DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part of Alias and never will (insert 'awww' here). A/N: I had to write a story about an assassin. Seeing as Alias affects my everyday life, it turned into this.

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The second hand pushes slowly past the 12.

Another minute passes.

It's almost quarter to five and with every second, my heart races and my hands get sweater with anticipation. The sniper resting in my hands remind me to keep my cool and continue waiting. I comply, keeping my eyes on the living room window, waiting for the subject to arrive. I hear the sound of a car approaching, its wheels cruising along the worn tarmac road. I fight the urge to jump up as the car continues its journey past the house.

It's not him.

I duck back behind the soft crème couch as my grip on the sniper tightens, forcing my knuckles to glow a deathly white.

My feet shuffle against the coffee table, knocking a photo frame down. Not realising my mistake, I pick it up and look at the image. Two people, a couple; smiling and laughing affectionately. Her chestnut hair caught by the wind and captured forever in the photograph. His piercing green eyes staring back at her, full of love and adoration. My jaw tightens as I place the photograph back down on the table and return to my vigil. I notice that the weather is unusually a dark shade of grey and the clouds threaten to burst at any moment.

A branch snaps as the tyres of a silver sports car pulls up by the house and shuts off its roaring engine. My eyes dart to the window, following his every move as his climbs out of the car and slams it shut. His hair is slightly ruffled and the frown lines visible from the CIA meeting he just returned from. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he strides up to the front door. My heart races, and the only thing that keeps me focused are the files in the leather brown briefcase currently in his hands. The gold of his wedding ring reflects the dull light of the invisible sun as he takes the keys out of his suit pocket. The key scrapes against the lock and the lock snaps heavily.

He enters, placing the briefcase by the couch and glancing around the room calling for his wife.

But his wife isn't there - only me.

I wait the murderous 30 seconds it takes for him to go into the bathroom. I follow stealthily as my silent shoes tread across the rich carpet. He switches on the water tap and the sound of the water gushing drowns out the creaking door as I open it. I position the rifle as he looks up at the reflection in the mirror. He spots me and gasps as he turns around. A flicker of fear flashes in his eyes as I pull back the trigger and let the searing lead of the bullet go through him. I watch as he falls to the ground, stained with red liquid. His expensive anniversary watch hits the ground, freezing this moment.

4.47pm.

I look at the lifeless body of my dead husband I once loved as I turn on my heel. I pick up the briefcase emblazed with the gold initials M.V.

I force my wedding ring off my finger and throw it on the coffee table. The metal clanging against it, indicating the hollowness I feel in my heart.

~*~*~*The End*~*~*~

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Mrs O xXx