly doubled over. Sark ducked down, pulling his own weapon. He scurried back towards the car. She fired at the window trying to provide cover as he opened the door to climb in.

Her jerked forward, stumbling inside. He gritted his teeth pulling himself all the way in. "Go!" he ordered, then pulled the door shut.

She slammed the accelerator, jolting the car forward and exited the alleyway.

She had driven madly for three blocks, trying to make sure they weren't being followed. She turned to look at Sark, wondering if he'd gotten the end of Bergh's message. It was then that she'd finally seen that Sark's hand was rigidly gripping his right thigh. Red liquid seeped through his fingers.

Her eyes widened, and she made another turn, pulling off the road.

"How bad?"

"Through and through," he exhaled.

"Give me your coat."

With another ragged breath, he shook the coat off his right arm. She pulled it around and off his other arm, so he only had to take his grip off his thigh momentarily. She tied it firmly in place, covering both the entry and exit wounds. But as she looked at his soaked thigh and reddened hand, she realized heading for the jet wasn't the best plan.

"How far is our safe house?"

"Maybe twenty minutes from here," Sark responded.

She made it there in fifteen, but the entire drive was a blur to her. Upon arrival, she was out of the car immediately, supporting him on his injured side as she got him into the house. She left him onto the couch as she quickly grabbed the needed bandages, medication and suturing equipment. She handed him pain medicine as she took scissors and cut off his left pant leg.

She let out a relieved sigh as she finished her exam. "It doesn't look like anything vital has been hit."

"Besides my leg and the suit we've now destroyed every piece of," he countered.

"I can suture this," she answered, focused on the wound. "Dr. Andreas take a more thorough look when we get back, but you'll probably be all right."

"Probably?" he questioned. He leaned forward, trying to look at his leg.

She pushed him back with one hand. "Yeah, unless you get up and dance on it."

He smirked. "Was that an invitation?"

She stuck him with a needle.

His face tightened.

She looked down at the wound innocently. "It looks like we never stocked this place with any local anesthetic."

His leg jerked slightly as she poked him again.

"Try not to move," she ordered.

He shot her an icy look. "Try to be gentle."

"You want to do this yourself?"

With a pointed look, she continued stitching in silence, having him turn over once so she could stitch the back of his leg.

"Any idea who could have found out about our meet?" she questioned.

"Bergh gives up info about so many different organizations. Any one of them could have found out and wanted to silence him. "

"But he was telling us about Sloane. I didn't hear the end of his message."

"He said that Sloane had gotten a manuscript from Egypt. He was down before he gave any details."

Sydney secured a bandage. Sark returned to lying on his back.

"I'm sorry." She began gathering up the excess supplies.

Sark arched an eyebrow. "You have no reason to apologize."

She frowned at him. "Bergh's dead and you could have been."

"Neither of which is your fault."

"You don't know that."

"It was a routine meet. We had no reason to expect any problems."

"My focus wasn't on the mission."

"You reacted to the first sign of trouble, Sydney."

"Maybe not the first sign."

"Stop. I don't want to hear whatever reasons you've come up with to blame this, like everything else, all on yourself."

She shook her head. "That's not what I'm doing."

"It's exactly what you're doing."

She looked him in the eye. "Give me your pants."

"What?"

"Unless you want to make a fashion statement at the airport, then you need to put on a different pair of pants."

He couldn't hide a wince when he started to sit up again.

A satisfied smile appeared on her face. "Need some help?"

Helping him change into a new pair of pants was enough of a distraction for both of them. It had been easier to get ready to go to the airport than it had been to try and counter his statements. Dr. Andreas had been called to examine Sark when they got back to the compound, while Irina immediately went to work investigating how their meeting with Bergh had been compromised.

"Sark will be off field missions for at least several weeks. You could take some time off as well," Irina suggested.

The last thing Sydney had wanted was time off.

"No, I don't need it," Sydney responded. "I want to help with the investigation."

She refused to believe anyone besides Sloane was responsible and kept busy doing reconnaissance. She did little besides sleep when she was home, though not nearly enough. She'd hardly visited Sark during his recovery. Dr. Andreas had said he would need to rest for at least two weeks, though he wasn't interested in doing so.

Sydney looked up from her folder to see Sark hobbling into the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

He looked at her. "The question is, what have you been doing?"

"I've been letting you rest." She closed her folder halfway. "Which as I recall was supposed to be for another three days at least. You walked down the stairs…?"

He sat down in the chair across from her, looking satisfied with himself. "I believe you've been avoiding me."

"I've been busy," she gestured to the paperwork spread in front of her.

He picked up a report from her pile. "I can see that."

She took the report from his hands. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Is there any particular reason that your entire focus is now on finding out who was responsible for our meet being disrupted?"

She looked at him. "There's no mystery, Sark. I'm trying to keep it from happening again."

"Admirable," he stated. He tilted his head, fixing his eyes on hers. "If it were to happen again, it wouldn't be your fault."

She glared at him. "If it were to happen again, we'd probably both end up dead."

On that note, she had briskly gathered her paperwork and walked away. She had spent the next two days in Vienna surveying an apartment. She had hoped to find a doctor who may have been working in one of Sloane's labs but he had never returned home. She intended to crash upon her return, however her mother had sent for her. Irina led her into a room across from the library furnished with filing cabinets, bookshelves and a desk and chair. Her mother was silent at first, just allowing her to take in the room.

Maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised. They had talked about it, but not seriously. She hadn't yet decided to stay back then. But having her mother present it to her, really showed her how much Irina wanted her to belong there. She'd stood in the middle of the office, feeling uncertain how to express how much it meant to her.

"It's been prepared for weeks," Irina admitted. She looked at Sydney with knowing eyes.

"I didn't know if you were."

Irina giving her back her gun had signaled the end of her rehabilitation. If she'd wanted to leave then, to take her leads on Sloane and run, she could have. Her mother wouldn't have stopped her. Sydney could have asked for her own office at that time and told her mother of her desire to stay and work with her. But she was late on explaining all that now.

"I hadn't even been thinking about leaving," she assured Irina.

"Sark informed me you'd said so that night. He was surprised I was still forcing you to use the kitchen table as a workspace."

Sydney frowned slightly. "I didn't complain to him."

"I know," Irina responded. "If there's anything else you need put in here, I will arrange it."

SD-6, CIA. They'd given her desks, not offices. And it definitely put the tiny closet of a room she'd been given as a college professor to shame.

Sydney smiled, but shook her head. "It's perfect, Mom."

She'd seen it in her mother's face that that word meant everything to her. She'd taken the time to move into her office. Then, she'd promptly hunted down Sark. He was doing leg lifts in the gym. She'd walked up and stood over him, with an expectant look.

He stopped to stare up at her. "I am allowed. I can show you my doctor's note."

"What did you say to my mother?"

His face relaxed. "Nothing she shouldn't have already known."

Sydney sighed and shook her head.

He smirked. "Don't pretend you don't like it."

She stared at him, her resolve to be angry at him disappearing the longer he looked at her. A small smile appeared on her face. "Who says I'm pretending?" The tone in voice was far more humorous than annoyed.

He gave her an amused look, then resumed his leg lifts.

Sydney had immediately put her office to good use, organizing her information, holding meetings with the teams she wanted to take on raids. Most of the time she'd spent in there just contemplating Sloane's methods. In so many ways, he hadn't changed a bit. Still using people and disposing of them when he found them expendable. The raids she'd thought would gain her access to more information ended up disappointing. Most were abandoned or emptied, almost around only for show. She found that may have been because of the CIA raids that had been done shortly after she'd left L.A.

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

Her mother had told her. They'd thought Sloane may have gotten to her and made it look like she had left on her own. Because why would Sydney Bristow leave with hardly a word? She'd spent so much time trying to pretend everything was all right so they wouldn't have to be worried about her. But her next attempt to call her father confirmed that had backfired.

"Sydney, I'm not going to ask you any questions. As you are able to keep calling, I have to assume that you are all right. That there isn't anything you need for me to do." He sighed.

There was silence and she feared he'd stop talking.

"We searched everywhere for you."

His voice was quiet, almost sad.

"We didn't know whether or not to believe your message. We couldn't rule that it could have been a deception by Sloane or another enemy. We had to be sure. But we received information showing you are most likely with your mother." Another pause. "If you truly left on your own, then I regret that I wasn't more available. That you couldn't talk to me, that you had to go to her...." His voice strained to keep calm and he fell silent again.

She swallowed hard.

"I miss you, Sydney."

She had hung up the phone with a shaky hand and buried her face in her hands. It killed her to think about how worried her father must have been. How worried Vaughn and all her friends at the CIA had been. She hadn't even thought about them suspecting foul play. She had been too busy trying to escape from her life to think about trying to leave them a clear reason as to why. She thought she'd protect them from her mistakes and messed up emotions.

Sydney had left her office and was glad to find her mother in the sitting room. She only had to look at Irina and her mother had immediately set aside her work. Irina gave her an attentive look. Sydney moved to stand just behind the couch.

"When I was six years old, and I was told my mother had died, I knew my life was never going to be the same. I felt so scared. I wasn't certain who was going to take care of me. And I felt alone. I felt abandoned. But I always consoled myself that it hadn't been your choice. That you didn't choose to die and to leave me."

Her mother looked her directly in the eye.

Sydney looked down a moment. "When I found out you weren't dead, it changed everything. It took that away because suddenly it was your choice. Even if the KGB forced you away at first, after you got away from them, you never came back. You let me to continue to think you were dead."

"You want to know why," Irina stated.

"No," Sydney responded, looking up. "I think I know why. Faking your death, even though it was a lie, it gave me closure. I didn't have to grow up wondering why my mother left me, wondering where she was, wondering if she was all right. Even if you'd come back, you wouldn't have been able to stay. It would have taken all that away."

Irina narrowed her eyes at Sydney, a question on her face.

"I didn't give them closure." Sydney sighed. "I left Vaughn a recording. One that didn't even explain why. Just a goodbye. And Dad, I just left a message on his machine." She finally moved to sit on the couch. "They wasted months searching for me."

"Not wasted, Sydney. They spent months finding their own closure. When you were six years old, I gave you the illusion of closure and in turn caused you unnecessary pain. They may mourn the loss of your presence in their lives, but they can still have their hope."

And their fears, Sydney silently added in her head. A part of her wanted to know what Irina would think of the phone calls to Jack. But she worried Irina might disapprove, or like her father, feel like she wasn't doing enough if Sydney needed to call on her other parent. So she hadn't brought it up. She'd smiled half-heartedly and returned to her office. She'd spent most of the day in there and Jessa brought her dinner to her.

When she finally went up to bed, she immediately noticed a packet resting on her pillow. She had picked it up so carefully, and hesitated, preparing herself to take in the images she knew she was about to see.

"One ham sandwich with extra pickles for the lady."

She eagerly took and unwrapped it as she gestured for him to have a seat across from him at the outdoor table. "Thanks Will. I knew I would have time to get this myself before my next class. I thought the cravings jokes were exaggerations. Vaughn's in a meeting. Interrupting him for a sandwich would have been so silly."

"Even though it seemed liked life and death when you called me. That is going to be one impatient kid you have in there." He eyed her belly. "Going to think she should have whatever she wants when she wants it."

Sydney smiled then frowned. "Oh, I hope not. I don't want to raise some awful, bratty kid."

"I'm kidding, Syd."

"I know, I just…I'm not going to have a clue what I'm doing."

"You'll do fine, Sydney. You can disarm nuclear weapons, you can raise a child."

"A child's not a nuclear weapon."

"Have you ever changed a diaper?"

"Be serious, Will. I didn't exactly have the best of role models. I have no idea what kind of mother I'm going to make."

"I am serious. You and Vaughn are going to be great parents."

At least Will had been half right.

Once the packet was open, she had flipped through it quickly. It was filled with pictures of a bright-eyed two year old, playing in the park, being held up by Vaughn to get a drink of water at a fountain. There were multiple shots of her hugging Donovan, chasing the dog, the dog chasing her. She stopped at the photograph of the child sitting on the front step, lips pursed towards a plastic wand and surrounded by bubbles. The last photo was a shot of Vaughn from the back headed towards his car. The little girl was asleep in his arms with her head resting on his shoulder.

Alive. Happy. Safe.

And she'd had nothing to do with it.

She curled up on her still made bed at an angle, her back to the pillows, hugging the packet of photographs and staring at the others atop her dresser. She felt as though she was choking somehow. She closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe. She didn't respond to the faint knock on her door. She didn't open her eyes when she felt light fill the room from the door being cracked open. It was closed again, whomever assuming she was asleep.

She sighed and dragged herself off the bed, peeking into the hallway to see Sark walking away. "Hey."

He stopped and turned back around. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head and stepped into the hallway.

She had often tried to convince herself that she knew Vaughn and Taryn were all right. That she had accepted that and wasn't going to be anxious about them any longer. But every time she received the new pictures, there was an overwhelming sense of relief. And it made her realize how much she truly did worry.

She held up the photos and smiled, slightly. "How long can you keep doing this?"

"How long do you want me to?"

Her smile widened, gratefully, and she turned to head back into her room.

It had been able to take her mind off her conversation with her mother. And she'd thought it was time to stop worrying about what she'd left behind.

She went into her mission the next week completely focused. Sark's recovery was nearly complete and it was to be her last solo mission. Intel told them that the manuscript Sloane had acquired from Egypt had been written in a new Rambaldi code. It was believed that the code key was being held in a lab to Sao Paulo and she had definitely wanted to get to it before Sloane did. She gained access to the lab by attending an art auction on the floor above the lab and making her way down a stairwell when the guards were otherwise distracted. She had easily circumvented the security system and gained access to the display case. And then her mission had taken an unfortunate turn.

"Step away from the display case."

Out of her peripheral vision, she could see a weapon trained on her. She hadn't stepped away. She hadn't thought twice, just reacted.

She surreptitiously pulled her gun from her jewel encrusted, black handbag and whirled around. His gun went off, one bullet burrowing into the wall behind her. She fired three shots into the man. The gun tumbled from his hands and he sank to the ground, gasping.

She grabbed the code key and placed it into her bag. She turned to leave, glancing down at the man to make sure he was still disabled.

His eyes were wide, but they suddenly flashed with recognition of her. "Bristow?" he choked out, in disbelief. "Sydney Bristow?" He wanted her to answer him, as if he couldn't believe without confirmation.

She swallowed and knelt beside his dying form.

"Sydney?" he questioned, once more, before his eyes rolled back and the life went out of them. His fake mustache was dislodged and she removed his glasses.

She had recognized him then. James Lennox. A CIA agent who had once been doubled. Who she'd been on a mission on. Worked with. Sympathized with when his partner, a woman he loved, had been killed.

She had killed an agent of the CIA.

She had gotten up, horrified and hurried to her extraction point. The trip home was a blur to her. She handed over the code key. She had gone up to her bedroom and stopped to see her reflection in the mirror. The black wig, the red lipstick, the dark eye shadow and low cut red dress.

It was no wonder Lennox hadn't recognized her. That he couldn't believe Sydney Bristow had been working against him. He hadn't wanted to believe it was her. She certainly hadn't been the Sydney Bristow he knew. The one that never would have dreamed of working against the CIA without good cause. The one who was strong and resourceful and caring.

As she had taken off the wigs and washed away the makeup, she knew that didn't change her back. She had always thought she might disappear behind the disguises she wore. It had finally happened. She wasn't that Sydney Bristow anymore. She hadn't been in a long time. Even before she'd left home, she hadn't been strong and resourceful. She'd been lost and desperate and helpless. And in overcoming that, she had changed even more.

She had let this happen.

She had killed an agent of the CIA.

Her first collided with her reflection. The mirror was smashed. Her reflection shattered.

Her identity fractured.

She had run cold water across her bruised hand and disposed of the mirror herself. She had settled into a bath with a glass of wine, but it had done little to relax her.

Sydney Bristow was in pieces.

She barely slept that night and stayed in bed much of the day. No one bothered her. They had probably assumed she was jet lagged.

Sydney had finally emerged in the evening, ate a light dinner, and then headed out to the gym to take out her frustration on a punching bag. She shouldn't have been surprised her long and unusually timed workout didn't go unnoticed. She knew he was behind her before he said a word.

She made a series of kicks at the punching bag before turning to look at him.

He was dressed for a work out. "Interested in a moving target?"

She frowned at him. "I'm not going to spar with you when you're recovering."

"I'm done recovering," he responded, doing some warm-up stretching.

She shook her head. "Unless you want something broken, you should leave me alone."

He took a ready stance. "You're angry."

"Whatever gave you that idea," she responded, dryly, moving across the mat towards him.

He eyed her carefully. "At yourself."

She circled him. "I have every right to be." She narrowed her eyes at him.

He tilted his head. "Do you?" he aimed a cross at her.

She evaded and they continued circling each other. "I killed a man. Someone that didn't deserve it."

"Did he attack you first?" Sark questioned. He made two quick jabs that she blocked.

"Yes." She aimed a roundhouse kick towards his head.

He ducked. "Then he deserved it. You did what you had to do."

She advanced towards him. Another kick made light contact with his abdomen and he recoiled. "You don't know that!" she argued. "You don't know who I've become."

He circled, moving in. He jabbed. "Situations change." She ducked. "You adapt." His kick clipped her shoulder. "Or you don't survive."

She rolled, getting up again quickly. "I'm not who I want to be."

He circled her. "Or not who you used to be." He took a deep breath, starting to get winded. "If you could stop blaming yourself for five seconds, then maybe you'd see there's nothing wrong with that."

She advanced on him again, angrily, with quick movements. A jab and a cross he blocked, but a hard kick connected with stomach knocking the wind out of him. Her follow-up kick hit his left thigh and he grabbed onto her, pulling her down on top of him as he fell back first onto the mats. She tried to break her wrists from his grasps, but he rolled them over, pinning her. He smirked and she kneed him, rolling them over again and pinning him. She held him there, hovering over him as they both tried to catch their breath.

"I think I win," she announced, looking him in the eye.

He didn't say anything, only lifted his head and pressed his lips to hers.

She released his arms immediately, ending the kiss and starting to get up. He held her in place.

"Let go," she ordered.

"Stop," he answered. He released her hands.

She stared down at him. "Stop what?"

"Telling yourself this is a game."

"Isn't it?" she questioned, climbing off of him.

He sat up, looking her in the eye. "Not to me."

She blinked and stood up. She walked over to the bench and grabbed a towel, burying her face in it a moment before looking at him again. "You don't know me."

He stood slowly, watching her. "I know you."

"Not well enough for…this," she countered.

"Don't doubt me, Sydney." He sat down on the bench beside her. "I've watched you since the day you arrived here. I saw you fall apart. I saw how hard it was for you to make your recovery. Perhaps you are only now realizing how much you've changed; I'm not. And I care about you, just as you are, right now."

It was then that she'd realized that this wasn't his way of getting the last word. He wasn't going to suddenly burst into an amused laugh at the stunned look on her face. His feelings were real. And he had been watching her, obviously expecting her to say something about how she felt.

She didn't know how she felt.

She had gotten up and left. He hadn't called after her or tried to follow her. She left the gym, crossed the compound, gone upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom. She didn't know how long she lay on her bed.

Her eyes fell on the picture packet. And she was reminded of all the attention Sark had paid to her in recent weeks. Enough to know the exact time she really needed the pictures. The way he talked to her mother about the office. She sat down on the bed and fingered the scars running up her forearms. He had seen her fall apart. He'd found her. Every time, he'd found her.

He knew she'd left behind her family. The life she'd had in LA. And he knew she hadn't just forgotten about it. That she couldn't.

And he'd never judged her.

He had never seemed to think her weak. He only wanted her to stop blaming herself and move on. Far easier said than done, and she had wondered why he cared. But it wasn't as if he was wrong. She couldn't dwell on the past forever. Not without it eating her up.

Sydney ran herself a bubble bath and relaxed into the tub. She knew she wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon.

There were too many thoughts swirling around her head. She knew she felt safe with him on missions. She felt comfortable in, even enjoyed, his company. Even their arguments were more playful than anything. She valued his opinion. She found herself wondering how it had made him feel that she had just walked away. She didn't want to hurt him. Why had she run? It wasn't because she didn't care about him. She knew she did.

But having a relationship with him would be moving on. Really moving on. It was Sark's voice in her head as she stepped out of her long bath, her fingers wrinkled.

"They are carrying on without you. It's not a crime if you do the same."

Not a crime. She liked the pictures. She liked seeing that they were all right. She tortured herself when she didn't know because she'd already made her decisions.

"Sydney if this has made you want to leave, to go back to Vaughn--"

"I can't go back. I can't ever go back."

She walked back into the bedroom and opened a jewelry box, fingering her wedding band.

It was her fourth anniversary.

It was her last anniversary.

She closed the box and looked at the pictures on the dresser. In her head, she'd made so many decisions.

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.

She'd even said them out loud. To Sark.

"You aren't planning on leaving us, are you?"

She shook her head. "No."

To her mother.

"I hadn't even been thinking about leaving."

She had brushed out her wet hair and gotten dressed again. If she wasn't going back, then why wasn't she moving on?

What are you doing here, Sydney?

She had walked to his room and knocked on the door. He had opened it and given her a questioning look.

"It's 3am, Sydney."

"Let's go for a run."

He looked reluctant, but nodded. "Ten minutes."

She had been on the path stretching when he arrived nine minutes later. He stretched in silence beside her a few minutes.

"One race," she decided.

He was hardly enthusiastic about it, but agreed. He moved to stand beside her on the path, and she took off running. It was a sprint down to the path until it curved and a sprint back. Despite her head start, they finished the race exactly tied.

Sydney turned back towards the path, starting a cool down walk, breathing hard. "When I first came, you used to ask me every day why I came here." She inhaled deeply. "I never had an answer for you, but one day, you just stopped asking. Why?"

He walked with her, matching her pace. "It didn't matter anymore."

She stopped on the path in front of him, forcing him to stop a foot away from her. "Why not?"

"The reason you came here had no bearing on the fact that you needed help. And I know the questions only made you feel as though I wanted you to leave."

She stepped closer to him. "Didn't you?"

"At first." He looked her in the eye. "I didn't quite know what to think of you."

She returned the stare. "When you kissed me yesterday, I didn't know what to think. And after everything you said, I was surprised and overwhelmed and… I'm sorry I ran away." She moved her face inches from his. "I don't want to run away."

She pressed her lips to his, in no hesitant peck, initiating a kiss that was long and intense.

She had decided if she was getting into this, then she couldn't bear to dance around it. She knew she could have taken more time to think about it. But she didn't want to talk it to death or analyze all the emotion out of it.

When they parted, Sark was giving her a quizzical look.

"Sydney, I don't want you to feel forced—"

She shook her head. "I don't."

Sark didn't question her after that. He'd only given her a sly smile and they walked hand-in-hand down the paths. The sun had risen by the time they headed back to the compound.

"I have to leave for Shanghai," he reminded her.

She sighed. "I'll see you when you get back."

She'd found it difficult to focus that day, finding herself missing his company and having a dozen things come to mind that she wanted to talk to him about. She'd gone up to her bedroom and cleared the pictures of Vaughn from her dresser, placing them in a box. She replaced the picture of Vaughn tying Taryn's shoe with just Taryn blowing bubbles in the frame beside her bed.

Late that night she'd gone into the gym, intending to exercise until she finally felt tired enough to sleep. But her mother had been sitting on the floor in the gym. So many times growing up, she'd wished she could just talk to her mother whenever she wanted, it was satisfying to actually have that opportunity. She'd just watched Irina meditating at first. Finally, she'd sat down cross-legged in front of her.

Her mother had opened one eye and looked at her. Then, she'd taken a deep breath and closed it again.

"Would you like to learn?"

"I'd like to talk."

Irina's eyes remained closed. "I'm listening."

Sydney had taken a deep breath.

"Mom, do you like who you are?"

"What is this about, Sydney?"

"Did you ever wish you'd made different choices? Been a different person?"

"I have my regrets, Sydney. But I've accepted the choices that I made and their consequences." Her mother's eyes opened. "You haven't."

Sydney looked down. "I have done things I will never forgive myself for." Sydney sighed. "I…I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're my daughter," Irina said simply.

"But beyond that—" Sydney began.

"You've started over, Sydney. Beyond that is what you get to decide now." Irina's eyes closed again.

Sydney was silent a moment, watching her mother. "Teach me?"

A smile had tugged at the corners of Irina's mouth and then she'd begun to give instructions.

As she contemplated her mother's words, Sydney found herself nervously anticipating Sark's return. Her identity was now going to be based on the choices she'd made. She had made the choice that she wasn't going to be alone. Even as a nagging part of her felt as though that was what she deserved. But another part of her just wanted to be happy, truly happy. To know if that was possible even if she didn't have the life she'd planned on.

She'd felt almost nervous as she was informed that Sark's plane had landed and he was en route to the compound. Somehow afraid that everything they'd said to each other had ceased to be real in the time he was gone. But she needn't have worried. He found her in her office moments after he arrived.

"Hey. Everything go all right?" She looked up from her desk.

"As expected." He moved from the doorway.

"How's your leg?"

"A little sore," he admitted. He smiled slyly. "I have something for you."

She smiled. "Oh?"

He held out a rectangular black velvet box.

She raised an eyebrow. "I thought flowers were the conventional thing for this stage."

"I hope you didn't get into this hoping I'd be conventional."

She looked at the box in front of her. "I don't know. Does it mean I'll never get flowers?"

He leaned in close to her face. "If I promise you flowers, will you open it?"

She grinned, amused. "Yes. If you promise." She finally turned and flipped open the box.

A tiny gasp had escaped her as she'd stared at the sparkling, medium-blue sapphire that hung on the end of an 18k white gold chain.

She frowned slightly. "I don't know if I can accept this."

"You don't like it?"

"No, it's beautiful. I just…it's beautiful. Thank you."

She had taken the necklace from the box and turned so he could help her put it on. Then, she turned back around, smiling widely and gave him a quick peck.

He gave her a crooked smile. "I have a meeting with your mother. I have to go before she wonders why I'm late."

"See you later."

Telling Irina about their relationship wasn't something they talked about. They didn't talk about hiding it either, but they seemed to mutually agree as they still behaved as normal around her.

Sydney was thankful for once about the minimal leads on Sloane. Less time in the field meant more time to spend with Sark. Even as there was nothing new or spectacular about the things they did together at first, Sydney found spending time with him still felt different. She knew he wasn't spending time with her out of boredom or a sense of responsibility. And it gave her a reason to focus on someone besides herself. Not that she didn't still focus on herself at times.

"Let's go out."

Sark had suggested one evening.

"I want to but, I have nothing to wear."

Sark arched an eyebrow. "You have a closet full of clothes."

It was true. She had packed so many clothes when she'd first left L.A. but when it came to formal dining, she found it difficult to wear any of them. They all called up too many memories. And the only new clothes she'd gotten since coming there were maternity clothes.

"I'll go shopping and buy some new clothes. Then, we'll go out."

Sark had reluctantly agreed, randomly saying they'd figured out something else for dinner.

Sydney stepped into the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Sark responded, adding some spices to a pot of boiling liquid.

"You're cooking…" She looked around, at the various ingredients on the counter and the pots on the stove. Nothing looked to be burning. "I've lived here two years. How come your abilities as a chef are only just now being revealed to me?"

He smirked, his eyes twinkling proudly. "You can't learn everything about me at once." He stirred a pot on the stove. He extended the spoon to her and she took over stirring.

She watched him. "But what if I want to know everything?"

"What if you don't?"

"What if I want to know…" She debated a moment. "Why you call yourself Mr. Sark."

He took a peek into the oven, grabbed an oven mitt and removed a pan of rolls. "I have to call myself something."

"But it's not your real name, is it?"

"No," he admitted, finally taking the spoon back, stirring twice more and turning down the heat.

She stepped back only enough to allow him access to the stove, but remained right beside him. She looked him in the eye. "So, what is your name?"

He put a lid on the pot and put the spoon aside. "I was born Julian Lazarey." His tone was cold. "It was a name given to me by an abusive father with whom I wish to have no connection."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "I'm sorry."

She thought she could hear the severed connection he felt to his former self in the detached tone with which he'd spoken his name. She'd let the subject die for the moment and focused on grabbing herself a plate. Filling her stomach in a way she couldn't fill the void that she felt distanced her from who she had been. She could tell by the way Sark looked at her through the meal he knew it was still on her mind, but she was thankful he didn't try to make her talk about it.

She'd gone up to her room after dinner and cleared out the dresses in her closet that she couldn't bring herself to wear. She'd boxed them up. She'd thought she could get rid of them, but as she sorted through them, a few still ended up in the box with pictures of Vaughn. But she did take the box to storage, rather than leaving it in the room.

Sydney had gone shopping the next day and bought dresses without memories. She'd even gone to the hair dresser, and intended to get her hair cut back to its normal length. But again she'd wondered why she was trying to go back. She'd let her hair be trimmed but let it stay the several inches it had grown past her shoulders.

As she'd been trying on the outfits as she'd returned home, the date on her receipt had leaped out at her. She sank onto the bed still clutching the red dress she had been taking the tag off of. She looked up at the photo of nine month old Taryn on the dresser.

The room had spiraled around her.

Two years. It had been exactly two years.

Since that horrible, horrible day.

"Taryn, it's okay. You're okay," Sydney told the baby. Taryn kicked Sydney's hand away, and flailed her arms, completely angry. "Taryn, you need to calm down," Sydney said more firmly. Her own head ached worse with the cries. Pounded. "Taryn, please...."

Since she'd had any contact with Vaughn.

"I don't know how to do this. I've been trying so hard to pretend that everything's alright. It's not and you know it's not. And I can't pretend anymore. I know you'll be alright. I know you'll both be alright. Probably better." Her voice cracked. "Goodbye, Michael."

Since she'd actually been face-to-face with Taryn.

Sydney held the baby against her chest and began to whisper in her ear. "I'm sorry, Taryn. I'm so sorry."

Sydney lowered her cheek against her baby's cheek. She ran her hand across the baby's skin and breathed in the smell of her face. She smoothed the baby's silky brown hair.

She pulled the baby back from her chest. She lowered the baby back into her carrier, stuffed her cell phone in the bottom compartment. She walked briskly through the rotunda and straight into Vaughn's office. She placed the pen on his desk, put down the baby carrier in front of the desk and leaned over it. Taryn gripped onto her hair.

"I do love you, Taryn," she whispered. The tears ran down her cheeks again and rained right onto the baby. "I do love you," she said it, again louder.

Since she'd spoken to her father.

"Dad, I...I didn't want you to worry. I just couldn't stay there anymore. Not with him. I tried, please believe that. And please...just let me go."

Two years.

She couldn't stay at that room looking at the pictures. She'd escaped, heading down the stairs quickly. The door to her mother's study was closed. She was apparently in a meeting. Sydney had turned and gone into the library.

Sark was apparently researching something as he sat with a book in hand as he tapped into the laptop on the table in front of him.

She hesitated in the doorway. Just as Sark looked up at her, she turned and left the room.

"Sydney?"

She had felt tears sting in her eyes and actually picked up the pace, heading out the side door to the courtyard. She broke into a run once she was outside. Around the building, towards the paths. She had glanced back once, but no one had been behind her. And then as she'd headed around the bend in the path, she'd slammed right into him.

They both toppled to the ground, her on top of him. Tears still streaming down her face, she raised her fists towards him, landing one blow on his chest before he grabbed her wrists. He stared up at her with concerned eyes.

She collapsed on top of him sobbing. He released her wrists and wrapped his arms around her, sitting up carefully.

There had been no questions. No conversation. Maybe he'd known what day it was. Or maybe it hadn't mattered to him. When she finally finished, he walked her back to the house.

"I'm sorry," she began.

But he placed a hand to her cheek and shook his head, "Don't." The look in his eyes was serious, but not cold. "Get some rest."

He'd disappeared back into the library. She'd stood in the sitting room a moment before turning to head upstairs. Her mother was standing in the doorway to her study.

"Are you all right?"

Sydney nodded. "Yes."

Irina looked at her with eyes narrowed. "Good night. Sydney."

She knew her mother had known about her and Sark after that, but they still didn't talk about it. Sydney had found herself more preoccupied with being all right. The weeks following that day had been difficult. She'd been listless with a limited appetite. Some days, she'd sit in her bedroom wishing she could purge her memories as easily as she could remove the pictures from her dresser.

It just would have been so much easier if she didn't remember them.

But it would have been that much harder too.

Still, she had her regrets about her recovery time. There were moments when she got the feeling she would never be over it.

She returned from a two-day surveillance operation in Frankfurt. It was just past dawn and Sark greeted her at the edge of the courtyard and walking with her back towards the building.

"You're up early," she noted, just as they neared the doorway. She leaned back against the wall, just beside the door.

He watched her intently. "I can go sleep now, if you like."

She made a face, sticking her tongue out momentarily.

He leaned towards her, resting his hands on the wall on either side of her. "Your tongue better be careful. Mine might take that as a challenge."

"Oh?" She grinned mischievously and flicked her tongue at him again.

He kissed her, his tongue taking on the challenge of hers. He pulls his hands from the wall and rested them on her waist.

He'd finally pulled away to take a breath. She had looked at him, but felt tears starting to come to her eyes. She blinked them back immediately and took a deep breath, not wanting him to think he'd made her cry. Of course he hadn't. There wasn't anything to cry about. She tightened her jaw, trying to hold a composed face. He'd raised an eyebrow at her. She'd turned and headed into the building, without saying anything, just trying to shake the extremely uncomfortable feeling that had just run through her. Sark had followed just behind her.

"Sydney?"

It wasn't anything about him. She knew that. And she didn't want him to think that.

"The guards were watching us," she said, quickly.

He had watched her a moment longer and then let it go without argument. She'd taken it as the early jitters of a new relationship. The feeling wasn't constant, but it didn't just go away.

Sydney checked her watch as she closed the safe house door behind them. "Extraction in six hours." It was enough time to eat or perhaps grab a short nap. She set aside her gear and plopped down on the couch, lying on her back.

Sark unzipped his bulletproof vest and deposited it on the table along with his gun and holster. He lowered himself onto the end of the couch.

Sydney smiled at him. "Today was a good day." She held out the disc they'd copied during their operation.

He looked at her and smirked. "Yes, it was." He took the disc and set it on the table. Then, he crept across the couch, hovering over her.

"Almost perfect," she continued. Her eyes slid closed her eyes as he showered her face with kisses. She turned her head and he stopped. She opened her eyes. "What?"

He gave her a questioning look. "Are you all right?"

She frowned at him, as he backed off of her and she sat up. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Yes, it's horrid of me to be concerned about you."

"Unnecessarily. I don't know how many times over the past few weeks, you've looked at me like…" She paused to form her thoughts. "Like you think I'll break."

He stood up. "Probably the same number of times you've gone cold when I've touched you."

She stiffened. "We've been busy. I've been tired. It's not every time."

"No, it isn't," he agreed.

"So stop worrying about it."

Sark shook his head. "I am not going to argue with you about whether or not I have a right to be concerned."

He'd headed for the kitchen to make something to eat and she'd lain back down on the couch. It had been a quiet trip back to Belgium and an even quieter next couple of days. She wanted to apologize to him for the way she'd reacted, but she doubted she could really do so without an explanation. He was right. There had just been moments where everything had seemed perfect.

And all she'd wanted to do was cry or run away.

She couldn't explain it. She stayed up several nights trying. But then spent several hours in the gym meditating trying to make up for lost sleep.

She felt pressure on the mats, but didn't move from her cross-legged position until he'd moved directly in front of her. She heard him sit down. She opened her eyes. He was cross-legged, his electric blue eyes fixed on her.

She sighed. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I know I feel happy when I'm with you. I guess sometimes almost too happy." She laughed, uncomfortably, not even sure she made any sense.

He gave her a thinking frown. "You deserve to be happy," he said, seriously.

She looked down, feeling a lump in her throat. "I don't know what I deserve."

"Even if you feel you've made mistakes—"

She glanced up at him, but could barely meet his intense gaze. "Not just mistakes, Sark. I've done things that I can't ever change, can't ever fix, and can't just pretend never happened."

"So stop trying, Sydney—"

She gave him a furious frown and held a scarred wrist towards him. "Sydney Bristow's dead. I killed her."

He caught her wrist and pulled her to him. "No, she isn't," he countered, harshly. He grabbed her other arm, sitting on his knees and held her facing him. "You are alive, Sydney. Stop trying to punish yourself because of it."

She shook her head, refusing to look at him, but she didn't pull away. "You don't know--"

"I don't need to know," he interjected. "There's nothing you could tell me you've done that would make me believe that this," he twisted her wrist up again to expose the scar, "is what you deserve."

Her eyes fixed on the ugliness of the scars, and she blinked.

"We both have our dark pasts. The things we've done that we regret. Though I know, I cannot focus on that everyday. I do my best to forget." He turned her hand back so the scars weren't visible. He loosened his grip on her and just held her hands again his chest. He tilted his head, catching her eyes. "Let me help you forget."

She took a deep breath, taking one of her hands from his grasp and running it through his hair. He placed his free hand to her cheek. She brushed her lips against his, closing her eyes. He pecked around her mouth as his hands settled on hips, guiding her back until she was lying on the mat. She grasped onto his forearms as he kissed down her neck.

It wasn't as if the guilt and the doubts immediately disappeared. But she refused to let them stop her. He was there and that was what she wanted. For him to be there. To be safe, and reassuring and to completely accept her, whoever she was, whoever she was going to be. She didn't know if they had a future together, but she knew when she was with him, the dark memories of her past life didn't come to her haunt her quite as often.

She needed to forget.

He let her forget.

They didn't make any immediate plans or distant future commitments to each other. Taking it one day at a time suited both of them. There were many things Sydney liked. While it didn't replace the friendships that she'd left behind, she wasn't as lonely for the emotional support that she'd used to get from her friends.

In her own room, the first thing her eyes would fall upon in the morning was her dresser full of pictures. Some days they were comforting but some days they bothered her. She never knew which it was going to be, or how she was going to feel when she woke up. Waking up in Sark's room didn't have that uncertainty. The first thing her eyes would fall upon was him, and the mischievous smile he managed to have even while sleeping only made her grin.

Though the relaxed feeling she felt did catch her off guard one morning. She had crawled on top of him, inches from his face when he opened one eye to look at her. She gave him a searching stare.

"Are you happy?"

He shut his eye back. "Yes."

"It seems like you used to get some enjoyment out of trying to get my attention. I just wonder, now that you have it…do you miss the chase?"

He opened his eyes again and smiled crooked. "Yes, you're very boring now."

She made a light swat at him, then managed a smirk of her own. "I think I can do something about that."

But there were still days Sloane was on her mind.

She peeked into Sark's room. "Do you have the reports from Amsterdam?"

"Your mother wanted to review them. The disc is in her office. Probably in her desk, somewhere."

Sydney had entered her mother's study and began rummaging through the desk of neatly arranged files and papers. She pulled open a desk drawers, finding plenty of pencils, stamps and currency but not the disc. She pulled open a bottom drawer and froze.

On top of the papers in the drawer was a photograph of a wrinkled, pink baby, with eyes barely open and hair nearly black. Her baby.

Her other baby.

The one she didn't know the whereabouts of. The gender. The name. The health. She had suddenly noted how small it was. So much smaller than Taryn. She reached into the drawer and picked up the photograph, looking at the back. There was something written in her mother's handwriting.

"Two weeks."

She had also recognized her mother's hands wrapped around the infant in the picture. She had tried to reason in her head why her mother had still had the baby at two-weeks. Had it been that long before another family had been located? Unless her mother had kept—

Sydney shut the drawer abruptly and exited her mother's office and wandered into the kitchen.

"Find it?" Sark questioned.

"No," she answered, quietly. Sark gave her a questioning look. "Just never mind."

She had passed off some excuse about having a headache and needing to lie down to escape to her bedroom. She had made it into the room and shut the door before her legs seem to give out underneath it. Her heart pounded so hard her chest ached. She had reached for the phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in weeks.

"Dad."

"Sydney, I need to know. Taryn, have you found her? Is she all right?"

Sydney stared at the phone in her hand, her knuckles white from her rigid grip on the receiver. Her palm was sweaty. "Yes," she whispered. She swallowed hard.

Taryn was all right. It was she who was falling apart.

"Then, you can handle this, Sydney. You're her mother."

Sydney frowned, deeply, standing up. "And look what that's gotten her," she snarled through clenched teeth.

Sloane had gone after Taryn because of her. Taryn had been traumatized because of her.

Sydney hung up the phone before her father could say another word. She wiped her tears and took a deep breath before opening the door to head back into the main cabin. It was quiet. She didn't hear Taryn sobbing anymore. She walked up the aisle slowly. She could see the top of the girl's head, but it didn't turn when she stood just behind the row. Sydney took a bracing deep breath and moved to stand in front of the chair.

Taryn was curled up in the chair. Her eyes were closed. She was breathing evenly. Her cheeks were tear-stained. Sydney sighed. The child had cried herself to sleep. Sydney stood still a moment, just watching her breath. Then, she grabbed a blanket and covered the girl, careful not to wake her.

Sydney swallowed and sat down in the seat beside Taryn, mesmerized simply by watching her. The girl shifted position, her hair falling across her face. Sydney hesitated a moment before reaching out a hand. She gently pushed the strand of hair back behind her daughter's ear.

Glassy eyed, she whispered.

"I'm sorry, Taryn. I'm so sorry."