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Wow, thank you all so much for R/Ring this fic; I'm so happy that you guys all like it so far and I hope that I will be able to maintain your interest and write this story the way it's supposed to be written… in other words, ::lifts up champagne glass:: here's to not completely screwing up.

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2.

"This one's going to be dangerous, Syd."

She grinned, loving him for his concern but unable to keep the smile from her face. "They're always dangerous, Vaughn. And I always come back so stop worrying."

Stop worrying… how the hell can I stop worrying? He shook his head a little ruefully. "I know that you're good Syd. But it's my job to worry about you and I've always been good at my job."

Sydney nodded, smiling sweetly. "My guardian angel."

Looking down before his blush was noticeable, he sat down on the crate and opened the thin manila envelope that sat by his side. "Like I said, this one's going to be dangerous. The CIA has received Intel about a Rambaldi artifact that is supposedly essential to his proof of eternal life.

"The only problem is we aren't the only ones who know about it. We know that the Russian Directorate has information about it and, though the KGB is gone, we believe that a faction of it has formed. They have everything we need to know about obtaining this artifact. The only problem is that they know that too.

"So instead of just getting there, you also have to get there before them. And Syd… this is just from me. I have connections, as you know, with one of the moles in the French Mafia. He's outwardly freelance but he's working for us and he told me about her."

"Her?"

"The leading agent on the Russian side. Supposedly unbeatable; trained by The Man himself."

Sydney raised her eyebrows, silent for a moment. He was about to question the sudden concern and doubt that ran across her face when they cleared and she looked up, smiling. "Think I can take her?"

Vaughn smiled. Sydney was never one to back down on a challenge. "Of course."

{Years Ago}

It was now, right at this moment, that Irina was supposed to swerve. Bracing herself, allowing herself one last free moment of thought before driving off the road, she clutched at the steering wheel and turned it forcefully.

It hurt more than she thought it would though she wasn't totally sure that she could separate the physical hurt from the hurt she had inflicted upon herself mentally. Though she tried to block out everything but her objective, she couldn't help the way her mind wandered over to her daughter.

She consoled herself rather quickly with a shake of her head and slowly began to roll down the window, allowing the water to seep into the car and equalize the pressure.

She watched without a word, almost without a thought, as the water level began rising faster and faster. She lifted her face towards the ceiling of the car, forcing herself not to shiver from the cold that was now permeating her clothing and soaking the skin of her waist.

When the water reached mere centimeters from her nose, she took a last breath before opening the car door and swimming out. Raising her head towards the water's surface, she saw the blinking police lights and wondered, momentarily, if Jack was waiting for her. Dead or alive.

She quickly undid the opening of the tire and sucked the air that it provided despite her burning lungs.

Twenty minutes later, she saw the lights recede and knew that they were bringing the divers to retrieve her dead body.

They never found it.

"Are you ready?"

She shook her head, unable to use her voice for audio conformation because of the bobby pins she was holding between her lips as she fastened her hair behind her and grabbed the sand-red wig that sat beside her. "Almost, hold on a bit."

She adjusted the dusty red wig one last time before stepping out the car. "Perfect."

Almost immediately, she began mentally running through her alias and all of the factors that came with it. The voice that repeated all these things to her in her head had a thick Russian accent.

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She laid down her bags and smiled at the young man behind the counter.

"Hello, my name is Mischa Derkovich and I have a seat reserved for the 10 o'clock plane to Minsk."

The young man saw her and, after restraining himself from committing any extremely nervous actions, managed to smile. He had noted the way that her posture was rigidly straight and professional; the way that this stance clashed with her striking hair and distinct face… a face that seemed to promise so much more than what it expressed. "The purpose of your visit?"

"I work with the International Relations department of my company and we are in dire need of some documents from our branch in Russia." Her tone, clipped, was precise in every word as only a foreigner could be; the accent was cut short on every syllable, made to disappear once the word was uttered.

She leaned over the counter, smiling at him, watching as he felt the full effects of her smoky eyes and perfectly tousled dark red hair. His gaze traveled downwards, taking in her elegant pantsuit that still managed to show off her spectacular figure.

He refocused his gaze towards the computer monitor.

"All right Ms. Derkovich, would you prefer a window or aisle seat?"

"Aisle."

{1980}

Irina Derevko could barely believe her eyes when she saw her daughter sitting before her. She had known that she would be here yet it still seemed so surreal that this daughter that was considered dead in her household could be alive here and so… so very much like Sydney herself.

"Hello Vienna."

The girl looked up, an unreadable expression masking her face in a way that shocked Irina. Despite physical appearance, this girl was very different from her Sydney. This girl had already been exposed to truths that were far too mature for her to have found.

"They told me that my mother was coming today."

"They were right."

Sydney would have ran to her and embraced her had she seen her mother. But this tiny child merely nodded. And sat there.

"I think I would rather be your student. They tell me that you are very good at what you do."

Sydney would be talking about her day at school; perhaps bubbling with another story of how a teacher had complimented her.

"You speak very good English, Vienna."

"I know. But I am anxious to learn German, mother. They tell me that you have exquisite German."

Sydney would have been anxious to bake cookies; anxious to engage in a flour fight.

"Don't you want to play?"

"I am."

"Very well."

"I know the basics already. Herr Kirkoff was glad to teach me the pronouns and basic sentence structure before you arrived."

Irina paused; still shaken by this old woman that was sitting before her in her daughter's body. Sydney could have been capable of this; she would be capable of this. But Vienna…Vienna was truly the one she needed to be with.

The one that needed to be taught precision and accuracy as well as the differences between the two.

Sydney would learn what was needed to be learned. And Vienna would inherit everything else.

"How long did it take you Vienna?"

"Herr Kirkoff wanted me to be able to show you my progress. We began to learn when we heard you had arrived at the airport."

"I see."

TBC… ehh… not extremely happy with this chapter so if enough of you tell me to rewrite it, I will… the flashbacks are okay but the present portion seems shaky to me… then again I've been tap dancing for about 6 hours… GAH

~JenNifEr