Title: Into the Deep
Author: Jennifer Campbell
Fandom: Alias
Spoilers: General season 2
Pairings: Sydney/Danny, Sydney/Vaughn
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: The show Alias and its characters belong to people
with a lot more money than I have. Please don't sue.
Notes: I have to admit a little nervousness about posting this story because I've never written an Alias story before. I've written plenty of fanfic, but I'm not sure how this fandom will receive my work. So please, like it or hate it, let me know! Please review. There's nothing more deflating than a story that gets no feedback. If you'd like to read my other fanfiction, it's at http://www.geocities.com/c645900/mosaic/index.html
This is a repost of chapter 1, after some edits. Thank you to Neptune for the helpful critique.
Also I should point out that this is an alternative universe story. Some things are the same from season 2; others are not. You'll find out, as the story unfolds. Enjoy!
##
"Hello. Sark speaking."
"I'm out."
"I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. Everything went according to plan?"
"Of course. The information is being analyzed as we speak. I'm surprised at how accessible the CIA's computer system is from the inside, to those who have no clearance."
"What amazes me is that you managed to break out of a maximum security cell in the middle of a government facility, filled with armed guards, and get out alive."
"You have your secrets, and I have mine. How are you faring with our new ally?"
"Surprisingly well. Sloane is so eager to show his good faith in our arrangement that he has already opened many of the necessary files."
"Good. ... And Jack?"
"He's a pain in the ass."
"He always has been."
"Shall I have a plane waiting to take you to headquarters?"
"Not just yet. There is something else in Los Angeles that requires my attention."
"Need I remind you that the CIA undoubtedly has already initiated a manhunt? If they find you, it will not go easy."
"Perhaps not, but this is important. I'll be in touch."
#
Three of them gathered in the office of CIA Director Devlin, then shut the door against unwanted ears. The director himself sat in his chair, hands folded on his desk. Agent Jack Bristow sat across from him in the only other chair, and Agent Michael Vaughn leaned against the wall behind Jack.
The men looked casual enough, but Vaughn knew it was a charade. The conversation today was of the highest importance. The escape of a high- profile prisoner was bad enough, but Irina Derevko had also stolen intelligence from the CIA's own computer system. It was a catastrophe and an embarrassment to the agency. And Director Devlin needed answers.
"How could this happen?" Devlin demanded. "That woman was guarded 24 hours a day and locked up behind bars. How the hell did she manage to get out? Where was the guard?"
"Well, that appears to be the problem, sir," Vaughn said. "Her guard is the one who let her out. He admitted to it under questioning about a half-hour ago. He apparently was well-paid for his services."
"Well-paid my ass. I suppose the man has no clue he has just unleashed a very dangerous woman on Los Angeles, with who knows what intelligence -- "
"We have agents working on that," Jack interjected. "And with all due respect, we should be focusing not on how she got out, but on how to get her back."
Devlin heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his fingers along his forehead as he said, "All right then. How do we get her back?"
Jack leaned forward intently. From Vaughn's vantage, he couldn't see Jack's face, but he knew how his fellow agent would look now. Cold eyes, stern expression. Jack's rigid shoulders and stiff back told Vaughn how tense he was, how worried -- just as they all were. But years of training and playing double-agent at SD-6 had taught Jack Bristow how to focus only on the job at hand. Vaughn envied that skill.
"We've already sent out teams to look for her," Jack answered, his words cool and clipped. "But we can only guess at what her intentions are, or where she would go."
Devlin said, "You of all people should be able to guess her intentions. She's your ex-wife, after all."
Jack stiffened even more, but his voice betrayed no anger. "History has proven amply that I do not know that woman."
"But you have a guess," Devlin pressed. "Jack, any speculation is worth hearing. Because right now, we have nothing."
Jack paused, then said slowly, "I believe she might attempt to contact my daughter. Irina asked about her more than once during her confinement, and I refused to answer."
"You think your daughter might be in danger?"
Before Jack could answer, Vaughn interrupted. "Irina hasn't attempted to contact your daughter --" He floundered, searching for a name.
"Sydney," Jack said.
Vaughn nodded his thanks. "She hasn't tried to contact Sydney since she abandoned your family more than two decades ago. Why now?"
Jack bowed his head. "I can't answer that. As I said, I've proven a poor judge of her true intentions."
"Then how would you know now?" Vaughn asked.
"Call it a hunch."
Devlin scoffed. "And do you think we can spare agents to investigate a hunch? I need something more concrete."
At this, Jack's composure vanished. He stood and slammed his palms down on Devlin's desk, making them all jump. "You asked for my opinion, and I gave it. Sydney knows nothing of all this. She's a happily married English teacher who thinks her mother died in a car accident. She thinks _I_ sell airplane parts. She's vulnerable, and Irina knows it."
Devlin motioned for Jack to sit. "All right, all right. It's as good as any other theory we've got. Agent Vaughn, I want you and Agent Weiss to gather a small team and coordinate observation of Agent Bristow's daughter for a few days. Do not make direct contact with her. Just watch, and report back anything unusual."
Vaughn nodded. He would rather be working on an angle of this case that was based on more than a gut feeling -- even if that feeling belonged to the renowned Jack Bristow. He could think of more productive things to do than follow around a school teacher. But orders were orders.
"Yes, sir," he said.
"Jack, I want you coordinating search teams from here."
"Of course," Jack said, calmer now that he had reassurances on his daughter's safety.
Devlin stood. The meeting was over. Vaughn straightened from his slouch against the wall and smoothed his suit.
"Find her," Devlin said, and they all walked out into the controlled chaos of the CIA offices.
#
The final bell rang, and Sydney's students noisily slid their desks back to their original places. The class had circled up for a discussion on Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," standard reading for the high school crowd. They had been quiet at first, but Sydney had finally drawn them out into a satisfying talk. Now the students stuffed books into their backpacks and hurried for the door.
"Remember to read Act 3 for tomorrow. We will discuss it," Sydney announced, hoping at least some of her students had heard her.
She packed her own bag quickly, eager to get out for the day. She had watched the clear, crisp December day pass by outside the window all afternoon, and finally she had a chance to enjoy it.
"Ms. Bristow?"
"It's Mrs. Hecht now, Jason," she reminded the student who had stopped at her desk.
"Sorry."
"That's all right. Something I can help you with?"
"I'd like to talk about my grade on that last test."
Sydney glanced at her watch, a recent birthday present from Danny. "I have somewhere to be soon. How about we meet tomorrow morning before the first bell."
"All right," Jason said, although he sounded unenthused about arriving at school even earlier than the usual 8 a.m. start.
Sydney wrote him a hall pass. "If you have any problems getting into the building before the bell, just show them this."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hecht," Jason said, taking the pass.
"See you tomorrow then," Sydney said, and they both left the classroom.
Sydney weaved among the students at their lockers and into the gymnasium. A blue and silver banner swung high above the floor that read "Highland Rebels," with a cartoony rendering of a Revolutionary War soldier. Another banner said "Boy's Football, District Champs, 2000." Some members of the girl's basketball team already were warming up for practice.
Sydney crossed the gym floor and exited outside near the teachers' parking lot. Fewer students milled around on this side of the building. She nodded at a couple of fellow teachers as she walked toward her car. Her cell phone started ringing, and she reached into her bag.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hey, baby. How was your afternoon?"
Sydney smiled. The daily call from Danny.
"Oh, besides being cooped up on a beautiful day, I'm fine. Better now that I get to talk to you."
"Same here. Listen, I was going to pick up some food on the way home tonight. What sounds good?"
Sydney thought for a moment, listening to her grumbling stomach. "How about Chinese? There's that place up the street we've been meaning to try."
"Oh right. Oriental Palace. I'll be sure to pick up a lot of lo mein. I know how ravenous you get after kickboxing class."
"Didn't I tell you?" Sydney said as she reached her car and fumbled for the keys with one hand. "Francie and I are going Christmas shopping this afternoon."
"Won't your instructor give you a hard time about skipping class?"
"He'll get over it. Oh, and don't forget that Francie and Will are both coming over tonight. Dad couldn't make it. Something about a business dinner."
"I'll pick up some beer to go with the Chinese, then."
"Thanks. Listen, honey, I have to go. I promised I'd meet Francie in about half an hour."
"Sure thing. Love you."
"Love you, too. Bye."
Sydney threw her phone in her bag and the bag onto the front passenger seat. She had 30 minutes to navigate traffic and get to the mall. She'd probably be a couple of minutes late, but Francie wouldn't mind too much.
As she slid into her seat and clicked on the seat belt, Sydney saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked up. Standing not far away, where the parking lot ended and a lush city park began, stood a woman. She was perfectly still now, arms folded, and she was staring directly at Sydney. Long brown hair framed her face, and she wore a self- assured smile. Although Sydney had never seen the woman before, she looked familiar. Like a face from a dream.
A minivan drove between Sydney and the woman and stopped as a student climbed inside, obscuring Sydney's view no matter how she tried to see around it. By the time it had passed, the woman had vanished. Sydney laughed it off as simply one of those things, and started the car. Francie was waiting.
#
"So do you think Will would like that sweater? I'm still debating whether to go back for it," Francie asked between sips of soda. "I mean, what's the style for up-and-coming reporters nowadays?"
"Rumpled and unshaved, if Will is any indication," Sydney said, then grinned.
Francie laughed. "Yeah. I thought about getting him a tie, but he'd probably get coffee stains on it the first day he wore it."
Sydney chuckled. She took a sip of Coke and looked around the mall food court. They had chosen a table in the middle, with good viewing in all directions. Garlands and blinking lights hung along walls, and a chorus of large, mechanical teddy bears sang Christmas carols near the exits, to the delight of several children.
Sydney didn't care much about all that. She just loved watching the people -- young couples holding hands, harried mothers with three children in tow, teenagers trying to fill an afternoon. It amazed her that every last one of those people had a story to tell, about their life and hopes and dreams, and most of those stories probably were more interesting than her own.
"Sydney? Earth to Sydney." Francie waved a hand in front of her face, and Sydney snapped out of her thoughts.
"Sorry," she said. "I'm here. Really."
"What were you thinking about?"
She shrugged. "Nothing important."
"Uh-huh. I'm not buying it. You've been acting weird all afternoon. What's up? Is something wrong between you and Danny?"
"No," Sydney said quickly. "We're fine. We're ... normal. Wake up, go to work, come home to a feast of fast food and go to bed. The typical American household. All we're missing are the 2.4 children." She paused and sucked on her straw. "Maybe that's the problem. I'm getting into a rut. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a good suburban wife."
"Maybe you and Danny need to get out more."
"Maybe," Sydney agreed, slipping back into her thoughts.
Francie stood. "I'm gonna go brave the lines again and get a refill. Would you like anything?"
"No, thank you." Sydney smiled brightly to assure her friend she felt fine. Francie gave her a concerned look before heading toward the counter.
With Francie gone, Sydney could drop the smile for a few minutes and sink back into her thoughts. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She had been in fine spirits all day, until now. She enjoyed holiday shopping and spending time with her friend, and she wanted to make this a good experience. Whatever was wrong, it was time to snap out of it, if only to get Francie off her back.
Determined to force herself into a good mood, she resumed her people- watching. An elderly lady was have trouble carrying her shopping bags across the food court and had to stop every few steps to set them down. Sydney was about to go help her when a man in a suit beat her to it. Well, that was nice. Very much in the holiday spirit.
At a nearby table, a father was explaining why a young child couldn't play with toys intended as gifts for other kids. The child started crying. People sitting nearby gave the father pointed looks as he tried unsuccessfully to quiet the howling. Sydney promised herself once again to never have children, no matter that Danny kept talking about starting a family.
Sydney's eyes wandered again, and her gaze landed on a table at the far end of the court, near the singing bears. It took her a moment to register what she was looking so hard at, and she gasped. It was the woman from the park. She had no food or drink with her, and was simply sitting calmly, staring back across the tables at her. Sydney's chest tightened.
Francie chose that moment to return. "You would not believe the chaos up there in line. I swear this old guy was about to beat on this other guy who cut in line --What's wrong? You're pale as a ghost."
Sydney looked urgently at her friend. "There's a woman at the far end of the court, long brown hair. She's watching us."
Francie craned her neck. "I don't see anyone."
"She's right back there." Sydney turned to point and stopped. The table was vacant. "She was there a second ago. She was watching me. And the strange thing is, I think I saw the same woman this afternoon at the school."
"So you're being followed now?" Francie smiled, amused. "I think you need to lay off the spy novels for a while."
"I'm serious, Francie."
"So am I. There is no evil stalker lady. But I do see a fine specimen of manhood over by the Subway." Francie grinned. "Take a look."
Sydney rolled her eyes but twisted around for a peek. She saw the man in question immediately. Tall and lean, dressed in a suit, light brown hair cut short and spiked just a little. He was leaning against the wall and talking on a cell phone. Sydney turned back around.
"Well?" Francie asked.
"Well what?"
She gave Sydney an exasperated look. "Well, what do you think? Does he rate a ten?"
"I'm not allowed to say. I'm an old married woman now and I'm not supposed to be looking at other men."
"Look but don't touch. That's my rule."
Sydney smiled a little and twisted around for another look. It seemed she made eye contact with the man, but he looked away too quickly to know for sure.
"Yeah, he's a definite ten. But tell Danny I said that, and I'll never speak to you again," Sydney said, and Francie laughed. "All right. Enough ogling men. Are you going to get that sweater for Will?"
"Don't know yet. I think I'd like to look at it again."
"Let's go then."
They dumped their drinks in the trash and weaved their way among the maze of tables and people. Sydney took one last glance at the cell-phone guy, but he had gone. Too bad. Maybe he and the creepy woman were in league together, Sydney thought, and laughed at her own foolishness. Being followed, indeed. Who would ever take that sort of interest in boring old Sydney Hecht?
#
"Damn. Derevko's vanished. Send a team anyway. She might hang around as long as Sydney is here," Vaughn said into his cell phone.
"Check. They're on their way," Weiss answered. "Should be there in about fifteen minutes."
"Give me a call when they get here."
"Sure thing."
He hung up and looked over at the friends, having their drinks toward the center of the court, and saw them both looking in his direction. He quickly dropped his gaze, and as soon as their backs were turned, he moved to a new spot. It wouldn't do to have them see him.
So what should he do now? Weiss had said the team wouldn't be here for another 15 minutes, but he couldn't just sit and wait. Devlin had told him no contact; however, the whole game had changed now that they knew Derevko was showing an interest in her only daughter. Sydney really would be safer if she knew at least some of what was going on.
Sydney and her friend got up to leave, and Vaughn followed. He wasn't about to let her out of his sight for one second.
#
In the department store, a table of discounted slippers caught Sydney's attention and she stopped. "Go find the sweater," she said to Francie. "I'll catch up."
Francie left, and Sydney started picking through the offerings. Maybe her father would like a pair for chilly nights. Then again, she couldn't picture Jack Bristow in a pair of fuzzy blue slippers. Maybe for Francie then.
"They're nice," said a male voice beside her. Sydney jumped, and the man chuckled. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
She looked up at him. He smiled crookedly at her, and Sydney raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was the cell-phone man, standing right beside her, talking to her in the middle of the department store. The coincidences were coming on way too thick today.
"You didn't startle me. Much," she said with a small smile, to let him know she was teasing.
"I think you should get these ones," he said, picking up a pink pair. He gave her an appraising look. "No, not the pink ones. You don't strike me as a pink sort of girl."
Sydney tried to stifle a laugh. Was he hitting on her? She couldn't help but feel flattered -- he was even more attractive close up -- but hadn't he seen the wedding ring?
"They're not for me. I'm looking for a present for my father."
"Definitely not pink, then," he said, and she smiled. He put the slippers back, and his expression suddenly changed, became serious. "You're Sydney Bristow."
Sydney caught her breath. What the hell? How did this man know her? And by her maiden name, no less. She backed away a couple of steps.
"Who are you? How do you know me?"
"Calm down, Ms. Bristow," he said, and pulled an official looking badge from his coat pocket. "I'm with the CIA."
"That's not real," she said, staring at the badge.
"I'm afraid it is. But it's nothing to panic about."
"And the fact that a CIA agent is following me is supposed to make me calm?"
"I'm sorry if I scared you. I guess I handled this wrong, but let me assure you that I'm here to protect you."
"From what? What is going on here?"
He glanced around, and up. Sydney followed his gaze to a security camera in the ceiling.
"We can't talk about it here. Too many eyes. All I can say is that your life may be in danger. So listen carefully. I will call your house tonight and ask for Joey's Pizza. Say it's a wrong number and hang up. That will be your cue to meet me, and I'll answer all your questions."
Sydney felt like she had stepped out of herself. This had to be a dream, or someone else's life, or something out of one of her spy novels. She couldn't process it. She was on auto-pilot, and she said the first words that came to her mind.
"Meet where?"
"Do you know the old warehouse just south of here?"
"The textile one, that had the fire a couple years back?"
He nodded, and glanced around again. "I'll call. Be ready."
With that, he left, and Sydney stood dumbfounded by the slippers, staring at the table but not seeing anything. Strangely enough, she wasn't scared. She knew she should be scared. Her life might be in danger, if this mystery man was to be believed. He might be some crazy person trying to lure her to a secluded place so he could do unmentionable things to her, but Sydney had always prided herself on her judgment of character. And this man, she believed, was telling the truth. She could see it in his eyes.
He said he would call her, a promise that might just sweep her up into a events beyond her control. That sounded frightening and exciting, all at once. It made her pulse pound harder.
So maybe she would meet with him when he called. For certain, she knew she would keep it secret. Telling her friends or Danny that a CIA agent had contacted her would be a mistake.
"You're still here?" Francie asked, startling Sydney. "You've been staring at the slippers for what ... twenty minutes?"
Sydney grinned a bit sheepishly. "I can't decide whether they'd be good for Dad. What do you think?"
"Your dad in a pair of fuzzy blue slippers?" She picked up a pair for inspection. "I don't think so."
"You're right. Did you get the sweater?"
"Yep. Right here." She held up a bag.
"Great. Then it's about time to head over to my place. Danny might be home by now, and we don't want dinner to get cold."
They chatted about inconsequential things, all the way out to the cars. Sydney didn't see either her mystery man or the brown-haired woman, and she was surprised to realize that she was disappointed.
#
"You what?" bellowed Jack. "Didn't you hear what Devlin said? He specifically said no contact. So at the first opportunity you told her you're CIA? What the hell were you thinking?"
Vaughn stood firm against the tirade. A few agents glanced their way, but most at least kept up the charade of minding their own business. It occurred to Vaughn that the middle of CIA offices probably wasn't the best place for this conversation.
"If you would just listen --"
"I trusted you with watching my daughter and you completely blew it!"
"Will you please hear me out?" Vaughn yelled, and Jack shut his mouth. He folded his arms and stared at Vaughn with an expectant, angry look. "Thank you. Now Devlin gave those orders before we had any idea that Derevko was watching Sydney. You said you wanted to keep her safe, and I'm acting on that. As the situation stands, ignorance is your daughter's worst enemy. The danger doubles when she doesn't have a clue as to what is going on, when she's not even aware that she needs to protect herself."
Jack pursed his lips but didn't answer.
"You know I'm right," Vaughn pressed.
After a pause, Jack nodded. "Maybe you are," he conceded. "I guess what I really want to protect Sydney from is this life. I don't want her drawn into it."
"I understand. But there isn't a choice here."
"Who is watching her now?"
"Weiss is staked out at her house. He'll call if anything happens."
Jack nodded. "All right. Schedule the warehouse meeting for around 8. I have a business dinner now that I can't miss, but two hours should be enough time."
He started to walk away, but Vaughn blocked his path. "You're coming to the meeting?"
"Sydney doesn't know you. You tell her what's going on, and she probably won't believe you."
"But she will believe you, her father," Vaughn finished, catching onto his logic. "You do realize that this will blow your cover with her. She'll know you've been lying to her for years."
Jack looked sad. "Maybe it's time to lay those lies to rest."
##
continued ...
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