A/N: Happy New Year, everyone!

---

During the evening only two days later, Jackson sat in a well-tailored suit on the hard plastic seats of the airport, watching the people pass. Security had been easy with a fake pregnant wife—before they were able to say anything to Augustine about the mismatch between her picture on the ID and her face in person, Jackson pulled one of the officers aside and explained in low tones that she'd been very weepy lately about how much weight she'd gained, so she was bound to break down sobbing if anyone mentioned it. To keep along with the rouse, he assumed, Augustine had immediately run to the bathroom when they got to the gate. As she spent her sweet time in there, he twiddled his thumbs and waited until she appeared, adjusting one of Lisa's pregnancy outfits over the empathy stomach she'd requisitioned from the hospital. With her brown, wavy hair, she looked like a taller, heavier Lisa, so it was absolutely no problem for him to treat her like his pregnant wife.

'Are you feeling all right, Solange?' he asked in warm French, jumping up to help her sit down slowly.

'Malade comme un chien,' she murmured, and Jackson had to admit, either she really was sick or she was just a fabulous actress. 'I'm sure I'll feel much better when we get home.'

Jackson gave her a worried look, sitting down beside her and rubbing his hand down her hair and upper back, resting it right before her lumbar spine began. As he sat back completely in his chair, Augustine leaned over and put her head on his shoulder with a little moan. Trying to look as normal as possible, he picked up his hand from her back and laced it around her shoulders, pressing the hand against her arm.

When they called for their flight to begin boarding, he and Augustine were the first ones on the plane. He fussed over her, asking about everything from the position of her pillows to whether or not she was feeling like she might go into labour, and during his parental tirade, he had Augustine laughing once or twice. It was good to have her seem calm, even for a couple of moments, because it helped him remain as calm as possible.

After the flight took off, Augustine watched the New York skyline pensively and Jackson reclined his chair, letting himself drift off as he watched Augustine's profile against the dimly lit glass. Sensing him watching, the much younger woman turned and looked at him with a smile as his eyes closed. Before he completely fell asleep, he could hear her asking the stewardess for a blanket in very accented, slow English. A moment later, the fleece fell over his shoulders and he drifted off to Augustine whispering in his ear.

'Don't worry, you'll all be back together as a happy family before the babies are born.'

When he next became lucid, he immediately realised he wasn't in the same place or even the same time for that matter. He felt like the omniscient author lording over his characters as he watched himself sitting in an aeroplane seat. As he stood in the aisle, people moved freely about as though he weren't there. He took a step closer and waved a hand in from of his doppelgänger's face, realising that it was obvious that he couldn't be seen by a soul. With furrowed brow, he looked at the double's arm and then hand, seeing an olive-toned hand slipped into his own. His eyes traced up the woman, watching her look out the window with a severe amount of boredom.

'It's like being an errand runner,' she muttered distastefully, and the dream Jackson turned to face her.

'Well, we're almost finished, aren't we?' he asked, but unlike the current-time Jackson, the double didn't squeeze the woman's hand reassuringly. He didn't have a clear idea as to whether it was because he didn't like the woman or if he just didn't have the emotional framework to do something like that, but it still came across as odd.

'Six down, two to go,' she said with a dark, slightly crazed smile.

'You can't really count Osikowicz and Crome,' he said with his eyebrows raised. 'Suicide never counts in this game.'

'I beg to differ,' she replied. 'I consider suicide to be a mark of a job well done. Instil enough fear in them to off themselves without any work from us.'

His double laughed. 'Good point, Nitsa.'

'Oshodi, Machogu, Pedram, Chaiyasan,' she said in a sing-songy voice. 'Valencia and Watson, then back to Geneva!'

'São Paolo and Los Angeles,' he said, leaning back against the chair. 'It's been a very long time since I've been to either of them.'

'New York City,' Eleni corrected.

'Hm?' he asked, turning to look at her.

'New York City,' she repeated, giving him an odd look. 'The office is in New York City.'

Jackson shook his head. 'No, I oversaw the location change from New York to Los Angeles before September 11th.'

'Yeah, well, they moved back a few months ago,' she said with that same boredom before turning back and looking out the window.

Jackson could see the confusion come over his double's face right before a stabbing headache invaded his cranium. Letting go of the woman's hand, he pressed both of his hands to his temples, leaning forward forcefully in his seat. Jackson had a sudden flash of what he remembered at that moment: sitting in their living room with Lisa and the kids on a Sunday morning reading the newest issue of the New York Times in which there was an article detailing the move of the Society headquarters from Los Angeles to New York. Instead of showing concern for her seatmate's sudden dive forward, Eleni rolled her eyes and leaned forward herself, digging through the bag at her feet and withdrawing a syringe. Sitting back up, she prepared the syringe before reaching over and pulling one arm of his coat off of his shoulder, exposing just his much thinner shirt. Without a second thought, she drove the needle into his arm and emptied it before withdrawing it and slipping the cap back on. Reaching up, she pushed the call button for the stewardess.

'Yes, Mrs Poulain?' asked the woman as she walked up.

'I don't have a sharps container. Is there any chance you can hold this until we get to the airport?'

The woman paused for a moment before reaching out and taking the syringe from her, staring between the limp Jackson and the needle.

'He has recurring migraines,' Eleni explained with a smile. 'I'm a medical doctor, so I'm lucky enough to be able to give him intramuscular chlorpromazine.'

'Oh,' the woman replied, trying to look as though she had any clue what chlorpromazine was. 'Do you need anything for him?'

'I think we have it handled now, right Christian?' she asked softly, reaching over and pulling Jackson up. His head lolled to the side and she nodded. 'See, just a minute later and he's already sleeping like a baby.'

'Wake up.'

Jackson shot forward, blinking against the sudden light that flooded his vision. Next to him, a surprised Augustine had pressed herself against the wall, a hand on her chest.

'I'm sorry!' she gasped. 'I didn't mean to scare you!'

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and leaned to press his forehead against the seat in front of him. 'Nightmare.'

'I figured as much,' the young woman replied, calming herself. 'We're landing in a few minutes, so you need to bring your seat forward.'

He nodded, resting for a moment before leaning back and letting his seat pop into its upright position. With an exhausted smile, he looked over at the nurse, pressing his hand to her false stomach. 'Did you both sleep well?'

---

The once thriving office was now suffering from a distinct lack of people. It was lonely, cold and more than a bit dusty, and as of recently, even the sparse calls they received from their two remaining agents had ceased. Phoebe Couturier was the only remaining employee of the organisation, and she too would have been terminated had it not been for the family ties between her and the man who sat in the office just behind her desk.

For a moment, she thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he started coughing harshly once again. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sound before focusing back on the computer in front of her. For a huge gap of time, their agents in the field had been missing in action, and although she assumed them dead, her grandfather kept pressing her to keep an eye on flight manifestos in the hopes that they were just in hiding for the time being.

Lo and behold, as she began to scan the Air France manifesto for a night flight from LaGuardia, the very two names she'd been wasting more the last two weeks looking for popped up. After a long, staring pause, she pressed the print button and watched the papers her grandfather had so been longing for whirr out of the machine. Picking up the warm papers, she took a couple of quick strides to the door and threw it open, not even bothering to announce herself before crossing the room and setting the papers down on the side table next to the man reclined in a bed, an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

'Monsieur Poulain,' she said to him. 'Jackson and Eleni's aliases have shown up on a flight from New York to Zürich.'

Poulain took a deep breath from the oxygen mask before pulling it from his face and giving a weak smile to the woman. 'I told you.'

'Don't talk,' she pleaded, reaching over to put the mask back on his face. 'Would you like me to track them from Zürich and pick them up once they arrive in Geneva?'

'They know to come here,' Poulain replied from behind the mask. 'Or at least Eleni does.'

Right at the end of the last word, he started his hacking cough, and Phoebe jumped back in abject horror as blood splattered onto the plastic mask. After the initial terror, she took a cloth from the table and pulled the mask off, wiping the inside of it carefully as she looked at the frail old man. It was hard to believe that he was once the head of a thriving international organisation with thousands of employees at his beck and call.

'Why don't you go get some sleep, dear girl,' he said when she placed the mask back on his face. 'Once Eleni and Jackson get here, I'll have them call you.'

She seemed unsure, but gave him a light smile. 'I'll just be a few doors down.'