Ah, the silver knives are flashing in the tired old cafe
A ghost climbs on the table in a bridal negligee
She says, "My body is the light, my body is the way"
I raise my arm against it all and I catch the bride's bouquet

Too early for the rainbow, too early for the dove
These are the final days, this is the darkness, this is the flood
And there is no man or woman who can't be touched
But you who come between them will be judged

--"The Gypsy's Wife," Leonard Cohen

IRENICON: Book Ten

I.


Madison, Wisconsin


"This is the second time I've died."

Will Tippin took a deep breath; the pen was heavy in his hand. He'd left this until too late, maybe. He'd wanted to know what he would have to say, at the very end - but he still needed the strength to say it.

Slowly, he turned over in his hospital bed so that he could let his notepad rest against the mattress. That way, he didn't really have to hold the pen up. That's better, Will thought. Maybe I can do this.

This is the second time I've died, he repeated to himself. The second and the last.

"The first time I died was three years ago, in Los Angeles. I'd been stabbed by someone who wore the face of the woman I loved; she was crying as she did it. I don't know why."

All those nights with Allison Doren - what had been reality? What had been illusion? Will had spent many months asking himself those questions, before realizing - they weren't his questions. They were Allison's to deal with, Allison's to sweat and curse and cry about until dawn. He had simple answers: Everything he'd felt for Francie had been real. Everything he'd done with Allison Doren had been a lie.

"I don't know if she threw me in the bathtub or I fell there. But I definitely remember lying in the bathtub. I could hear my own blood gurgling in the drain. I started thinking about 'Psycho,' about Janet Leigh, and then I wondered what kind of life I'd led, where my last thoughts on earth were going to be about some movie I'd seen. But my life had become more like a movie all the time."

Will knew he shouldn't explain more any more than that; according to the protocols of the Witness Protection Program, he shouldn't have written any of this down at all. He was supposed to have Jonah's history, Jonah's memories, and not his own.

But the Bloodsight had taken hold in the city, and the hospital was in a state of hysteria. He lived in the center of a plastic womb, layer after layer, broached only occasionally by terrified doctors who trembled within their hazmat suits. Anything he'd touched - including this notebook - would undoubtedly be burned within an hour of his death. If anybody did read it, the natural conclusion would be that he was delirious with fever at the time.

Besides, if this wasn't the time to be honest, what was?

"I was a journalist who got thrown out of the profession for telling lies, when what I'd done was find the truth. I was an intelligence analyst who lived in awe of the spies I worked with every day and never noticed the one who was tricking me at night. I never wrote the book I thought was in me. And I'm not sure that I was ever in love."

He'd loved Sydney, he'd thought; at least, he'd loved the image of her in his mind as a sweet, driven girl who needed support and protection. That had all been blown to hell in a nightclub in Paris. Whatever Sydney had been to him after that - friend, lover, employer and co-conspirator - she hadn't been the girl he'd fallen for. That girl had been a figment of his imagination.

Francie, on the other hand - he'd loved Francie. Will just wasn't sure she'd been there to be loved.

"So I ought to feel like a failure. Dying alone - that's failure, isn't it? But I don't feel like that at all."

They'd destroyed all his photographs when they destroyed the rest of the evidence that "Will Tippin" had ever existed. But he remembered the images anyway: playing poker with Charlie and Danny until 3 a.m., finding just the right lede for the story about the migrant workers, stumbling into Jack Bristow's ungainly embrace and knowing he was free and safe -

--and Sydney. Always Sydney - jogging on the track, laughing over dinner, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched "Some Like It Hot" at the Rialto. His friend. His heroine.

"All of us want to make the world a better place. I don't know if I ever did that. But my friend Sydney - she does that every day. And I helped her do that. Not by being the kind of person she is, but just by being her friend. Just by loving her. I know that helped her go out and fight every day."

Will hadn't seen Sydney in more than a year. He knew he'd never see her again. If this notebook did survive, maybe - just maybe - it would find its way to her.

"I'm not with her now. But I know she's fighting. And I'm still here, loving her. Maybe that helps her fight. Maybe that keeps her safe. I believe in her, and that's why I know -"

As his hand shook, the pen's lines became erratic on the page, but they were still legible.

"-there's still reason to hope."

**

II.


Underwear. Socks. One pair of shoes.

Eric packed up fast. Fortunately, he had few possessions; there was no reason for it to take long, for him to linger in the cabin. And Sydney wouldn't be coming back for a while - she and Vaughn had probably talked all the way back from the lab, but no doubt they still had plenty to discuss -

"Eric?" Syd stood in the doorway, staring at his half-full duffel bag on the bed. "What are you doing?"

When he spoke, the words came out evenly. "I'm going to another cabin. I wouldn't expect you to have to move."

"And you weren't even going to talk to me?" She stepped toward him, then hesitated, as if remembering that they couldn't touch anymore. Had she forgotten that? Eric would never be able to forget it. "I realize that this is - confusing, to say the least-"

"That's where you're wrong. See, 'confusing' is the one thing this situation's not." Eric grabbed a handful of T-shirts and crammed them in the duffel. "Everything that happened between us happened because we thought Vaughn was dead. He's not. He still loves you, and you still love him, and I'm not going to get in the way."

"I never thought Vaughn was dead. Not ever. No, I didn't think he was going to come back to us and still be himself -"

"Same difference."

He could read Sydney like a book; she didn't know whether to be stricken or angry. Both emotions played just beneath the surface of her skin - but then Eric couldn't look at her face any longer. As he went back to packing, she stood there silently, maybe just to torment him.

Then she said, "What just happened was - completely overwhelming. I'm not going to apologize for the way I reacted at that moment. But I love you as much as I did yesterday, and Vaughn's return doesn't change that."

Why did she have to say the L-word? It made his throat tighten up, and so he almost had to shout to get the next sentences out. "Well, it changes everything else. What do you want me to do, Syd? Fight Vaughn for you? What good would that do, exactly?"

"You're trying to turn this into something absurd when it's not! I'm so confused right now - the whole world has turned upside down, and I just want to talk to you -"

"Let's cut to the chase. We both know how this story ends: You go back to Vaughn, and the two of you raise your daughter together. That's the way it was always supposed to end, and the only reason it wasn't like that all along is because various bad guys got in the way. That's the ending you guys deserve."

Sydney whispered, "What about the ending you deserve?"

He wanted to say, I'm a guy who let his best friend be taken hostage and then spent the next few months making love to his girlfriend. Eric didn't want to know what kind of ending that guy deserved.

Instead, he said, "Tell Vaughn what you want, when you want. I don't want to lie to him about this, but the when and where, that's your call."

She stretched her arm out to him, and for a moment he could feel her fingertips against his shoulder, the touch burning him with regret and longing. But he grabbed his duffel and barreled out the door before she could say anything else.

On his way to the other side of the ship, he went past Sark, a black shape near the rail, like a crow come for scraps. "Ah, Mr. Weiss. I see change is in the air."

Eric stopped walking for only a second. "If I tied something extremely heavy to your ankles and pushed you overboard, I think the rescue efforts would be half-hearted at best. So keep your mouth shut."

Sark raised an eyebrow, unabashed; he'd won the exchange before he ever spoke. Eric didn't get to win anything, not today.

Once he'd chosen a cabin - as far as he could get from any of the others - Eric flopped down on the bare mattress, not yet able or at least willing to grab some sheets and start settling in. He stared at his duffel bag, still stuffed with his clothing, the lone patch of color in the gray room.

Get your attitude in gear, he told himself. Vaughn's alive. Your best friend is back. He's home, and he's safe. If you can't be glad about that, you are one sorry-ass excuse for a human being.

In that initial moment, when he'd realized that it was Vaughn - Eric had been glad. Dammit, he still was glad. It was just that the very first thing he wanted to tell his best friend about, after all these months, was the amazing woman he'd fallen in love with.

And how he'd lost her.

Why hadn't he known it was too good to be true? Living with Sydney, sleeping by her side, making love to her, expecting to be a father to her child -

--and he missed that too, the baby he'd hoped to hold in his arms on the day she was born -

--it had been too good to be true. And he'd known it, really. Eric had told himself, over and over, that Sydney was still learning to love him, that it would be a long time before she was really and truly over Vaughn. He'd been willing to wait, he thought. But he had been waiting for a day that wasn't ever going to come.

Just when the self-pity was getting really thick, and tears were starting to well in his eyes, Eric heard a sharp rap on the door. Quickly, he dried his face with his T-shirt and went to answer it.

Jack Bristow stood there, holding a standard-issue packet of sheets, pillows and a blanket. His demeanor was strictly businesslike. "I take it you'll be needing these."

"Yeah. I mean, thanks. Got it." Eric took the packet from Jack - then immediately realized that the bundle weighed too much by a couple of pounds. Also, it gurgled as it shifted balance.

A couple moments of rummaging revealed a bottle of Glenlivet tucked between the blanket and one of the pillows. When Eric looked back up at Jack, the man's face was still a complete blank.

"I thought you said there was no alcohol aboard ship," Eric said.

"What alcohol?"

If Jack hadn't shut the door, Eric would've had to thank him. He was grateful that he was alone instead, with a quick shot of whisky to brace him for settling into life after Sydney.

**

III.


"Universidad de Buenos Aries." Nadia answered so clearly, sitting up so straight in her chair, that she might have been on a job interview. "I studied engineering and literature."

Irina wondered if Nadia expected her to ask about Borges now, or perhaps the workings of an internal combustion engine.

They had spoken only a little on the way back; Nadia was clearly discomfited by the various reunions. Remembering the newly discovered prophecy that one of her daughters would kill the other in combat, Irina had separated them almost immediately. Was it the memory of Nadia's betrayal, her choice to join Sloane, that made their daughters agree so willingly? Irina suspected that, on Sydney's side, Vaughn's return was foremost in her thoughts for now.

Meanwhile, Jack was visibly tense in the Nadia's presence, reminded of what he most wanted to forget.

And as for Irina herself, the baby stolen from her arms, the daughter she'd sought for a quarter of a century sat across from her - and acted as though she were trying not to be afraid of her mother. There had been no embraces, no declarations of family.

Not that Irina had ever really expected any. But she had expected something more dramatic than this: two tired women sitting in a ship's galley, trying to make awkward small talk over sandwiches. Of course, the only alternative to small talk was an uncomfortable subject - but it would have to be raised, sooner or later.

"You've spent most of this last year with Sloane," Irina said. "Your father."

Nadia controlled her reaction to his name well, but Irina could still detect the flinch. Perhaps, in time, Irina could teach her how to better hide her emotions. "He only told me lies."

"He told you some truth, as well." At Nadia's surprise, Irina smiled. "Lies mixed with the truth are always the strongest; he wouldn't have missed the opportunity to brace his illusions with the occasional fact."

"How do I separate them?"

"You ask me, and I tell you."

"How do I know if I can believe you?" Nadia lifted her chin.

"You don't, and you never will. You'll make up your own mind eventually. But if I were you, I'd want both versions of your history."

As Nadia studied her, weighing her questions, Irina heard footsteps in the hallway. Sydney? No, the tread was too heavy. Jack.

He would know that she could hear him; the very attempt to eavesdrop was, in effect, his way of asking permission to listen. If she wanted to stop him, she could. Irina decided not to.

Nadia began at the beginning - conception. "He said you seduced him as part of your work for the KGB."

"Partly. He had lied to me about having solid information regarding Sydney's status as the source of the Rain of Gold." Irina had never forgotten that terrible day - Sloane speaking to her calmly, responsibly, about the fact that some people would want to put her 6-year-old daughter down like a horse with a broken leg. "Believing that, I contacted the KGB. They agreed to my plan to conceive another child; probably they would have ordered me, if I hadn't suggested it. Jack could no longer father children at that point, which made Sloane the - most expedient alternative."

"And that's all it was to you?" Even though Nadia had clearly steeled herself for an unromantic version of events, Irina could tell the truth was ugly to her. "Sloane - he said that you and Mr. Bristow had trouble in your marriage -"

"At that time, we did." Irina remembered it well: They were not verbal fighters, but each was capable of terrible silences that lasted for days. "Nadia, the KGB had already suggested that my assignment should come to an end soon. Even before the order for a second child, I knew I would be leaving within months, or even weeks. So I pushed Jack away. I picked fights, forgot things I should have remembered, turned away from him in bed. The affair with Sloane - it was like drawing a line in the sand. A point of no return, or so I thought. I was trying to make it easier to leave Jack. I failed."

The last two words had not been spoken for Nadia's benefit, but for Jack's. Irina wondered if that was unfair, decided she didn't care if it was or not.

"But he was the one you loved." Nadia did not care about Jack, or his marriage. She wanted to hear some word of softness, of affection, for her own father - to believe that her conception had not been purely a matter of cold necessity. "You - never loved anyone but Jack."

"I never loved Sloane." She cocked her head, wondering how a daughter of hers could retain such a need for sentimentality. "Knowing him as you do now, how could you expect it? If I had cared for him, you'd lose whatever respect you might have for me. And you'd be right."

Nadia nodded, accepting it, but there was still a hesitation about her. This need - this hollowness, right at the center of her daughter - frightened Irina; it was that need that drove Nadia's character, and not her will. Somebody could still manipulate that need, just as Sloane had done. Her daughter could still be taken away.

"I always tried to find you," Irina said, before she could talk herself out of it. "And my sister, Katya, when she was alive. We searched for you all these years."

"To kill me?" Nadia had clearly anticipated saying these words before. "Sloane said you were trying to find me to kill me."

Best to tell the truth. "To prevent the Rain of Gold, I would have killed either of you. To protect the Irenicon, I would have killed anyone who got in my way. I never knew which daughter was which."

"But once you knew, you would have done it."

"Yes."

Nadia sat there for a few moments, considering. Irina wanted to turn from the pain she could see there, but was arrested by the sight of the girl herself. She looked so much like Elena.

At last, Nadia said, "Good." Irina raised an eyebrow, surprised and impressed, as her daughter continued, "If I had been offered a suicide mission to stop the Rain of Gold, I would have taken it. It's worth one life."

"Two lives." When Nadia frowned, Irina explained, "Nobody should outlive her children. I didn't intend to."

Nadia understood her, but it made little difference. Why should it? Irina might have been similarly unmoved, in her situation. She longed for Katya, who had kept the hope of finding Nadia alive for so many years; it seemed that if Katya could be there, making her odd little jokes, unruffled by anything, she might have bridged this terrible gap between mother and daughter.

Compared to this, talking to Sydney again had been easy.

"They told me - they always told me that my mother was dead." Nadia brushed her dark hair from her forehead. "I waited and waited for my father, but I never waited for you. I never thought there was anyone to wait for."

Irina nodded. The words were simple, but they hurt more than she would have thought.

"I'm glad I was wrong." Mere politeness, perhaps, but Nadia accompanied it with a smile that warmed Irina despite herself. "What do I call you?"

"Whatever you like."

"Mama, then." She said it sternly, as if issuing an order. "I called Sloane Papa, and he didn't deserve it. I won't give you less than I gave him."

Why did her relationship with her daughter have to begin as a way of settling a score with Sloane? But wishing for Sloane's shadow to leave them was futile; it would always be there, always. "Thank you."

"I should rest." Nadia stood up, but she rested her hand on Irina's shoulder and squeezed; this time, the smile looked real. "Good night, Mama."

After her daughter's footsteps had faded in the corridor, Irina went to Jack's room. She wasn't sure when he had left, but it didn't really matter, as long as she could find him now.

When she came in, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, unwrapping his ankle. Irina knelt on the floor to help, feeling the soft weave of the bandages between her fingers. "The swelling's finally gone," she said. "You should try to walk without the cane, soon."

"Soon." Jack's fingers traced beneath her jaw, lifting her face to his. "You're troubled."

"It went well. Or better than it could have."

"Yes. But you're still unhappy."

Irina tried to find the words that would capture how she was feeling - not only about Nadia, but also about Sydney, her baby, and Jack himself. At last she said, "Everything is ending where it should have begun."

Jack made no answer, just kissed her. She crawled up onto the mattress to join him, to make love in the swaying of the waves. They were gentle with each other; it had been a long time since she'd given anyone that kind of tenderness in bed or hoped to receive it. Perhaps they'd both been in danger of forgetting that lovemaking could be kindness as well as desperation. Irina had run from this memory too, but she didn't mind being caught by it again.

We can never escape from each other, she thought, moving with him, sweet and slow. Jack was the shape around her silhouette, her jail cell, her home.

Afterward, he put on his robe and insisted that he could go by himself to the galley, without a cane, to get something to drink. He returned with a container of strawberry ice cream from the freezer.

Irina, already wearing one of his undershirts, smiled but said, "I'm not hungry."

"You never are. You've lost too much weight." Limping but steady, Jack rejoined her in bed, opened the container and started to feed her from it.

Obediently, she opened her mouth for a spoonful, lost in memory. Once, Cuvee had asked her if she'd enjoyed anything her CIA husband could do for her in bed. After months of lying, she had given in and spoken one truth: that sometimes Jack liked to feed her afterward - ice cream, or slices of melon, or Thai food from takeout cartons in the fridge. Cuvee, unimaginative as ever, had seized upon this and insisted in playing interminable games: dripping sticky, cold things on her body in an attempt to be erotic, or making her beg for mouthfuls.

In contrast, Jack was quiet and efficient, almost comically businesslike. Had he ever even asked himself why he had this habit? Irina didn't know or care. Her own theory was that he saw it as taking care of her - doing something for her, just after she had given himself to him - but she was content to enjoy it without analyzing it too much.

"Nadia doesn't understand why we have Sark with us," she said, licking a cool smudge of ice cream from the corner of her mouth.

"She isn't the only one. We could invite him to go."

Irina suspected such an invitation might as easily be a shot in the back; Jack wouldn't care one way or the other. "I want to talk to him tomorrow. Leave the rest to me, at least for a while."

Jack didn't like this answer, but he accepted it, dipping the spoon back in the container. "Nadia seems very attached to Vaughn."

"Yes. But I'm not certain Vaughn is as attached to her. We'll have to watch."

"She'd be more comfortable if we gave her something to do," Jack said as Irina's lips closed over the spoon again. "The question is how much the men would -"

A knock broke off his words; even before Jack or Irina could respond, the door swung open. "Dad?"

Irina stared at Sydney, who was staring at her parents, in bed together, with Jack's hand still on the spoon of ice cream in Irina's mouth. She swallowed quickly and glanced over at Jack, who was obviously trying to clutch at some fragment of deniability. Irina smiled a little as he sighed, letting it go.

Sydney's hand seemed to be frozen to the doorknob. "Oh. Okay. I - I should go."

"Sydney, it's all right." Irina suspected she wasn't speaking for both of them. Let Jack speak for himself, if he wanted. "If you need to talk to your father alone -"

"It's not that. It's just -" Sydney breathed out. "Am I just supposed to pretend like it's no big deal that after all this time, you guys are back together?"

Jack looked relieved. "If you could."

"Were you planning on telling me about this?"

Irina and Jack glanced at one another; she didn't know whether to be glad or annoyed that he had no more answer than she did. "Not yet," Jack said at last. "You've had a lot on your mind."

Although Sydney did not appear to be wholly satisfied with this answer, she relaxed slightly. "It's between you guys first of all. I know that."

"What's the matter, Sydney?" Jack sealed up the container of ice cream, setting it out of the way. "Why did you come by?"

"To talk." Irina was surprised to see how much Sydney's response affected Jack; he sat up a little straighter, refocused his attention on her. "I guess - I'd like to talk to you both, actually. Perspective would be good."

Irina patted the foot of the bed; everything felt vaguely familiar now, except for the fact that their daughter was no longer 5 years old and curious about how the cat came to have kittens. As Sydney settled herself on the mattress, her belly now truly ponderous - and, to Irina's practiced eye, somewhat lower - she gave them both an awkward smile. "Seems like old times all around, doesn't it?"

Jack said, "This is about Vaughn, then."

"I'm so glad he's all right," Sydney began, slowly. "I can't even say how much. I mean, seeing him again, knowing that he knew who I was and who he was - Dad, I think that was just about the greatest moment of my life. Realizing that my daughter is going to have a chance to know and love her father - that matters more than anything else."

Although she wanted to speak, Irina kept her silence; Sydney had come to talk to Jack, and it would be better strategy to let him lead their half of the conversation at first.

"I'm relieved he's all right." Jack had never cared for Vaughn, but Irina could tell this much was sincere. "He should be a part of his daughter's life. But you're troubled." After Sydney nodded, he ventured, "About Weiss?"

"Eric just broke everything off. Clean, absolute, done. Part of me says he was right. I mean, I still love Vaughn. I always will. And Eric and I  -- we rushed things. We tried not to, but we did it anyway."

"If you're feeling guilty, don't." Jack's face was stern. "Weiss is a grown man. He made his own choices."

"Guilt isn't the issue," Sydney protested. "At least, it's not the main issue."

"You love Vaughn and Weiss both," Irina said, cutting to the chase. It would take Jack far too long to say such a thing out loud, assuming he ever would. "You don't want to have to choose."

"That's exactly NOT it. I'd like to choose, not to have the choice made for me by Eric or Vaughn or anybody else."

"Is Vaughn pressuring you?" Jack asked.

Sydney frowned at him. "No, he's not. He's in his own room, and mostly, so far, we've just talked about the baby. I think he's still in shock. I don't blame him." Her eyes flickered over to Irina. "I told him what you -- what happened to his father. He doesn't blame you. I think - I think he was glad."

"Vaughn must have had a chance to get to know his father very well." The dark joke didn't offend Sydney, but it didn't put her at ease, either.

"I should have realized Bill Vaughn was alive," Jack said. "After I spoke to Brill - I could have second-guessed the information he gave me. And I should have. I put you at unnecessary risk."

Irina touched his arm, excusing him. "He was mine to deal with. He had been for a long time. I shouldn't have failed in the first place."

She could feel the heat of Sydney's glare upon them, and wondered if it was a reaction to that first sign of affection between her parents - the reality of the relationship settling in. But she had guessed wrong.

"Back that up." Sydney sat up straight. "You spoke to Brill before Antarctica?"

"Yes." Jack was suddenly very still in the bed; Irina realized he was recognizing and regretting a mistake. What mistake?

"What information did he give you that you should have second-guessed?"

Jack spoke very evenly, as if giving a report. "At our last interview, back in Los Angeles, he informed me that Vaughn was dead - or, at any rate, made a statement designed to make me believe it. Even then, I had realized he was untrustworthy, but I wasn't critical enough."

Sydney's cheeks had begun to flush. "Let me get this straight. In Los Angeles - months and months ago - you thought you found out Vaughn was dead."

"Yes."

"And you never me about this. Not even after we had that talk about -" Sydney ran one hand through her hair. "I thought we had gotten somewhere. I thought things were changing."

Jack was tense now, angry - but at himself. "I thought it would only hurt you. The intel wasn't confirmed - and, as it turns out, was wrong. This isn't worth turning into an issue."

"Remember what I said earlier? Sometimes I'd like to choose, instead of having people choose for me." The mattress wobbled as Sydney got up and headed for the door. Just before she left, she hesitated before saying, "Good night." She didn't look back.

Irina stroked Jack's arm as he slumped back against the headboard. All he said was, "She doesn't understand."

"Someday," Irina said. It was an empty promise, and they both knew it, but she kissed him to give him something real.

**

IV.


"What a splendid morning," Sark said.

Irina joined him, falling beside him step by step on his constitutional around the ship. He felt as perfectly at ease as he could, given the fact that he was both three feet from Irina Derevko and thirty feet from trained guards with rifles who itched to eliminate them both. It was infinitely preferable to concentrate on the sunlight on the Indian Ocean, the fresh breezes in the air, and the welcome thrill of renewed power.

"It's good to see you, you know." He wanted Irina to understand that much, before they had their next conversation. "Especially to see that you're yourself again. I took you for a Gorgon, but you are a Phoenix after all."

"The Phoenix is reborn," Irina said. "I endure. As do you, in your way."

That was surely as much kindness as he could expect to receive from Irina for a long while. Time to get to the point. "How delighted everyone was to see Michael Vaughn again. Although I do not share the sentiment, I would normally say that I understood it."

"You should be relieved. Telling them that I thought Vaughn was dead would have entailed telling them that I thought you'd killed him. Your time aboard this ship would have ended very abruptly."

"But you couldn't tell them that you thought I'd killed him," Sark said. Rarely had he taken so much relish in pointing out the obvious. "Then they would know that you were willing to let me kill him, just to have a crack at Sloane. Not that I think Mr. Bristow would mind greatly. Sydney, on the other hand -"

"Is never to hear of it."

Sark and Irina stared at each other, taking measure. How far could he push her? He decided to play it close - after all, he didn't need much. "Your secret is safe if mine is. However, if you reveal my plans for Mr. Vaughn, at any juncture, I will in turn be forced to reveal your complicity in those plans. Perhaps your renewed relationship with Sydney is strong enough to withstand such a blow, but I'm certain you would prefer to avoid the unpleasantness."

"Vaughn remains unharmed. He's the father of my grandchild. That gives him a right to protection he didn't have before."

"Grandchild," Sark repeated, surprised even as he said it that he spoke with genuine wonder. Irina smiled, just a flash, but it reminded him what it had been like when he was a boy, and they worked together every day. "I'll respect your wishes regarding Mr. Vaughn for the time being. The child is the cure, and the child's welfare therefore comes first."

"You could always cloak pragmatism in nobility," Irina said. "I taught you well."

Sark hesitated before he continued; the next subject was one to be raised carefully. "I take it you will - be here for the birth?"

"I know as much as you do. And we both know more than Jack or Sydney, a state of affairs that will continue."

Good Lord. She hadn't told them - this, of all things. It was among the first secrets Irina had ever revealed to him, back when Rambaldi was just a name and Sark had seen nothing more miraculous than the plans for the Mueller device, mere lines on paper. "You astonish me. I had thought Jack and Sydney's warmth toward you would be occasioned by -"

"We won't speak of it." Generally, Sark didn't remember that Irina Derevko was several centimeters taller than he was. He was remembering it now, because she chose to make him remember. As ever, Sark found that she could intimidate with her physical presence without making a move, simply by willing it to be so. "They know what they need to know about Rambaldi's prophecies. They'll learn the rest in time."

"Until then, the secret remains between us." It was a small concession, really; Sark knew Jack and Sydney would not believe him if he tried to speak of it.

"See that it does." Irina outpaced him on the deck then, walking faster without appearing to exert herself more at all. Sark watched her go, considering.

The key words in his promise had been "for the time being." How long before he could in good conscience - and in safety - kill Michael Vaughn? Months? Weeks?

Days?

Then again, perhaps it was time to reconsider his decision. Though Sark still remembered Lauren with genuine regret, he had to admit her memory was beginning to blur into soft focus. If he had ever loved her, he did no longer.

Aboard this ship, he had protection - uncertain, but as solid as anything could be given the current situation. If he worked with the Bristows, Sark could ensure that the Covenant's work was completed, defeat Arvin Sloane and possibly gain new allies for the impending upheavals of the world order. Even if they stopped the Rain of Gold instantly, the massive global instability that would follow would make powerful allies all the more important. Was Lauren's memory worth risking all of that?

Then Sark thought of his days in CIA captivity. The cold weight of handcuffs around his hands. The sneer on Vaughn's face as he told him about Lauren choking for breath.

This would not be over until he'd made Vaughn shed blood.

Sark looked back out at the ocean, the vengeance in his mind even sharper than before.

**

V.


"I can't get over it," Vaughn said, running his fingers over the curve of Sydney's stomach. "We were being careful -"

"Not that careful," Sydney reminded him. Had he forgotten what those few weeks had been like - their strange isolation from one another, their mutual desperation to pretend the last three years of their lives hadn't happened? She realized that she'd pushed the memories away too, until now.

"Apparently we were predestined not to be careful, if Rambaldi wrote about our daughter hundreds of years ago." Vaughn's face relaxed into a grin, and for a moment he looked like himself again. "Our daughter. I can't get used to saying that."

She guided his hand to a hard curve that she thought was the baby's head. "It's so overwhelming. For me, even, and I've had eight months to get used to the idea. You must just be -"

"Blown away. But in the absolute best way imaginable." He dipped his head down to her belly and kissed the skin, which threatened to turn Sydney into a big pile of mush -

--until she remembered Eric doing exactly that, only a few nights before.

It was past time for her to tell Vaughn about Eric. But she still didn't know what to say, and had to talk about something else. Anything else.

"So, Nadia. You know my sister better than I do, by now."

Vaughn sat up immediately, stiff, responding to her change of topic even more dramatically than she'd hoped. "Yeah. We got to be friends - you know, the only two sane people in the place. Though I think it took her a while to make sure I was sane again. There were a few months in the beginning where I definitely wasn't."

"How did you know you could trust her?"

"How do you know you can trust anyone, Sydney? You don't. You never do. You take a chance and watch your back." The hard look in his eyes was strangely familiar, though Sydney was taken aback to realize it reminded her of her father.

And thinking about her father brought up other upsetting topics. Sydney put a bright smile on her face and made small talk about the difficulties of creating an appropriate baby bed aboard ship. Talking about the baby was easier; Vaughn acted like himself again, at least like the Vaughn she remembered.

She needed to talk about her mother and father, but she didn't have a chance to do that until later in the afternoon.

"Your parents are back together?" Eric said. "Okay, not that we didn't know this before, but your mom? She can warp men's minds."

"I don't think Dad's warped," Sydney protested, readjusting her position on the chair in Eric's room. The foot of his bed would have been more comfortable, but in some ways also more awkward. "At least, he's not more warped than he already was to start with."

"Which is pretty damn warped." At Sydney's glare, Eric held up his hands. "Sorry. It's just that we can't afford to have the team leader not thinking objectively about the risks. And no matter what else your mom is, Syd, in your heart, you know she's still a risk."

She considered that in silence, and Eric let her, watching her gather her thoughts without hurry or comment. Finally, she said, "In this situation, I don't think objectivity's possible. We're a family, and that's never going to change, even if we all sometimes wish it would. Maybe it's better that everything's out in the open. Pretending to be objective when we aren't - that would be more dangerous than anything else."

"I guess I can buy that," Eric said. "That doesn't mean I'm not going to be watching them both like a hawk. Or some other sharp-watching thing. What is there besides hawks?"

Sydney laughed. "Like a mongoose?"

"That's me. Fear the mongoose." The small smile on his face faded quickly. "What did Vaughn think of all this?"

"I haven't told him yet."

"Well, maybe you should. He's the one you ought to be bringing this stuff to, Syd." Eric got to his feet, obviously searching the room for some task he could perform, something to make Sydney feel unnecessary and unwelcome. "Not me."

She left without another word, not sure whether he was entirely right, given their situation, or whether the whole situation was horribly wrong.

**

A daughter, Vaughn thought as he lay in his bunk late at night. A little girl.

It didn't get any less surreal. He'd often imagined having kids; it was part of the Plan, the amorphously constructed idea of the way his life was supposed to go. Unfortunately, a big part of the good ol' Plan had consisted of Vaughn being the same kind of dad that his own father had been.

Clearly, this section of the Plan needed revising.

Sydney had broken the news of his father's death gently, holding his hands, apologetic for her mother's behavior even though both of them now knew how deeply Irina's action was justified. He'd put on a brave face for her, but in truth, Vaughn had needed her kindness. The words had echoed too strongly back to the first time he'd heard them -- as a boy who had no knowledge, only sorrow and longing and shattered hope.

Vaughn had two fathers: the one he'd believed in when he was young and the one he'd known so briefly in Mexico. His disgust with the latter didn't change his love for the former. And he was beginning to accept that he'd never know just where the line between them could be drawn. 

The absolute worst part of it was realizing that the path his father had taken began in the same place Vaughn was standing right now: A child on the way, Rambaldi's ultimate power in the balance, people on both sides willing to do whatever it took to make sure they got their way. Although he would never do such a thing - ever - Vaughn could finally understand how someone might look at his child, or someone else's, and see only a means to power.

What was the difference between him and his father? What made his dad sink into obsession? And what would keep Vaughn from it?

He considered getting out of his bed and going to Sydney's; he knew she wouldn't turn him away, and it would be comforting to sleep by her side, to be able to reach out and touch her. But going to her now - that meant going back to her, for once and for all, and he wasn't ready to do that.

You love her, Vaughn told himself. She's pregnant with your child. What the hell is wrong with you?

The answer, unfortunately, was everything. Vaughn remembered the man he'd been when he fell in love with Sydney - the man she'd loved in return and needed in her life. He wasn't that man anymore, and he never would be again.

So how was he supposed to be any good to Sydney? To their daughter?

Answering this question was not a luxury. It was a necessity, and the sooner he figured it out, the better.

Frustrated, he threw on a jacket and some shoes and went for a walk on the deck. The sea air was cool and sharp with brine, and Vaughn breathed in deep. The scent reminded him of Mexico, of the hours he'd spent with -

Nadia was sitting on the steps to the next deck, a grayish sweater pulled around her shoulders. Vaughn realized she'd seen him a few minutes ago, when he stepped out, but had said nothing. She'd just been watching him. He wondered what it meant that he didn't mind that idea at all.

"It's good to see you," he said.

"You've seen me."

"Across the ship. At meals. We haven't really had any time to talk." Vaughn knew this was dangerous, but it was true: "I've missed you."

She didn't respond in kind, only smiled. But Vaughn knew how isolated Nadia must feel, and he wished he'd come to her before. "Congratulations."

"Thanks." Vaughn grinned. No matter what the hell else was going on, the thought of having a daughter never failed to warm him. "I'm still trying to process it."

"You'll be a wonderful father," Nadia said, and the wistfulness in her voice reminded him of the beach in Mexico, the hotel room where he'd held her, the moment on the flight to Johannesburg when she'd laid her head on his shoulder. He couldn't think about that. He couldn't stop thinking about that.

"I don't know." It was mostly something to say. "I keep wondering if I'm going to be like my own father. It's not exactly promising."

"He must have had some good in him, once." Nadia's conviction was so contrary to the evidence that at first Vaughn wondered if she were indulging in some crackpot rationalization about her own father - was she still that desperate for a daddy's love? But then she said, "If he hadn't been good, at least a little, he couldn't have made you."

Her hand brushed his, and he tangled his fingers with hers for just a moment - not a handshake, not a caress, just an indefinable touch. I have to go, Vaughn thought, and now. "Good night."

"Night." Nadia made no move to stop him, but he could feel her watching as he walked away along the deck. 

Vaughn went back to bed, tossing and turning, tangling the sheets around him but not caring. When he dreamed that night, he dreamed of water rushing through a hallway, chasing him down, while Nadia ran ahead, her white wig brilliant in the gloom.

**

VI.


Sydney awoke, running her mental check of the room before she ever opened her eyes - temperature right, sound right, apparently still alone. Which was why she began to laugh, embarrassed, when she realized that her mattress was damp. Her spy training had even overridden something as basic as realizing she'd wet the bed.

Okay, kidlet, she thought as she sat up. Pounding my bladder has its limits.

But when she stood up from the bed, more fluid ran down her legs. Sydney's eyes widened; even though Jenny had given her the facts, she still expected her water breaking to be a great gush, like in the movies. This was just leaking. Surely it wasn't --

A band of pressure tightened within her, only slightly harder than the Braxton-Hicks contractions she'd been having for a couple of weeks. A quick trip to the bathroom only added to her suspicions. She pulled on her robe and went straight to Jenny's cabin.

"But I'm not due yet," Sydney protested after Jenny confirmed what she already knew. "It should be another three weeks -"

"Thirty-seven weeks is safe," Jenny said. "You don't need to worry. Obviously, every day we can keep the bambina inside you is good. But her lungs should be fully developed, and the ultrasounds show she's already pretty big. So don't get scared."

"I'm not scared. I'm just - not ready."

Jenny raised an eyebrow. "Better get ready. You're losing amniotic fluid, which means we can't turn back now." 

Sydney lay back on the examination table, breathing in deeply. She realized she was afraid - not of labor, but of no longer having her daughter inside her, where Sydney knew she was safe. The hazards of her dangerous life had long since ceased to unnerve her for her own sake, but when she tried to imagine her baby in this world -

--no, Sydney thought. This is the only world we've got. And I can take care of her. I can and I will.

"Okay, then. Are you going to make me lie here in stirrups all day?"

"God, no. Today and today only, gravity's your friend. Walk around as long as you feel comfortable, but let's make sure somebody's with you. Once the contractions speed up, we'll get you settled into the birthing room. Sound good?"

Sydney managed a smile. "Sounds like a plan."

**

Vaughn was brushing his teeth when he heard the thumping on his door. He spat, wiped his face and yelled, "Come in!" He expected it to be Weiss, mostly because he'd been trying to get some face time with his buddy for days now, mostly with no luck. Surely it was only a matter of time before he'd stop by and they could actually get caught up; besides, he could really use Weiss' perspective right now.

But instead it was Sydney; he gestured to invite her in. It felt stranger than it should have, Sydney walking around in his bedroom while he still had on his robe. He shouldn't feel exposed in front of someone he'd made love to a hundred times, the evidence for which had never been more obvious. "Hey. What's up?"

"Got any plans for the day?"

She looked altogether too pleased with herself. Vaughn had always liked her mischievous side. "I think you have some plans for me."

"Feel like having a baby? Maybe sometime this afternoon?"

"You're serious." Even though she was laughing, she clearly was serious. "Oh, my God."

At least it was normal for expectant fathers to panic. That way, maybe, she didn't know what he was thinking: I'm not ready for this, I can't do this, I was supposed to have a couple more weeks!  The real and the unreal had collided again, harder than ever, and faster than he could process it.

"Vaughn, you're white as a sheet. Don't tell me you're going to flip out like Ricky Ricardo."

He laughed despite himself; Sydney always knew what to say. "I'd need witch-doctor makeup to do the Ricky thing, right?"

Then she was in his arms, and he hugged her tight, banishing his fears for another time. This was like the beginning of a mission - you put aside all your misgivings, trusted your partner and just got it done.

"I'm nervous too," she whispered into his shoulder.

"You're going to be okay," he said, willing himself to believe it. "And I'm going to take good care of you."

**

"Are you sure she shouldn't be lying down?" Jack watched Sydney on the deck, letting Robin and Stephen touch her belly. The wind ruffled her hair and she laughed, apparently unconcerned. Vaughn hovered at her elbow, his fingers clasping hers. Thirty-one years before, while driving to the hospital, he'd reached over to hold Irina's hand at every stoplight. 

"She's just fine," Dr. Lo assured him, then called to Sydney: "You might want to eat a snack! You won't want to, later, but you could use the energy." Sydney nodded, still busy explaining something to the Dixon children.

Jack went to the galley, trying not to favor his left foot; it was time he put the snowmobile accident behind him. A quick search of the stores revealed very little that seemed palatable at such a time, but some foil-lidded cups of applesauce might do. They fed that sort of thing to people in hospitals. Light and bland. And Sydney had liked applesauce when she was small.

"Agent Bristow?" One of the guards appeared in the galley doorway. "We may have a situation."

Of course we have a situation, Jack thought in annoyance, before realizing the possibilities. "What's happened?"

"We've sighted movement toward the Bomani lab. Maybe two dozen troops, possibly more."

"The roads and the river are all guarded. Take preventative action."

The guard shook his head. "We set up perimeter guards to prevent anyone from finding the lab. Whoever's headed there now already had the location; they stayed off main roads. It's only luck we saw their transport."

"Talk to Julian Sark immediately." Jack's displeasure increased along with his anxiety. Only a handful of people should know where Bomani's lab was; they had been counting on that fact to provide security. They hadn't even removed all the relevant materials; better to leave everything together, Marshall said, until they knew what mattered and what didn't. They'd thought they would have more time. "I want to know who could possibly be there. I also want to know if they know we're here."

"Should we pull up anchor, move out to sea?"

It would be safer, tactically - but Sydney was about to give birth, and Jack did not want to set out into choppy seas during that unless it was utterly necessary. "Not yet, but make ready."

The guard went out to find Sark, leaving Jack to calculate possibilities. His first thought - Arvin Sloane - he immediately dismissed. Sloane knew he was Nadia's father; therefore he thought himself invulnerable to the Rain of Gold and would never put himself at risk by coming to Mozambique. But then who?

And if that force tried to attack the ship - now, with Sydney at her most vulnerable -

Jack's lips pressed into a thin line. If they came here, he would be ready.

When he went back out on deck, the Dixon children were gone and Sydney was leaning against Vaughn's side while Marshall babbled on, Mitchell at his hip. "Wow, you guys, you're way more calm than I was. When Carrie told me she was in labor, I just completely flipped out, like one of those Chuck Jones cartoons, with the top of my head flying off and steam spewing from my ears. Not literally, of course -"

"We remember, Marshall," Vaughn pointed out. "We were sort of waiting on you to guide us through potentially fatal booby traps at the time."

"Oh, yeah, right. Whoops. Faux pas!"

"It's okay," Sydney said, though in Jack's opinion it was no more okay now than it had been at the time. "We both got out safe and sound - and besides, now I understand a little bit better how you were feeling."

Marshall, regaining what for him passed as "composure," added, "Don't forget, I wasn't just getting ready to welcome this big fella here, right, Mitch? I was also getting married, thanks to Eric Weiss, minister of the First Church of Mammals. Hey, that's an idea! We could have a little shipboard wedding, if the First Church of Mammals has authority on, uh, on ships. I'm sure Weiss would do just as great a job as he did for me and Carrie. Probably even better, now that he's had some practice."

Sydney was obviously horrified at this spectacularly bad plan. "Oh. No. No, I - not today. No rush. Right, Vaughn?"

"Right." Vaughn agreed.

"Dad?" Sydney, finally noticing he was there, gave him a smile - apparently her displeasure about Brill was in the past, at least for today. "Did you bring me a snack?"

"Dr. Lo said it was a good idea." As he started to give it to her, she grimaced and grabbed his free hand in hers.

"Contraction," she said through gritted teeth. "Hang on."

Vaughn braced her, and Jack felt her strong grip intensify to the point of pain. He supported as much as he was able, and his eyes locked with Vaughn's. They were both obviously counting the seconds.

Her hand relaxed on his, and she gasped, "Time?"

"Twelve minutes, again," Vaughn said.

"Okay. Okay." Sydney exhaled heavily, then held her hand out. "Now, you had some applesauce, right?"

"Right." Jack wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. But that would be a lie, a greater one than simply not telling her of their danger. Besides, what did he know of her day's work? This experience was one he couldn't guide her through or guard her from.

**

You would think no other woman had given birth in all the history of the world, Sark thought, observing the flurry of activity in the early afternoon when Sydney finally went into her birthing room. Women went through labor in ditches and shacks every day; people as supposedly jaded as Jack Bristow and Irina Derevko ought to be calmer.

His jaw still ached from the rather abrupt "questioning" he'd received, but Sark had been able to protest his innocence in convincing terms. He was astonished that they believed him, but then again, he was rather astonished to be telling the truth in the first place. Who else had Bomani told about the lab? He'd thought nobody beyond their inner circle had ever known.

Whoever it was, Sark hoped they remained ignorant of their small party aboard this ship. His interest in Sydney's child was less sentimental than anyone else's on board, but equally avid. This child was the cure for the Rain of Gold - the completion of the Covenant's work, the successful end to the mission he'd served for so long.

And to Lauren's mission, too, though the baby's parents would be appalled to realize it. Sark smiled at the very thought.

The child would also prove the ruination of many people's plans. The late Bill Vaughn, hopefully, was turning over in his watery grave. Most of all, Sark burned with the hope that he would be able to see Arvin Sloane's face at the moment he learned the plague could be stopped and that the immortality he was willing to destroy civilization to win would never, ever be his.

This isn't just childbirth, Sark thought. This is revenge. Considered in that light, the excitement made a bit more sense.

**

"Don't fight it," Irina said, stroking Sydney's bangs back from her forehead as another contraction ebbed. She sat on the side of the bed, taking a few minutes with her daughter before leaving her to her long work. "Just relax into the contraction, if you can."

"Relax into it. You know, yesterday that wouldn't have made any sense to me. Now it does." Sydney let her head fall back onto the pillow.

"Change positions whenever you can. That helps too." Irina remembered that from the hours she and Jack had waited to go to the hospital; the imbecilic doctor hadn't believed she could tell real from false labor, because it was her first baby.

She hadn't been able to change positions for her second birth. Her arms had been handcuffed to the sides of the bed. At least the pangs had blurred her memory of the event; all she remembered anymore was pain, and loss, and the unending struggle not to blow what little cover she had and cry out for Jack.

Irina knew many women wanted their mothers in the birthing rooms - she had wished for Olga, despite herself, while in a labor room in Virginia - but she felt that Sydney would not be among them. Best to let her be alone with Vaughn, anyway. She stood quickly and said, "We'll be waiting for word."

"Okay," Sydney said. There was a moment's hesitation, and Irina knew that, although Sydney would not ask her to stay, she'd at least considered it. That was enough.

Jack was in his room, pacing. His steps were still uneven. "Any word?" she asked.

"No equipment trucks sighted going toward the lab. Possibly a good sign. But then, we've had to pull back patrols and intensity guard around the ship." He was visibly angry, though only at himself. "We didn't remove enough of the materials, we only began vaccinations on the guards who didn't have bloodlines -"

"The cure is on the way," Irina reminded him. Soon everything in Bomani's lab would be worthless junk; as long as their location remained secure, she considered the lab's discovery immaterial. "Within a couple of hours, the Rain of Gold will be behind us."

Jack sat down heavily on the bed. "Is Sydney all right?"

"She's fine. There's nothing to do now but wait." Irina was aware that Jack hated waiting just as much as she did. Nonetheless, they were both quite good at it.

As she sat beside him, Jack said, "From the day Sydney told me, I've tried to imagine myself as a grandfather. I can't do it yet."

"Soon you won't have to imagine." She wished Katya was around to talk to about this; Katya felt like the person to listen to this confession, not Jack. "It makes me feel old. Old women are grandmothers. Old women don't do the things I do."

"I've felt that too."

Irina tried to picture it. "The next time we lead a raid, we'll be grandparents. The next time we wear disguises, or try to seduce someone for our purposes - the next time we have sex, we'll be grandparents."

"Not if we hurry."

It took a moment to sink in. Irina began laughing just as Jack grabbed her around the waist and towed her down beside him. She could feel his smile when they kissed.

**

Eric had figured he'd have to share hall-pacing duties with Jack and Irina. Instead, he had the space to himself, which was good. That way he didn't have to hide his reactions, pretend like he was just another pal waiting to break out the bubble-gum cigars.

I ought to be with her, he thought, then corrected himself: I want to be with her. It's not the same thing. Get used to it.

But he'd planned for this day, prepared with Sydney. Did Vaughn know about the peaceful scene she was supposed to envision when the contractions got bad? Could he describe the meadow? Eric could; he could remember every inch of that goddamned meadow, down to Bambi by the stream. What about the tennis-ball massage when her lower back started hurting? Eric had persuaded Jack to fly tennis balls to Antarctica for this purpose, and they were probably just sitting in the hold, going to waste.

And, of course, the fact that a hostile force was massing nearby didn't help things at all. Maybe they wouldn't come for the ship - for Sydney and her baby - but maybe they would. Part of him almost wished there would be an attack, so he stop pacing, pick up a machine gun and DO something for her. But that part was the crazy part.

Then he froze as he heard Sydney cry out - not a scream, but still a cry of pain. Eric's gut clenched, and he wanted to kick down that door to go to her, if that was what it took. But he was determined not to lose it.

Sydney's being strong, he thought. I'm being strong for her. It doesn't matter if she knows it or not. That's all I can do for her, and I'm going to do it.

Vaughn's with her now, and he'll take care of her. You know he'll do that, no matter what.

Eric put his hands against the wall and breathed in and out, long and slow.

**

"You sure you don't want something for the pain?" Jenny said. "It's way too late for an epidural, but there's stuff I could give you. This late in the game, it won't have time to affect the baby one way or the other."

"That's okay." Sydney gulped in a couple of breaths, steadying herself after the contraction. "Honestly, it's not nearly as bad as electroshock torture."

Jenny looked distinctly green. "Okay, don't tell me anything else about your life ever."

"Deal."

"You're doing great," Vaughn said softly, dabbing her forehead with a cool, damp rag. "I should've known you'd be perfect at this too."

She smiled over at him. "You know what this reminds me of? Missions back in the SD-6 days, when you were my handler."

"Okay, you're going to have to explain that one."

"You're not exactly on the mission with me, but you're there every step of the way. Your voice is guiding me through it. And I feel totally safe."

He kissed her forehead, and Sydney felt all her old love for him surge up again. Vaughn - her guardian angel.

"Oh, wait. Here we go." Her body tensed again, contracting and expanding all at once, bands of steel curving open inside her -

And then, amid all the pain, there was another sensation - as though she were turning inside out, an inner curve bending in ways she hadn't known it could bend. As much as it hurt, it was the best feeling in the world. The time was near.

**

Nadia had not felt entirely comfortable, in any sense of the word, since the Bristow party had found them in Bomani's lab. Jack Bristow had tried to kill her once, and had not stopped looking at her as though he wished he'd succeeded. Sark, on the other hand, no longer had any desire to kill her; no, he didn't seem to care if she lived or died. Weiss she did not know. Her mother was both fascinating and frightening; Nadia was glad to know her, but her presence could not be considered reassuring. Sydney was here, but thanks to the prophecy, there seemed no guarantee they would ever speak again. Perhaps over the phone, someday. Not now.

She'd only really been able to speak to Michael once - really speak, as if it mattered. The rest of the time, they were formal, too polite for people who had spent the last few months depending wholly on one another. Or who had spent even one minute kissing each other while they stood naked in the sea.

As she leaned forward on the railing, staring down at the water, she heard someone come up next to her. "What?" Sark said. "No family bonding? No special Derevko-woman rituals to welcome another into the fold?"

"We sacrificed the goats this morning," Nadia said. "We'll drink the blood of the living later on. You don't have any plans for this evening, do you?"

"I am utterly charmed." Nadia first thought that was sarcasm, then looked at his face and realized it wasn't.

"Hey, there. Uh, hi." She half-turned to see the funny little man named Marshall strolling up to them. "Mr. Sark, hello there, nice to see you, at least in an unarmed capacity. Ms. Santos, or Nadia, if I can call you Nadia, feel like I know you, since I know all this incredibly personal stuff about you, just by virtue of the job, which has got to feel weird, but you know, you shouldn't feel that way -"

"Hello, Marshall," Nadia said quickly. "Where's Mitchell?"

Apparently she had remembered his child's name correctly. "My main man's taking himself a nap. Forty winks. Robin's watching him." He rubbed his hands together and said, "Speaking of the youngsters, what's the word on our progress with Sydney?"

Nadia began to tell him that there was nothing - and then, from the upper windows, she distinctly heard a cry. At first she thought it was Sydney in pain - she'd heard that, earlier - but no, it was the baby. The cure had been born.

"Congratulations, Aunt Nadia." Sark didn't sound wholly sincere, but he didn't sound wholly sarcastic, either. Marshall started to tear up, and Nadia patted him on the shoulder.

Michael's a father, she thought, and her spirit lifted, buoyed up by an unselfish joy.

**

Vaughn finally let Dr. Lo take his squalling daughter from his hands, though he could have held her for hours. "She's just so beautiful," he said, to everyone and no one at all.

"She looks like a wrinkled tomato," Sydney laughed, but her face was luminous. "And she's beautiful."

"The beauty queen will be back in your arms soon," Dr. Lo promised. "Just gotta check some things out. But listen to those lungs! This kid's gonna knock her Apgars out of the ballpark, wait and see."

He leaned down and kissed Sydney; her skin was still pale and sweaty, but already she looked better. "Are you all right? Is there anything I can get you?"

"I'm good. But go tell Dad and Mom, okay? And - and Eric." She hesitated before adding, "And I'd like to see them all, when I can."

"Okay." Vaughn hated to leave Sydney, but he was bursting to share the news, too. He kissed her once more. "I'll be right back." She squeezed his hand before he walked into the hallway.

Jack and Irina were there, though they both looked disheveled; they must have been crazy with worry. Weiss was facing away from the door, but at the sound of Vaughn's footsteps he turned around, looking about five years older. "Everyone's great," Vaughn said. "Sydney's fine. And the baby - she's perfect."

Irina beamed, a more human expression than Vaughn had ever expected to see on her face. Even that wasn't as surprising as Jack's smile - small though it was, Vaughn wished he had a camera. If they'd been different kinds of people, he might have hugged them; as it was, Vaughn settled for slapping Jack hard on the shoulder.

Jack gripped his hand for just a moment and said, simply, "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

Then he turned to Weiss and threw his arms around his him. Weiss returned the hug, thumping Vaughn on the back. "Congratulations, man. I mean it. You guys deserve this."

"Thanks. I'm glad you're here." Vaughn felt the tears he'd managed to keep back the rest of the day welling up, now that he was finally able to let go.

Weiss stepped back and shook his head. "Don't cry, you big chucklehead. Come on. Tell us the name, okay? Don't leave us in suspense."

Vaughn frowned. "Sarah Frances. That's the name Syd's had all along - I like it. I thought you knew."

"Oh. She stuck with that. All right, then." For some reason, that seemed to knock the wind out of Weiss' sails. Why did he care about the name? But then Weiss just hugged him again, and Vaughn let him do it. Beside him, he was pretty sure Irina was embracing Jack; now, there was a whole story he was going to have to figure out. But later. Today was about Sarah.

His daughter.

He felt as though he hadn't told everyone - then realized he wouldn't feel complete until he'd told Nadia. And that was just one more thing to think about tomorrow, not today. The rest of life was complicated enough. This was Sarah's birthday - simple, and perfect.

**

The roughly sketched map showed lines of defense around the lab, not impregnably strong, but difficult enough. "We're working on tapping into their radio communication, Agent Bristow, but no luck yet."

"Keep trying." The hostile force, whomever might be leading it, had Bomani's lab firmly in control. That was unfortunate, if not particularly important; even though the vaccine was about to be irrelevant, much of the Rambaldi information there was now lost. No matter. After so many hours, they could now be certain that no attempts were being made against the ship - or against Sydney and her child.

His grandchild.

He left the guard to rejoin Irina in the corridor outside Sydney's room, which resulted in a longer wait than he would have thought. Weiss made excuses and left fairly quickly, not that Jack blamed him; Vaughn had gone off to share his happiness with Nadia - a detail Jack observed closely.

Jack's impatience was at its peak when Dr. Lo finally opened the door and said, "I think the princess is ready for some visitors." Irina took his hand as they walked in together.

The portholes were all open, and the cool evening breeze blew through the room. Sydney, propped up on pillows and her hair still damp with sweat, lay in the center of the bed, cradling a small bundle with little pink fists. Her eyes met his, welcoming, and Jack felt unexpectedly humbled by her confidence.

"Seven pounds, six ounces," Dr. Lo pronounced with satisfaction. "Just as well Sarah arrived a little early, for your sake, Sydney. By forty weeks, she would've been a monster." 

"Was it very bad?" Jack asked. He still had not forgotten hearing Sydney's last few cries of pain.

"Not really. It's definitely not fun, but - it's worth it." She hesitated, then held up the baby, offering her to his arms. Very carefully, Jack bent over and took Sarah, her tiny form strangely heavy. Despite the small woven stocking cap tugged onto her head, he could see the slopes and angles birth had created. Sarah blinked her unfocused eyes in the weary confusion of a newborn. He remembered that sight like it was yesterday; most of all he remembered this feeling, this sudden and complete love that had you in its grip in an instant. Jack had thought it would be different for a granddaughter, and it was - but the emotion was no less powerful.

Irina hugged Sydney fiercely. "For three generations, my family has been expecting a child to be the answer. You finally gave us that answer, Sydney. It isn't the only reason you should be proud, or even the best reason. But I thought you should know, all the same."

"We should take some blood," Sydney said. Jack knew what those words had cost her; just speaking of hurting the baby, even for the moment it would take to prick her with a needle, made her voice shake. But she was right. "Marshall needs a sample to work with."

"You think umbilical-cord tissue would be useful?" Dr. Lo replied. "We have a special on that today. Going fast."

"Talk to Marshall," Jack ordered. For a few more moments, he just wanted to hold his granddaughter Sarah and pretend that he could keep her safe, that her role in the world would never mean having to hurt her at all. It wasn't true, not any more than it had been with Sydney.

He glanced down and saw Irina's ill-contained eagerness; carefully, he handed the baby to her, watching her broad hands steady the tiny neck. Jack wanted to hug Sydney too, but contented himself with holding her hand. She smiled up at him. In that moment, it felt as though nothing had ever come between them or could. It was an illusion, but Jack let it slip over them, all the same.

**

Two hours later, after Vaughn had returned to Sydney and he and Irina had shared one of the happiest and least coherent conversations of their relationship, Jack made his way to Marshall's makeshift shipboard laboratory. It was too much to expect, even of Marshall, that a cure to the Rain of Gold would already be in place. All the same, he wanted a status report.

Marshall was slumped in front of his computer, watching an animated model of a DNA strand rotating onscreen. Other than that, he didn't appear to be doing anything. "Marshall?" Jack said, intending to interrupt this reverie. "Any word?"

At first, Marshall didn't budge - or even turn to acknowledge Jack. Then he said, "We might have a problem."

"Problem?"

"It's too early to tell. Way, way too early to tell. There's a lot of things I can still do, or try, but - Mr. Bristow - back when I tried the vaccine out in LA, I did a really precise map of the kind of genetic code we'd be looking for. Something really close to Sydney's - I knew that - and the Rain of Gold itself, well, it has these certain markers -"

"Please summarize," Jack said. His discomfort was increasing by the moment.

Marshall breathed out. "Basically, the disease is like a lock. The DNA we'd need to fill in the blanks for a cure - the key - it ought to have certain markers, the notches for the key that would fit that lock. Sarah's DNA doesn't have those markers."

"That's impossible." The prophecies, the signs, all of it led to Sarah. All of it, since their three decades of work began -

"I'm still trying! But you have to understand this." Marshall was unexpectedly firm. "It doesn't look like Sarah provides the cure."

And that meant they had no cure at all.

**



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