This has been inactive for so long that I really don't expect anybody to even remember it, but it has bothered me for a long time that I have so many fics languishing unfinished and I finally decided to do something about it. This was initially published back in 2003, and it is my dearest hope that it will be finished sometime 2007. I will do my best!

It's J/L, G-rated, suspense, romance, angst, and whatever else happens throughout the course of it. It's also dedicated to Virginia, who reads it for me, encourages me, believes in me, and who got mad at Laura for being angry. Sorry, Ginny- it just worked better that way. I only hope that the rest of you will enjoy it as much as she says she does.

0O0O0O0O0O0

Early morning sunlight has been known to encounter many obstacles in its quest to enter a room. People insist on hanging Venetian blinds or heavy drapes over their windows, so the light is either fractured upon entry, or refused admittance altogether. With these impediments running rampant all around the world, it is no wonder that the sun entered the master bedroom of the Bristow household with such enthusiasm.

Jack and Laura Bristow's window faced a bank of trees behind their apartment building, and that itself was reasonably isolated from prying eyes, and so they found they had no need for obscuring materials. Instead, Laura had hung a light set of muslin sheers from the curtain rod, just for the look of the thing, and even these were open more often than not.

Today they had been drawn, but the light still had no trouble filtering in and washing over the bed in which the couple slept, their arms comfortably interlocked, her head pillowed against his chest as if it knew it belonged there.

She was the first to waken, but kept her eyes closed for a few minutes, relishing in the warmth and soft comfort of her position. She breathed deeply, taking in the intermingled scents of aftershave, potpourri, her own French perfume, and fresh laundry. It was such a perfect, domestic blend that she breathed it in several more times, committing every aspect of it to memory. Someday, when she was old, and, perhaps, alone, she would close her eyes, breathe in, smell that familiar combination, and remember this one moment, when everything had been right.

The very thought made her give a little sigh of delight, and this sound was enough to wake him. He blinked, and looked around at the warmly-lit room, his gaze coming at last to rest on his wife. He stretched, smiling down at her peaceful face.

Her eyes were still closed, and the sun washed over the flawless lines of her face as he drank in every detail. He saw in her a remarkable likeness to the exquisite little girl who slept in the yellow bedroom down the hall- their little girl. Sydney.

As if she heard his thoughts, Laura opened her eyes and met his gaze. A smile carved itself across her lips, and she, too, stretched out, yawning slightly.

"Good morning," she drawled, wriggling down a bit deeper into the mattress, "isn't it a gorgeous day?"

"It is," he agreed, unable to take his eyes off her. "What are we going to do today?"

"Mm . . ." she considered. "Something outside, I think. It's going to be just wonderful outdoors- look at that sunlight. Let's take Sydney to the park, or for a picnic, or something like that, shall we?"

"We could take her to the zoo," Jack suggested. "Sydney loves the zoo."

"Jack," Laura sat up, frowning. "Sydney hates the zoo. The camels scare her, and she cries whenever she hears the peacocks screaming. You know that."

"I thought she liked it," Jack said, mystified. Laura rolled her eyes.

"You did not. You just wanted to get a Slush-O at the concession stand, and you know it."

"They make good Slush-Os," Jack said defensively. "I can appreciate a good Slush-O."

"Right," Laura said dubiously. "Well, how about we go to the park, and you can get an Italian Ice?"

Jack didn't bother explaining to his wife the numerous discrepancies between Slush-Os and Italian Ice. He knew that Laura, had you asked her, would have said that she preferred Italian ice, so he knew all too well the futility of trying to convey his own point of view.

Instead, he simply sighed, nodded, and said,

"Fine, then, we'll go."

"Go where, Daddy?" wondered a new, smaller voice. Both parents looked up together, eyes moving to look toward the doorway, smiles lighting their faces simultaneously at the sight of their daughter.

"I don't know, Sydney," Jack said mysteriously. "Where do you suppose?"

"Not to the zoo, Daddy," she begged plaintively, and Laura gave Jack an 'I told you so, but do you ever listen to me? Noooo.' look, before turning to reassure her child.

"No, sweetheart, not the zoo. Mommy and Daddy are going to take you to the park, and maybe bring a picnic along. Would you like that?"

"Yes!" Sydney brightened. "I'd love that, Mommy! When are we going? Can we go right now?"

Chattering away, she scrambled into bed between her parents, first kissing her mother, then throwing her little arms around Jack's neck and planting a decisive kiss on his cheek.

"I'm sorry you don't get to go to the zoo, Daddy," she said soberly. "But maybe you and Mommy can go while I'm at school."

"Thank-you," he said gravely, and her resulting smile was gracious.

"You're welcome, Daddy. Now can we go to the park?"

"Oh," Laura pretended to consider, "I don't know. Maybe we can think of something else even better to do."

"What, Mommy?" Sydney wondered, and Laura glanced over her little girl's shoulder to her husband.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Jack?"

"I think so," he nodded solemnly.

"What, Daddy, what?" Sydney whirled on him, her little fists pounding on his chest, making him laugh.

"Well, just that, rather than going to that boring old park, you might actually prefer a genuine, fun-filled . . ." he paused, and glanced at Laura, cueing her to shout:

"Tickle attack!"

Shrieking, Sydney dove for the edge of the bed, but her father caught her easily and hauled her back so they could pin her on her back and tickle her without mercy.

When they finally had to relent because they themselves were out of breath, Sydney lay where they left her, weak with laughter. Jack smiled down at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, then looked up from his daughter's face into his wife's.

They looked so much like each other- both pink, laughing, so incredibly beautiful, and so, so very precious to him.

Laura returned his gaze steadily, her eyes thoughtful.

"Jack?" she said softly. "What are you thinking?"

"I was just thinking," he said quietly, "of how much I love you. Both of you."

"Do you?" she smiled, pleased. "Really?"

He gave a little laugh, and nodded.

"Yes. More and more each day. You two are everything to me, Laura. I mean- everything."

"Jack . . ." she was smiling through her misty eyes and Sydney, curious, craned her neck to get a better look at her parent.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

"Because, Sweetie, Daddy just told me he loves us more than anything."

"But then you should be happy," Sydney said, bewildered. "Mommy, you're silly! That was a very nice thing for Daddy to say, and you should be smiling!"

Laura laughed through her tears.

"Yes, I should. But sometimes when people are very happy, they cry, too. That's what Mommy's doing right now."

Sydney appeared unconvinced, but did not challenge this statement. Instead, she turned to her father, and tugged on his arm.

"Can we go now? I want to go to the park!"

"Well," Jack began, obviously ready to give in without a murmur- even to go to the park in his underwear, if it made his little girl happy. So, in the interests of all the innocent children at the park, and the more sensitive parents, Laura jumped in quickly before Jack could go on.

"We need to have breakfast first, silly goose!" she chided. "Breakfast, and showers for Mommy and Daddy, and we all have to get dressed, and make the picnic lunch- my goodness, if we don't get up now, we'll be leaving at supper time!"

So saying, Laura reached over, kissed her husband, scooped up her daughter, and slid out of bed. Jack, too, got up, and looked over at the wonderful woman who held their beautiful little girl, and wondered if he, too, would soon have to explain to Sydney that he was crying, not because he was sad, but because he was happier than he had ever thought possible.

0O0O0O0O0O0

After their bed had been made, Jack showered, while Laura helped Sydney make her own bed, pick out her clothes, and get brushed and dressed for the day. Then Jack emerged to dress, and as Laura showered, Sydney dragged her father to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Laura entered the kitchen just as Sydney ran to the table ensconced in the breakfast nook ("Walk, Sydney!") to lay the last fork in its place, and Jack announced that by the time they finished their fruit, the animal-shaped pancakes would be ready.

The little family sat down to eat, looking very much like something out of an old storybook. The breakfast nook glowed with the light of early morning, illuminating their smiling faces and the rarity and preciousness of such closeness in a family- in short, they were picture-perfect.

But, like any photograph, this family was like so many others in that there was a story behind it. The difference, though, was that this family's story was not the sort that can be sorted out into chapters and paragraphs, with a cunning, simple start and a tidy conclusion. The author of this particular tale would have never gotten past the brainstorming point, if he had even gotten that far. It was a jumble of lies, half-truths and contradictions of all of these, all scrawled every whichway on notepaper that had been dropped and incorrectly reassembled many times. Even the liars now were uncertain of what was true and what was not. The lines between reality and the parts they were playing had become blurred- temptingly, perhaps even dangerously, so. And it is when this state has been reached that things can happen.

For now, though, everything appeared normal. Sydney chattered away a mile a minute, and Jack and Laura listened as they ate, smiling at each other over the silky brown head.

Husband and wife, very much in love, with a beautiful little girl, all of them healthy and happy. Better, even, than normal- everything seemed absolutely perfect.

Such fallacies, though, can only be fleeting. Indeed, even as Laura stood to clear the table, the telephone rang. Laura rolled her eyes, set the plates back down again, and, wiping her hands on her pants, went out into the hallway to answer it.

"Bristow residence," she announced unceremoniously, and any sane person, having heard the warning note in her tone, would have pleaded a wrong number and hung up without quibbling. Laura Bristow had a family outing planned, and had she any say in the matter at all, she was not going to allow anybody to ruin it for her.

As was often the case, though, she had none. Instead she listened, nodded, and sighed as she spoke.

"Yes, Arvin, he's right here."

She covered the mouthpiece and gave Jack a Look.

"It's Arvin."

Jack nodded and stood, not quite able to meet his wife's gaze.

"I- I'll take it in the den."

"Yes, Jack," Laura sighed, "you do that."

She watched him retreat, knowing all too well what an early-morning phone call from Arvin Sloane would mean. Jack would be called in to work on something or other, they would miss out on their time together, and Laura- well, Laura would be doing a lot of tongue-holding and careful listening when he got back.

But now she turned to her daughter, feeling suddenly rebellious as she spoke to her firmly.

"Go on, now, Sydney, and get your shoes on. We don't want to miss out on any time at the park, do we?"

"But- Mommy!" Sydney said, bewildered. She knew as well as Laura did what a call from Daddy's supervisor at work meant. Daddy would go, and Mommy would be angry, because the time they were supposed to be having together would be spent apart. Again.

But Laura was either in denial or fed up, or maybe even a bit of both, because she simply shook her head impatiently, and clapped her hands.

"Did you hear me? I said scoot!"

So Sydney, who knew better than to argue when her mother used that tone and that look, scooted. This left Laura to clear all the dishes off the table to dump in the dishwasher, throw together a couple sandwiches, and fill a Thermos with lemonade.

She would have been one of the first to admit that it was far from the picnic she'd been hoping for, but at the moment, she didn't particularly care. Laura Bristow could be as stubborn as a mule when she felt like it - some might even say the mule had nothing on her - and right now, she felt like it.

"Mommy?" Sydney stood uncertainly in the doorway, shoes on her feet, a hat on her head and a book bag filled with toys on her back. Laura smiled at her, pleasantly surprised.

"Well, that was quick. Good girl, Sydney. Now-"

She was interrupted by the appearance of Jack, who materialised in the other doorway, obviously dreading the scene he expected to come.

"I- Laura, I'm-"

"Jack," she said, somewhat plaintively, "just say it."

He sighed heavily.

"I'm going out for a little while."

"Fine," Laura decided, "so are we."

"You- are?"

"Yes. Enough is enough. Sydney and I are going to have some time together, with or without you, Jack, and if by some miracle you can squirm your way out of this one early, then by all means come and join us. We'll be at the park. Enjoy yourself, Jack, and we'll try to do the same. Come on, now, Sydney."

Sydney went, but halfway to the front door of the apartment she stopped, turned around, and ran back to throw her little arms around her father's legs, looking up adoringly into his face.

"Have fun, Daddy," she instructed him. "I love you."

"I love you, too, little girl," he smiled, bending down to enfold her in his arms, and kiss her forehead. "You have fun with Mommy, all right? Promise me that you will."

"I promise, Daddy," she nodded, and he smiled.

"Good. Go on, now."

He stood, and watched her skip out the door ahead of her mother, who turned and looked back at him, her face sad.

"I love you," he said, if somewhat inadequately, by way of a plea, explanation and apology. "You know that, don't you?"

Anyone besides Jack might easily have missed the almost imperceptible softening of her face, but then, supposedly, nobody knew her like Jack did.

"Yes, Jack, of course I know that. I- I love you too." After saying the words, she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, then went on.

"It's just that your work, Jack, it- it's taken over everything, There's being dedicated, and then- then there's this."

She shook her head, and sighed.

"Enjoy your day, Jack, and we'll do our best to pretend we're enjoying ours."

That said, she left, calling after Sydney to wait for her. Jack waited until they were both gone before, feeling more than vaguely guilty, he picked up his briefcase and went out the door.

0O0O0O0O0O0

On the drive to the park, Laura was principally silent, and Sydney, who was really very smart, and certainly perceptive enough to know the warning signs, was quiet also. It was only when they were approaching the park entrance that Sydney spoke up hesitantly.

"Mommy? Are you still mad at Daddy?"

Laura glanced in the rearview mirror at the worried little face, and felt her own softening still further.

"Oh, no, Sweetie. Daddy and I are just- airing out our dirty laundry." Then she had to laugh at the bewildered expression on her daughter's face.

"Look, now, Sydney- here's the park."

Sydney sat up eagerly and looked out the window, apparently distracted from her previous line of questioning. However, Laura knew quite well that she would return to it sooner or later- her daughter was nothing if not tenacious, and while usually Laura applauded that trait, there were times when it presented more of a problem than anything else.

There had been other times, too. Times when Sydney had amazed, even frightened her mother with a perception that had never been threat with Jack. It had made Laura more tense- more wary than before. Strange, really, that her daughter should present more of a problem than her husband, who had been the one from whom she had anticipated trouble in the first place.

Now, though, it would be hard to think of the little girl with the soft, round cheeks and silky brown braids as any kind of a threat. She was up on her knees, her palms and nose pressed against the glass, brown eyes sparkling as the landscaped lawns and gardens rolled past.

"Isn't it pretty, Mommy?" she marveled, glancing towards the front seat, seeing her mother's smiling eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Yes, Sydney," she smiled, taking in every inch of her daughter's vibrant, shining face, "it's beautiful."

It didn't take them long to find the perfect spot on which to lay out the blanket Laura had brought, and set down the picnic basket that held their lunch. Then Laura had to fend Sydney off with the reminder that she'd just had breakfast, and she shouldn't want lunch for hours.

Sydney pouted, but was easily distracted by the suggestion that she go and make use of the play equipment stationed within easy view of the blanket. Laura watched her go, a childish figure that looked so disturbingly small, especially when contrasted with the rolling lawns spread out around her. Yet, as small as she looked, she also looked strong, somehow- as if there was already evident in her something of both her father and mother.

The thought terrified Laura more than she might have expected it to. It was fine if Sydney turned out like Jack. He was a good man- a strong one, too, if not always perceptive. But if she were to turn out like her mother . . . Laura cringed. She loved her little girl too much to want that for her. In fact, she loved her little girl so much that it somewhat frightened her.

Had she ever, she wondered, felt for anybody else the sort of love she felt for her daughter? Maybe, but if so, she was unable to remember it. And that sort of love you would always remember- Laura was sure of it.

Now, though, she watched as Sydney flew from one activity to another, a flash of blue denim and bright yellow energy as she darted about, seemingly incapable of settling on anything for more than a few seconds before she tired of it, and moved on again. Every now and then she would glance over, smile, and give her mother a little wave- almost one of reassurance. How, Laura wondered, could a six-year-old possibly know that her mother needed reassuring right now?

Of course, biased though they might have been, both Jack and Laura would always freely admit that Sydney was far above average, and they would have been right. But even an above average six-year-old . . .

Laura shook her head, amazed and proud. Incredible, really, that the little girl who was never supposed to have existed should have become so wonderful . . .

"Watch me, Mommy!" Sydney shouted, and zipped down one slide, scrambled up another, and whooshed down that one, too. Her mother laughed, entertained and still feeling very proud.

"Wonderful, Sydney! That was fantastic- you're very fast, aren't you, Sweetheart?"

Sydney fairly glowed as she ran over to wait her turn for the swing set, and Laura was about to get up and offer to push when she became aware of a presence behind her.

She spun around, and looked up into a cold, angular, distinctly Slavic face. Her heart chilled, as did her tone, but she managed to keep her face impassive as she spoke.

"What do you want?"

"Good day to you, too, Comrade Derevko," he greeted her solemnly.

"Don't call me that!" she hissed, glancing around.

"Why not?" he wondered.

"Well- somebody might hear," she stammered, and he arched an eyebrow, looking around.

"What if somebody did? A few bored housewives, imaginative little children- I think that we are safe, don't you?"

Laura frowned, but said nothing. Her visitor nodded in the direction of the play set, his expression unreadable.

"She is very beautiful, your little girl."

"Yes," Laura allowed, "I suppose she is."

"She takes after her mother, no?" he suggested. "Perhaps she has already become gifted at keeping her little secrets?"

Laura stiffened as he spoke the words.

In this, though, Laura was mistaken. Sydney was far from normal- how could she help it, with the parents she had? At that particular moment, she was sitting on the swing and closely scrutinizing the man who was talking to her mother.

He was tall, blonde, and, as her thoughts would later rationalize her intense dislike of him, "his looks didn't feel right."

Of course, Sydney couldn't know that she was unconsciously taking into account the contours of his face, which were distinctly unlike any likely to be found on the average American citizen, and other factors such as his manner of carriage and dress- things the average child would never notice.

All she knew was that she saw a strange man, talking to her mother, and, judging by Laura's posture, upsetting her terribly. Sydney frowned, dragged her toes to slow and stop the swing, and hopped off, heading over to their blanket.

"What are you doing here?" Laura asked quietly, and her companion appeared thoughtful.

"I am simply a messenger, Comrade."

"Oh? And what is your message?"

"Simply that our mutual friends overseas have become concerned, as of late, in regards to your relationship with your little cover story- your husband, and your child. We worry that perhaps you have become too close to them, and that in doing so, you have compromised your integrity as a valuable resource to us."

"That's ridiculous!" Laura scoffed, but her guest simply tilted his pale head thoughtfully to the side.

"Is it?" he wondered, and Laura, tightening her jaw, fell silent as he went on.

"I have come to tell you also that a meeting has been held, regarding your assignment, and a conclusion was reached."

"And?" Laura prompted tersely, when he paused.

"You have been released from your position here. You are to sever all ties, effective at oh-three hundred hours this Wednesday."

"That's just four days from now!" Laura said, aghast. "There's no way I could possibly-"

"And why not?" the man demanded. "It is not as if you have to pack, is it, Comrade?"

She looked up at him, struck dumb. This couldn't be happening to her.

"Mommy?"

Her head snapped around, and she saw Sydney standing there, her expression quizzical.

"Mommy, can we eat now?"

"Yes," Laura gasped, groping for the basket. "Yes, Sweetheart, of course we can eat now. Here- take your sandwich."

Sydney took it, but she kept her eyes fastened on the tall, blonde man, her expression openly hostile.

"Who are you?" she asked, her tone almost dangerous.

"Sydney," Laura said sharply, "sit down and eat your sandwich."

"I'm a friend of your mother's, Sydney," the man said pleasantly.

"No, you're not." Sydney contradicted coldly. "Who are you?"

The man arched an eyebrow in mild surprise, and Laura spoke, her voice tense to the point of being panicky.

"Sydney Anne Bristow, you are being unspeakably rude. Now, you apologize to the-" she faltered slightly, "nice man, you close your mouth, sit down, and eat your sandwich like a good girl."

Sydney glared at both her mother and the intruder, causing a thin smile to appear on the latter's face.

"She is like her mother," he chuckled, appearing to be honestly amused. "She quite hates me. I think she almost wants to kill me."

"Mommy?" Sydney glanced at her mother. "If I called Daddy, he could come and make him go away."

"No, Sydney, you don't have to call Daddy," Laura instructed quickly. "Mommy is fine. Eat your sandwich. The nice man is just leaving- isn't that right, Comrade?"

Sydney and her mother both looked up at the man, expressions full of distrust and loathing, respectively. It was amazing, really, how much they looked alike.

The man made an abrupt, stiff little bow, and, wishing them both a good day, walked swiftly away. He heard Sydney talking behind him as he left, her little voice oddly grown up as she addressed her mother.

"I don't like him, Mommy. He's a bad man. He wants to hurt us."

He ignored Laura's half-hearted reassurances to the contrary as he headed towards his car. He was, he mused, going to have to call his superiors and inform them that Irina Derevko might just prove to be less than amenable to following their instructions, and he did not look forward to the storm that was sure to follow.

0O0O0O0O0O0

How about that, now? Are you sick of it already, or do you want some more? Please tell me! As I said before, it is showing every indication of becoming a very long fic.

Now, as you surely must know, I in no way own these characters. I just really enjoy making up stories for them, and not getting paid for it. Hmm. Does that make me strange? I don't know. I can, however, tell you who owns them- if I don't, they might get mad at me, and that would mean no more fics!

ABC Touchtone owns Alias, and it was created by JJ Abrams, who owns -Bad Robot Productions.

Now, you won't be seeing those disclaimers again until the very last chapter, so don't look for them until then, 'kay? Got it? Good. Do, however, watch for the next chapter- coming soon! Or maybe not. School's killing me this year . . .