Sydney stood in the line forming in front of the entrance to the Kulturforum Plaza. The line was moving, but not quickly enough. She wanted to be inside and looking around before it got too crowded. Sydney looked down at her simple black evening gown and heels, pulled them from her own closet this time — no extensive wardrobe departments to choose from. Coming here in her own clothes, with her own face and name, alone — it was incredibly dangerous. She felt naked without a persona to hide behind; exposed without Vaughn or Dixon to back her up. But she wasn’t here as an agent, and the only thing she was interested in was finding Will Tippin and getting the truth from him.

"Gutenabend, Fräulein. Einladung, bitte?" the doorman held his hand out for her stolen invitation, and she smiled as she handed it to him. He barely glanced at it before waving her inside.

"Danke," she murmured, as she stepped into the atrium, automatically scanning the hall for security. The crowd was still small, and it was easy to slip into a strategic place to the side of the entry. Sydney wanted to see every person who walked in. She would find The Man, and he would lead her to Will.

Syd took a glass of champagne and drained half to steady her nerves; she had never realized how much she depended on backup until she was without it. She watched the museum patrons filter in from the doorway, all dressed in their evening wear, all looking perfectly at ease, none of them suspicious.

Someone in the entryway caught her eye. No. She was mistaken, she had to be mistaken. But as he turned and saw her, the worry on his face was clear. "No, Vaughn, no, you did not follow me here," she breathed. Sydney put her glass down immediately and walked toward him, trying to move slowly and not attract the attention of anyone who might be surveilling the party.

She was three paces away from him when he seemed to seemed to realize she was walking up to him in public. Vaughn looked away from her, instantly avoiding eye contact. Sydney was suddenly aware of just how dangerous this situation was, and fixed her gaze over his shoulder, intending to keep moving toward the atrium. She brushed past him, almost gasping aloud when she felt his hand close around her arm. Sydney almost stumbled, and swung around, coming face to face with Vaughn.

"Vaughn, you shouldn’t — " Sydney started, but he cut her off.

"Listen, Sydney," he took a deep breath. "We need to talk."

Sydney started to argue that it wasn’t safe for him to be there, but she swallowed her questions as he led her to a set of marble stairs going down to the museum’s basement. As they moved away from the party, the only sound she could hear was the muffled echo of their shoes and the pounding of her heart. They both checked the hall for pursuers, but they were alone.

Vaughn let go of her arm, and pulled a key from his pocket. He motioned her to precede him into the room, clicking on the light as she took in her surroundings. Desk, bookshelves, computer, and a vintage leather couch — they were in the museum director’s office. She spun to face him as he shut and locked the door behind him.

"Vaughn, what are you doing here?" she demanded. "How did you find me? What is going on?" Sydney strode toward him, tense and agitated. "Do you have a lead on Will?"

"Will?" he paused, looked startled. "No, this isn’t about Will. Sydney, please just — just sit down and let me explain." Vaughn’s eyes held hers, and Sydney stared at him for a moment, wanted to continue her questioning. Something in his eyes, both pleading and compelling, made her take a deep breath, turn, and sit silently on the couch.

Vaughn’s eyes left hers as she sat, and shifted to the floor. She watched as he took a deep breath, paced a quick lap from the couch to the desk. She tried to be patient, but just as she was about to start questioning him again, he turned back to her.

"Sydney, I — I, ah, followed you because you came here for answers. Answers from Will," he paused, waited for her to nod agreement. "But Sydney, there isn’t anything he can say to you — nothing will make what he did less painful. I don’t want you to get hurt again."

Whatever his reasons for following her, she had not expected their conversation to take this turn.

"Vaughn…" She started to respond, but he cut her off.

"No, Sydney, I need to say this, ok? What happened between us…" he sighed another deep breath, and then sat next to her on the couch, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"What happened in San Francisco," he began again, "it was the wrong time, Sydney. You were so upset, so vulnerable. It — it would have been wrong." Vaughn stared at the floor intently.

"But Sydney, you have to believe me," he turned to her suddenly, and she found herself riveted by his eyes as his words rolled over her. "There is nothing that I have ever wanted more." His hand came up to her face, stroked her cheek lightly. His gaze flickered to her mouth, and without conscious thought, she leaned into his touch. His thumb traced her lower lip, and Sydney caught her breath as he brushed his lips against hers. She found herself fearing that he would halt this, as he had before. And she waited for him to pull away. But he did not; his mouth only grew more insistent, reassuring, on hers, as he deepened the kiss. The intensity left her reeling, and she parted her mouth, instinctively, just enough to let him in. Just enough to know that this was real, that it was his mouth hot on hers, and that he wasn't going anywhere. Not this time.

He slipped his fingers from her cheek, warm down her neck, over the thin straps of her dress, down to her shoulders, where they stopped. And then his mouth followed, darting tiny kisses over her chin, her neck, until he found the edge of her dress. And then he traced the dipping neckline, agonizingly slow, and she arched against him as his lips moved lower and lower.

Never going anywhere, she thought. He wasn't going to stop, wasn't going to leave her, but —

"This can't - it can't...how could this ever work?" she murmured — something from her subconscious that was always there, at some level, between them.

He pulled away, just slightly, and she could feel the cool, wet path of his lips. "There is a way it can work, Sydney." Back to her, now, and lower. "I promise you, Sydney. There is a way. You just have to trust me."

And back again, his hands sliding around to her back, searching for the zipper.

"How, Vaughn?" Her words half lost in a moan. He never got a chance to answer her, because the locked door burst open in a hail of splinters. A shadowed figure stood in the doorway, gun pointed at Vaughn’s head.

"Daddy?!" Sydney gasped. "What are you doing?!" She leapt up from the couch, putting herself between Vaughn and the dangerous end of her father’s Walther. Her cheeks were burning as she pulled up the strap of her dress.

"Sydney," Jack’s tone was disturbingly businesslike. "Go upstairs, and down the right hallway. There is an exit there, with a car waiting. I’ll see you in a few hours." The gun never wavered.

"Dad, I don’t understand," Sydney tried to keep the panic from her voice. "What are you doing here? This isn’t — I mean, we weren’t," she stammered. Her face felt like it was on fire. She took a cautious step forward, and put her hand on her father’s arm, gently tried to get him to lower the weapon. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Vaughn standing with his hands raised. His expression was tense and fearful, but showed none of the confusion she felt.

"I would suggest that Agent Vaughn explain my presence here, but I suspect he would lie to you again. Sydney, I will tell you everything, but now is not the time. You are in danger, and I need you to listen to me." Jack shifted his gaze from Vaughn to Sydney for a second, but his attention snapped back as Vaughn lowered his hands.

"Jack, this is a mistake, a misunderstanding — " Vaughn began.

"Get your hands where I can see them, Agent Vaughn. This is not my mistake, and you know it," Jack’s voice was still cool, but Sydney could hear the threat.

Vaughn shook his head, "Jack. Don’t do this."

"Don’t do what, Agent Vaughn? Don’t tell Sydney you have been working against her since the day you met? Don’t tell her you have betrayed the CIA for years as a mole for Khasinau?" Jack spit the last word — his hand, and the gun, never wavering. Sydney tried to regain control of her spinning thoughts, tried to comprehend her father's explanation.

"Dad, you can't — you can't be serious!" she cried. "Vaughn would never - "

"Sydney, I have evidence that this man has been betraying the CIA, betraying you. But I think all the evidence you need is right there."

She followed his gaze, shifting her eyes away from the gun until they met Vaughn's. And then it was all clear to her, and she knew.

Sydney stepped closer to her father — closer to the only person she could trust now, she thought — and felt the tears welling in her eyes. "How could you?" she whispered. "How could you say all those things and tell me to trust you, when all the while — "

" — he was working against you," her father continued, and the fury in his voice surprised her. "He was jeopardizing your cover, trying to…seduce you. He put you in danger. Put us both in danger." The gun in her father's hand shifted slightly — aim adjustment, she thought — and she followed its potential path. Vaughn's forehead, and she realized that Jack had every intention of killing him.

And despite her anger, the sick feeling of betrayal, she could not let him do it.

"Dad, no," Sydney choked out. "I need to know why." She forced herself to look into Vaughn’s eyes, forced herself to believe that she could never trust him again.

"Sydney, it doesn’t matter why he — " Jack cut in.

"It matters to me," she said, tried to keep her voice from shaking.

"It shouldn't matter, Sydney!" Her father's voice shook with anger. "You want all these answers, from Agent Vaughn, from your mother. They have no answers! The only thing you've accomplished by chasing after these explanations is your own pain."

And his, too, she knew, but Jack did not mention that. "I know Dad, I know. I just — " She glanced at Vaughn's terrified eyes. " — I just can't watch him die."

"Then I suggest you step outside," Jack responded.

"No! Dad — Dad! Listen! There has to be another way! We can take him back to LA, we can take him to Devlin. He — he has information that the CIA needs, that we need, Dad," Sydney pleaded. "He must know where Will is, and — "

Her eyes widened and she felt a fresh rush of tears as she realized the truth. "Will wasn't working for Khasinau, was he? It was you, all along. Not Will."

Vaughn nodded, but even through her anger she still feared her father would pull the trigger — too much emotion built up within her over the last year to dissipate suddenly. But Jack relaxed his arm slightly, lowered the gun a bit, and his usual emotionless mask began to replace the angry lines of his face.

"Dad, we have to find Will," she said. "He's here all alone, and he wasn't — he was never — " she sobbed. "Who knows what they've done to him? What you've done to him!"

She glared at Vaughn, trembling with anger.

"I know where he is," Vaughn said quietly. "I can help you find him." He took a cautious step toward the door, and halted immediately when Jack snapped his arm — and the gun — back up.

"You're not going anywhere, Mr. Vaughn. You think I don't see what you're trying to do?" Jack asked.

"I’m not try— "Vaughn started, but Jack cut him off with a glare.

Sydney was unable to tell if Vaughn truly wanted to help, or was only trying to get her father to lower his gun. Her eyes were burning with tears, and she couldn’t keep her mind from replaying all the moments when she had run to Vaughn for help, for comfort, for everything. How was it possible that he had been lying for so long?

"Dad. Are you sure? I mean…are you really sure about this?"

Jack shot her a quick look, slipped a hand into his suit jacket, and pulled out a manila envelope. Sydney opened it and gasped. She had not expected pictures of this man, lying on the ground with a bullet hole in his head.

"Dad, I don’t understand," Sydney began.

"You know who that is," Jack said.

"It’s Vaughn’s father, after…after Mom," Sydney couldn’t make herself say the words.

"My father? What do you mean, my father? I don’t understand — " Vaughn’s voice was suddenly urgent, and he took an unconscious step forward. Jack made a small gesture with the Walther, and Vaughn froze.

"Show him the pictures, Sydney," Jack’s voice had become calm and unemotional again.

Sydney looked up into Vaughn’s eyes — he stared back for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the pictures in her hand. She took a single step forward, and held the sheaf of pictures out to him. Tried without success to keep her hand from trembling as he took them from her.

Vaughn's eyes widened in shock as soon as he got a clear angle on the first picture, and he stood completely still for a few moments, gaze fixed on the horrific image. Sydney wasn't so sure she didn't hate him at this point, but her chest still tightened reflexively as he sank slowly to the couch.

"He was on a mission," he whispered, the pictures slipping through his hands and scattering all over the floor. "He was on a mission." Tears formed in his eyes, quickly welling over to slip down his cheeks, but Vaughn made no attempt to wipe at them. He glanced down, instead, at the pictures on the floor, as if he needed confirmation. "He was supposed to be on a mission."

"Mr. Vaughn, you were taken in and lied to by Irina Derevko, just as Sydney and I were," Jack said, voice crisp and unsympathetic. "She told you that your father was working for her side, that he had turned to her organization to help fight corruption in the Central Intelligence Agency."

Vaughn nodded, his eyes dark and pained, tears still flowing freely from them. Sydney suspected that he already understood what had happened — that her father was continuing for her benefit. "She told you that your father faked his death to fool the CIA, so that he could go on a deep-cover mission for Khasinau."

Jack paused, and part of Sydney still wanted to hate him — might hate him forever, if anything had happened to Will — but part of her wanted to walk to the couch, hold him in her arms. "I think — " Jack continued, glancing down at the pictures " — it is obvious now that she has been lying to you all of these years."

"Yes," Vaughn said softly, dully. He covered his face with his hands and sat silently, as if the truth was too much to bear all at once and he had to keep some of it out. Again Sydney had to fight the urge to walk over to the couch and comfort him. But she thought of Will, his face when he told her that he wasn’t going to ask any questions, when he said he just loved her. What had he been through because Vaughn betrayed her? She thought of how Vaughn comforted her after Will’s "death" and felt sick.

She could not afford to have feelings for this man.

They had to get to Will, make sure he was safe. Then, later, she could think about Vaughn.

"Where is he, Vaughn?" Sydney’s tone was sharper than she intended, but it was better that way.

"Who?" he asked, tears still on his cheek, eyes still on the photos of his father’s body. Sydney pushed down the sympathy that welled in her; she had to get to Will.

"Will. Where is he, Vaughn?" she tried to keep her voice steady, to keep emotion out of this conversation. He turned his face to her, and she bit her lip at his expression. His pain was written so plainly on his face that it hurt her to look at him. He drew a hitching breath and gestured at the door.

"He’s — he’s in a room down the hall. She didn’t — she didn’t hurt him. I don’t think she hurt him," he whispered.

"Stand up," Jack ordered. "Show us where she is holding him. And if you think you can mislead us, you are mistaken."

Vaughn sat still and silent, then bent to gather the photos he had dropped. He stacked them neatly, eyes unfocused, and pushed them into the envelope. He closed his eyes, then turned to Jack and Sydney. He held out the photos, and after glancing at her father, Sydney took them from him.

Vaughn moved towards the door, paused with his hand on the knob. "I know…I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. But I’m going to make sure that Will gets out of here safely." Sydney tried to see past the pain in his eyes, but it was too much. She couldn’t trust him, she shouldn’t. But Vaughn was her only link to Will. And Will was her responsibility.

"Sydney?" Jack gave her a questioning glance as he shifted the Walther into a more discreet position. She nodded in response to her father, and motioned Vaughn out the door.

* * *

It was, Will thought, an odd way to take one's first ride in a limousine. His hands were cuffed tight behind his back, feet tied together with something that pinched, mind still a little groggy from a syringe full of something awhile back. Alone, for now, and waiting for something — some person, some resolution of his current situation. The seats were soft, at least.

He shifted around a bit, tried to sit up and see out the window. The tinted privacy window hummed as it slid down, and an accented male voice cut through the darkness, warning him. "Be still, Mr. Tippin."

Will obeyed, sank back into the seat, both frustrated and dizzy. "It would be a whole lot easier to sit still if somebody would just tell me what the hell is going on. What do you people need with me?"

The driver was silent, his only response the hum of the window as it rolled back up.