Disclaimer: I do not own anything in this story. Alias and its recognisable characters belong to JJ Abams et al. ‘Wonderland’ belongs to Lewis Carroll aka Charles Dodgson, and Disney probably has a claim on it somewhere as well.

Wonderland

Chapter One

She lay with her eyes closed, enjoying the cool night breeze on her face. The corrugated metal was warm beneath her back; the night would be perfect if only she could relax. She felt the carport shift and smiled. “Hey,” she said softly.

“What are you doing up here, Rachel?” he asked, his voice low and controlled.

She sighed. “Fred,” she said tiredly. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

She opened her eyes and turned over to look at him. He was crouched on the corner of the carport closest to his window. “Your accent,” she clarified. “You were talking like someone else.”

He looked away from her. “I need to talk like this, Rachel, or I won’t get hired.”

She lay back down and stared at the stars. They blurred into streaks of light. “I don’t like it when you go all formal.” She blinked; moisture trickled into her hair. “It’s not you.”

“Things change,” he replied bluntly.

She glanced at him; he was staring at his knees. She nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. “Would it help any if I said I was sorry?”

He didn’t respond.

She sighed again. “Would it help any if I said I changed my mind?” She closed her eyes again, not wanting to see if there was anger in his eyes.

“Wh-what?” He sounded flabbergasted.

She sat up, still refusing to turn around. “I said; I changed my mind again.” The air was thick with silence. “I want to come with you.” She turned finally to see elation spread over his face. “That is, if you’ll have me,” she added, a little bit of mischief entering her voice.

He bounded over to her, the deep ringing of metal punctuating his movements, and flung his arms around her. “Rach, are you serious? Please, please tell me you’re not kidding, please.” In his exuberance, his voice had lost the stiff, manufactured quality she loathed.

She grinned, and returned the hug. “I knew I could get you to lose the actor voice.”

He raised a hand and smacked the back of her head. “Idiot.”

“I know,” she said. “I was. About everything.” She wrinkled her nose. “You have to teach me that voice, though. I don’t want anyone making fun of me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, so when it’s useful,” he declaimed, not bothering to switch back into it. “No one’d make fun of you anyway. They’d call you a delightful little Georgia Peach.”

She laughed. “You’ll always be my Georgia Peach, Freddie,” she stated soulfully, staring into his face.

He grinned, then reached around her and flipped her hair over her face. She batted him away. They smiled at each other in giddy silence for a few moments, and then she squealed and threw her arms around him again. She squeezed her eyes shut and smiled, feeling truly happy and excited. She had her friend back, and she was going to New York.

Dreamily, she rested her head on his shoulder, and reached behind her. Her fingers closed around a leather handle. She raised the knife, and stabbed it hard into his leg.

He screamed.

Her eyes flew open; her jaw slackened in horror. She looked frantically between Freddie’s face and her hand around the grip of the knife in his leg. “Wha-what?” she cried. “I didn’t mean…!”

Fred fell backwards onto his hands, sweat rolling down his face. He blinked, and his eyes changed from brown to blue. Water slammed down from the sky, thunder exploded and lightning crackled. Blood welled up through his shirt and she screamed.

A bullet grazed her arm. She turned to face the shooter; Freddie, standing and unwounded, looked back at her and smiled. She stumbled backwards and fell, landing heavily on the tiled floor. A body lay across the apartment from her and she didn’t know who it was. She could only see dark brown hair.

A figure loomed over her and she recoiled. “Rachel,” he said, his words a caress in her ear. She shivered. “I love you.” Lips descended on hers, a hand ran through her hair and cradled the back of her head. She couldn’t see his eyes.

“No,” she muttered, pulling her head away. “No.”

He didn’t listen, grip tightening on the back of her neck, drawing her closer to him. His lips locked with hers. She struggled, panic making her pant. She tore her lips away from his again and searched the kitchen frantically for a weapon; there was a gun on the floor. She grabbed it, brought it up to his chest and fired.

He collapsed onto her. She pushed him off of her with a shriek, a trail of dark blood staining the front of her shirt. She leapt to her feet and stared down at Danny’s lifeless corpse. No. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Freddie.

“Sydney.”

She whipped around at the name, a malevolent hiss in the darkness. There was a light touch at the base of her neck.

“I always hated you,” he breathed. Water poured over her, warm and soothing but she’d never felt so cold. She turned around in the shower and looked up into green eyes that were filled with malice. “It wasn’t enough to kill them,” he sneered. “I want to hurt you.”

He advanced on her in the confines of the shower cubicle and she was frozen. Closer and closer he came, his fingers gripping her arm hard enough to bruise. A pained cry burst from her, then with a jolt she was running. The apartment was shaking, the roar of machinery filled the air, and everything was on an incline.

“We should land in fourteen hours.”

“Good, good. You should get some rest. She’ll be fine.”

“Focus your concern on your own wellbeing, Arvin, not mine. And not hers.”

Everything was vibrating and voices filled her head, but the world was stabilising now, and she was still running. Through white hallways, down grey corridors, out through a room that flashed red as she passed through it. Out into the open, round and round a track with a blonde man at her side, love and loyalty shining in his eyes – no, hatred, anger and he wasn’t blonde anymore and even though she’d run so far she still hadn’t escaped him.

“She’s distressed. Is the dosage strong enough?”

“I don’t want to risk any higher until we’re somewhere safe.”

She was lying down, eyes closed, and cool hands were smoothing her hair away from her face. She opened her eyes and saw her mother smiling down at her. She smiled back, feeling exhausted and sick. “Momma,” she croaked.

Her mother opened her mouth, but it wasn’t her voice that said; “Sweetheart, you’re okay.”

She frowned. Warmth filled her veins, and the world swayed. “Momma?”

Her mother changed before her eyes. Her dark red hair lightened to golden brown. Her eyes became mysterious, guarding secrets. She smiled. “My darling.”

Everything melted. Colours span, shapes emerged and disappeared. There was dizziness and blackness and blessed emptiness. Just nothing.

Then sound returned. The blackness lifted; a void had receded and she was alive and aware of the feeling that much time had passed. She opened her eyes a crack. Light lanced through her pupils and she squeezed them shut so tightly the void closed around her once more.

The next thing she was aware of was a touch on her hand. She opened her eyes cautiously and slowly, allowing them to adjust. Her bedroom swam into view. It was how she remembered it; her pink-flowered quilt and quaint iron bedstead. Through the window she could see Freddie’s house.

The feeling of someone stroking the back of her hand continued. She turned and saw a large brown rabbit sitting by her bed, holding her hand. She blinked and smiled.

“Hello!” she said brightly. “Do I know you?”

The rabbit shook its head. She accepted that and looked around the room once more. It was as she remembered it; white lace bedspread, shelf full of books and an array of toys marshalled at the foot of her wooden four poster bed. She craned her neck to look down the hall; she heard voices.

“We’ll arrive at the compound in half an hour. Have everything ready.”

That was her mother, but as she’d never heard her before. Cold, businesslike.

“Eventually we will have to discuss the terms of our agreement.”

She knew that voice. A freezing cold conference room; hiding from his smiles in the arms of her father at the dinner table; a huge, foreign house that echoed with thunder and she couldn’t find the lights and her mother wasn’t there when she cried out and her father wasn’t there and no one could hear her. She gathered the toys at the end of the bed and brought them under the blankets with her. She stuck her fingers in her ears and cowered.

“We will discuss them after we discuss what you have done to my daughter.”

And the voice was so harsh, and so angry it couldn’t be her mother, her mother was gone and she wasn’t coming back and Daddy –

The rabbit tapped her on the head. Cautiously, she looked out from under the blanket. The room was her own still, books in the shelves, closet by the window, wooden block puzzle assembled on the floor. The rabbit patted her hand again and gestured for her to follow it. She got out of bed, set her feet on the cold floor and obeyed.

She and the rabbit wandered through a house with seemingly no end of rooms. The whole place was thrumming as she walked. She kept going, perfectly happy just to follow the rabbit as it hopped along, not minding where it led her. She walked past a library like the one in UCLA. In the dining room, a blonde man, and a woman talked and laughed over cereal. Another room was full of computers, beeping quietly.

Once they passed a mirror. She glanced in and hardly recognised herself; her hair was long and blonde but she was dressed in flannel pyjamas. She frowned but kept walking.

Eventually, the rabbit turned left into a room. She followed and stopped.

It was her father’s study. The light was on and the sky was grey outside, giving the room a cold, stark feeling. The surface of the desk was bare as it always was when her father was out. The bookshelves were full of meticulously arranged books; alphabetically by author and divided according to publishing date. She had pulled out Chaucer one Christmas and found a safe. He had explained that he never felt inclined to read him, making that section of the bookshelf an ideal location for it.

Abruptly, the rumbling stopped. She turned around; something inside the house had rattled. Shrugging, she pulled out Jane Eyre and sat down in an armchair.

Her teeth were vibrating.

“Careful.” It was an order. “Take her to the East Wing. Has the doctor been called? Good.”

She frowned in confusion. Her mother was dead, so why was she hearing her?

“Sark. Take Mr Sloane into my office and wait for me there. Answer nothing, and don’t let him out of your sight.”

It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her. She had died, trapped in a metal cage, run off the icy roads by a drunken idiot who didn’t know what he was doing, what he was taking from a small girl; who had no idea what would follow-

“Hello.”

She started, and looked around. A little girl sat in the chair behind her father’s desk. She had brown hair and brown eyes and looked very familiar.

Sydney smiled. “Hello,” she replied. “I didn’t know you were there.”

The little girl just stared. “I’ve been here the whole time,” she said, but there was no petulance in her tone. She was merely stating a fact.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sydney said.

“What for?” Again, the unsettling frankness.

Sydney didn’t know what to say. “What’s your name?” she asked finally.

“Alice,” the girl replied.

Sydney smiled. “I like that name,” she said.

“I know.”

She frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Alice looked pensive. “What I always do, I suppose,” she said. “It’s different, though. You used to look just like me.”

The familiarity clicked into place. “Oh!” said Sydney. She wanted to add something, but couldn’t find the words. There was something surreal about your past self staring you in the face – or at least a girl who could have been you. Surely she’d never been so… vacant, yet world-weary. This girl was years older than her age.

She felt a prick in her left arm. She flinched and clutched at it. From where her fingers rested, a burning sensation grew and spread through her veins. She felt it enter her heart and jolted; a shockwave seemed to pulse through her and her extremities were tingling.

“Sydney.”

Her voice got caught in her throat.

“Sydney, can you hear me?”

Sydney looked around in confusion. Alice regarded her dispassionately.

“You don’t have to go,” she said. “I can go for you.”

She still couldn’t form words. Another pulse rocketed through her.

“Do you want to stay here?” Alice gestured around the study. The sun was peeking through the clouds, filling the room with golden light. “They can’t hurt you. And you can go all around the house. Everywhere you remember.”

Sydney clutched at her chest, trying to still her rapidly beating heart.

“Sydney?”

That voice, that familiar-but-different voice. She looked down at the book in her lap, then out to the hallway where she could hear Francie laughing.

“Well?” Alice asked, not impatient or understanding.

Sydney nodded.

“Syd-”

She looked up from her book. She glanced around the room, sure she’d heard something. It was empty. From deep inside the house, Francie laughed again. She grinned, tossed her book away, and went to join them.

…

“Sydney?” Irina called gently. The heart rate monitor beside the bed beeped rapidly.

The doctor checked his watch. “Don’t worry, Flumazenil takes six to ten minutes to reach its peak. She’ll be alert in no time.”

As he spoke, Sydney’s eyes fluttered. She squinted against the light.

“Sydney!” Irina said, smiling widely.

Sydney didn’t respond. She brought a hand up over her eyes. Her expression was blank as the doctor gently lowered her arm and brought an instrument up to check her eyes. He put it away and reviewed the machines.

“Vitals look normal,” he said in satisfaction. “It’s entirely likely she’ll experience re-sedation within the next few hours; the sedatives aren’t out of her system yet, but she’ll be fine.”

Irina tore her worried gaze away from Sydney’s impassive face. “Thank you,” she said abruptly. She pressed a buzzer next to Sydney’s bed. “The guard will escort you back to your car. Payment will arrive in the next three days.”

The doctor smiled bemusedly and left.

“Sydney,” Irina said again, once the room was empty. No response. “Sweetheart?”

Her eyes snapped over to Irina. Recognition and confusion rose in her eyes. “I know you,” she stated. Her voice was very soft. Irina could almost see her exact thought process in her unguarded gaze. “Mommy?” The voice was childlike.

Irina smiled and tears welled in her eyes. “Yes, darling. I’m here.”

“But you’re dead.” It was like a steel wall crashing down. Her eyes were stone. “Daddy told me.”

Dread was creeping over Irina like a sunrise. She pressed the buzzer again. A guard entered. “Call the doctor back,” she snapped, not taking her eyes off her daughter. A few minutes later, the harried looking doctor was escorted back into the room.

“Yes?” he asked, patiently aggrieved.

Irina turned and fixed him with a cold stare. He withered. “My daughter is suffering from memory loss,” she began.

The doctor cut her off. “Yes, ma’am, it’s very common for the type of sedative your daughter was under. Lorazepam-”

Irina interrupted him with another formidable glare. “I am aware of the drug’s side effects,” she snapped. “But I think you’ll agree that her forgetting the last 21 years is not to be expected.”

A look of deep concern immediately formed on his face. He approached the woman in the bed and checked her pupils again. “Hmm, a little dilated but that’s expected with Lorazepam. Follow my finger.” He moves his hand around and watched her eyes follow its progress. “Touch your finger to your nose.” She complied.

He frowned. “How old are you?”

“Six,” she responded immediately.

Irina looked between them, arms folded across her chest.

“What is two plus eight?”

“Ten.”

“Can you read this for me?” He pulled a notepad out from his pocket and wrote a few simple words. She read them all mechanically. “Can you write?”

“Yes.”

“Write your name for me,” he instructed, handing her the notebook and a pen from his pocket.

She took the items gingerly and attempted to sit up. Irina moved quickly to the side of the bed and pressed a button. The bed raised itself.

She obeyed the doctor’s orders and handed the notebook back to him. He raised his eyebrows, and wordlessly handed it over to Irina. There on the page, in large, slightly wobbly letters was a name: Alice.

A/N: The sequel to Volcano. You kind of have to read that first to understand anything in this story. And then you have to read this story to understand anything in that story. It’s a lovely little vicious cycle. This is where it gets even more AU. It wasn’t completely planned but I started writing and it made sense. To me, anyway, and hopefully to you soon.

Hope you like it!