Authorized Personnel Only

Starting tonight Sydney will be fully canon with said pregnancy. Oh the magic of TM.

Talk about a time you realized that someone close to you was not the person you thought you knew.

We were driving to Santa Barbara, he said he loved me and had to tell me something. It was planned that he was my handler at CIA, his name wasn’t Michael Vaughn….and then we were hit, our bodies thrown in the car and I passed out for I don’t know how long. I woke up for a few seconds and then blacked out again. The next time I woke up the “paramedics” and “police” were taking him away, they were trying to give me some kind of “medication” that I didn’t need. I tried to run towards Vaughn, but they shot at me. I ended up running through a corn field and I watched them air lift his body out of there in a black helicopter.

Everyone was questioning me. Dad wanted to go over my story, I played dumb. When he called, I lied. I went to help him, but I wanted to know everything. I got answers to all of my questions, but more were raised; Prophet Five and the Mueller Device.

We found out where this book was held, went to Cape Town to a party at the house where it was. We waltzed, he’d been practicing. We got the book and as we were heading to the extraction point the doctor called and told me I was pregnant, and then we parachuted over the ledge towards the water.

I watched him get shot, God knows how many times in the chest. Helpless as a train passed between us. It was one of the most excruciating moments in my life. Later on I saw him die, helpless again.

And I buried him; the name over his grave is Michael Vaughn, despite what his birth name was.

His real name was Andre Michaux, but he will always be Michael Vaughn to me.

I saw him die. He was shot twenty, maybe thirty times in the chest as I stood there looking on helpless as a train passed over the tracks that separated us. That was the longest, most agonizing minute of my life.

And then at the hospital I just sat there, helpless, as they fixed him for I don’t know how long. No one told me anything about his condition; I just sat there and waited, until my dad showed up.

I got to sit with him for a few moments, his vital organs failing him. We talked about names; I got shot down a few times. We settled on Isabelle, Isabelle Bristow-Vaughn, if the baby is a girl. He got tired, I tried to hold it together and I went to the window and he was gone. His monitor went red and he flat lined. Helpless, they threw me out of the room as they shocked him and then closed the blinds. I wasn’t even there for him when he died. I wasn’t there for Danny and I wasn’t there for him.

They gave me a moment to say good bye, I kissed his hand and they covered his face with a blanket, and they rolled him away. That was a few days ago.

His funeral was today, it was a beautiful; really beautiful. I finally understood how my Dad must have felt. It was a melancholy twist of sadness and understanding when I looked at him as he helped place Vaughn’s body into the hearse.

Underneath the destroying sense of sadness is a sense of hope I have for our child and how much I look forward to meeting this little person that’s going to be perfectly half Vaughn. Also underneath is an overwhelming need for revenge, revenge and truth. I will get both; I will seek both until I fulfill them.

I...I don't know what to say right now.

Vaughn is dead.

He and I, we're going to have a baby.

I'm just really...it's really hard.

Starting tonight at 9:00 p.m. pst Sydney will be active and back with a vengance.

Summer was typically boring so she went silent.

Long time no update, huh?

Things have just been crazy. Planning a wedding is much more time consuming and completely stressful than I ever thought it would be. Maybe we should just elope, Vaughn. ;)

All of that being said, I think I'm addicted to Ambien, seriously. I can't fall asleep with out it and I get really cranky without it, and trust me, me cranky is not a pretty sight.

An odd thing happened yesterday when I was at Whole Foods, I ran into Cindy Parker, my absolute best friend in kindergarten. Remember her Dad? Mom? She looks exactly the same, curly red hair, freckles all over her face. She's married with three kids now, which blows my mind. I guess we all have to grow up sometime. I can't imagine having children, I don't have the time, not to mention I'd probably screw them up. I think Vaughn would literally have a heart attack if I got pregnant, hell I'd have a heart attack. It'll end up being a good thing, when the time is right. Trying to imagine my dad as a grandfather is slightly amusing considering I think he's still learning how to be a father. Maybe that's one of those things that you never stop learning how to be. Like learning how to drive, you think you're the best at it until you rear end someone on the 405 on your way to work, double points if that someone is a celebrity who thinks they own the world, triple points if that celebrity is on the B list and thinks they own the world.

On another note, I need to make more friends. All of mine are dead, in a coma, or in witness protection and that's just not healthy. It's also not healthy to stay in your house and watch movies with your fiance every night.

I’ve seen so much as an agent in the field, things I would never have wished to see, things that stand out in my mind and give me nightmares. The one thing that I remember though, so vividly is the first time I saw my mother after almost thirty years. The first time I saw Irina Derevko she shot me in the shoulder, a move that was made to save my life as I was told later on. This woman looked exactly like my mother had, everything about her screamed Laura Bristow, except her hair. I never remember my mother’s hair being up on her head, my mother always had her hair down, perhaps something that I’ve “inherited” from her along with tucking stray pieces behind my ear.

I remember seeing her and feeling so confused. There was still that six year old inside of me, crying out with joy to see her alive, yet overpowering the child was the angry woman that had learned who her mother really was; an actress and a murderer. Upon her first words, “I’ve waited almost thirty years for this” I felt a fire spark with in me, this unstoppable rage for this woman who ruthlessly played a role of mother and wife, deceiving the two people I believed she loved unconditionally for so many years. This was not my mother, I didn’t have a mother.

It took me a very long time to be able to displace my rage for Irina Derevko, and even come to think of her as the woman who raised me, my mother. There was a time a few years ago where I wouldn’t have told her I was getting married and probably would have gone crazy if she’d shown up at my wedding, but now things are different and the words I last head her say are echoing in my ears and I wonder if she’ll keep her word this time.

Vaughn. You know, I love him, I really do, but there are times when I just want to strangle him around the neck, kick his ass (which I could totally do), or something equally as violent.

Today has been one of those days. We got in some argument about parents. I want to meet his mother, I figure she's going to be my mother in law I should meet her, talk to her, something. He says he hasn't talked to her in ages, which is bull shit. I haven't talked to my mother in ages. I told him that, which probably wasn't smart, but we all know I have trouble keeping my mouth shut when I'm angry. Needless to say his answer was something along the lines of, "Yeah, well your mother is an international fugitive." Which sparked a whole other argument about how my mother killed his father, almost killed me, almost killed Weiss, etc etc. I can't defend what Irina Derevko did to his father or Weiss and occasionally I can't come up with rationale or believe what she's told me for what she did to me, but I can defend certain other things and I think that pissed him off. Imagine, me defending my mother, shocking. I finally feel for her some semblance of what I used to feel, before I knew the truth, and he immediately says that I "can't possibly feel that way". How does he know how I feel? He's not *that* empathetic, he's not omniscient or omnipotent. He's a man and an asinine one at that.

Needless to say we aren't on speaking terms at the moment. Thank GOD he hasn't moved in here yet.

Please leave a one-word comment that you think best describes me. It can only be one word.

No more.

Then copy & paste this in your journal so that I may leave a word about you.

There are times when I’m sitting at Nadia’s bedside when I just burst into tears. At first it happened often, now not so much, but even if I’ve only had her, my sister, for a year I feel as if I’ve had her for my entire life. The love I feel for her is There are times when I’m sitting at Nadia’s bedside when I just burst into tears. At first it happened often, now not so much, but even if I’ve only had her, my sister, for a year I feel as if I’ve had her for my entire life. The love I feel for her is no less than it would have been if we’d been together since birth, I have no doubt about that. She just looks so helpless laying there, wires into her body; monitors beeping, assuring me of her life. It makes me so angry to see her like this, helpless. I remember the last time I felt like this, when Vaughn was in the hospital because of the virus a few years back. I’d forgotten how much it hurts to see those that you love and be virtually unable to do anything for them. I was able to do something for Vaughn, but I fear the only things I can do for Nadia, sit there, hold her hand, talk to her, are not enough. I won’t admit it, not to my father and not to Vaughn, but it tears me up more than I’ll say. I don’t let it show, I’ve been taught how to internalise things like that fantastically, but it does. Sometimes I’ll just be staring off and Vaughn has to bring me back. It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t be consumed as I am, because there is no vengeance to be had. Katya is dead; my mother had the joy of killing her. I should be happy, planning my wedding, but instead I’m at this stalemate. I should tell someone, Vaughn, when he asks what’s wrong…and I’m sure he knows I’m lying when I tell him that I’m fine. He’s a spy and he knows me better than I’m sure I could ever hope to know myself.

Maybe I should see the therapist.

Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe I’ll just continue talking to her, even if she doesn’t answer back, I know she would if it were me.

Syd is going to be put on hiatus for a bit as I'm traveling to London for about a month. I will be gone from June 24th to July 22nd. My internet access will be sporadic. I will attempt to answer the challenges, but who knows how that will work, my guess is it won't. Hopefully I'll have time to do sparse replies to threads etc, but again, who knows.

Have a great summer.

Martha

(x-posting this to: theatrical_fen, dr_in_training, doctor_rasgotra, and open_dicussion)

When my mother died I remember feeling cold. Not like weather temperature, but just cold, like there was no one around me who could put their arms around me. I was six years old and I felt alone. My dad was there, my family was there, I just remember being quiet, succumbing myself in my own thoughts. Thoughts about my mother and how I never got to say goodbye to her, tell her how much I loved her, how I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. I just walked up the stairs of our house, walked into their closer and sat down by her dirty clothes hamper. A dirty sweatshirt of hers lay on the top of it and I slid it over my tiny body so I could smell her and feel close to her. I remember soaking the sweatshirt with my tears, my face completely wet with them. I would never see my mother again, as far as I was concerned I’d lost my best friend, the most wonderful human being in the world. In that corner I felt so incredibly alone, motherless. The one person that could comfort me at that moment was the one I was grieving for. The world could have swallowed me whole and I would have been happy. My mother was dead and I felt like I was alone in the world.

I continued to feel like that was my loneliest moment, break ups with boyfriends, fights with my friends, none of them could top the loss of my mother; not even Danny’s death. The only other moment in my life that could top the false loss of my mother was waking up in a hospital, after learning I’d lost two years of my life. Francie was dead, Will was in Witness Protection, Vaughn had married, and my father was in jail. I lost everything I thought I knew, every thing that was familiar to me in my life was stripped away. I sat there clueless as to what had happened to me, helpless as I learned the people that I loved had moved on with out me. Everything that I knew had changed and I didn’t have any memory of it, I woke up like it was the next day. The tormenting amount of loneliness I felt in those moments is far too large to even begin to describe to anyone to fully understand. I’d lost everything, again. I felt truly alone in the world, no matter who was around.

Sydney Bristow had never been a SD-6 agent nor had she ever stepped into the CIA, she was a teacher of literature at a private high school in Los Angeles. She had always longed to be exactly like her mother, Laura Bristow, who had never been part of Russian Intelligence. Her father, a some what private man, dealt in airplane parts and had tried harder to be part of Sydney’s life than he had in actuality. Even though Sydney had never been part of the SD-6, the CIA, nor APO she and Vaughn had still crossed paths and it was no surprise that during a weekend to Santa Barbara in 2003 when Vaughn had proposed to her by the giraffe with the crooked neck she called her parents first.

“Hello?” Her mother’s soft voice answered the phone call, Sydney smiled.

“Hi, Mom.”

Laura Bristow smiled on the other end of the line and curled the phone cord around a finger, “Sydney, how’s Santa Barbara, sweetheart?”

“It’s great. Is Dad there? I’ve got something I want to tell you guys.”

Laura’s smile grew as she put two and two together, hoping she was right, “Jack! Sydney’s on the phone, pick it up!” Sydney heard her mother holler through the house.

“Sydney, how are you?” Her father’s business like tone was not one he used in this fantasy, it was warm and loving.
“I’m engaged.” She couldn’t keep it inside of her any longer, it was evident in her tone how happy this made her.

Her mother gasped, “Oh, Sydney, really?”

Sydney nodded and proceeded to give her parents the details of the day and how romantic it had been. Her heart’s desire, she thinks, is selfish; to wish her parents were the people she thought they were, to not have lost two years of her life, and to still have Vaughn there. She’d still know Dixon and Marshall and Nadia and Weiss; Sloane would be non-existent. Will wouldn't be in witness protection and Francie would be alive. It would be the perfect world where nothing she’s had to deal with exists, where she’s a normal person with a normal family and normal friends. She’s come to realize, though, that this is far too much to ask and better left to solely being her heart’s desire.

I've decided to stop being a leader and start being a follower.

1. Think of the first word that comes to mind when you think of me.
2. Go to http://images.google.com and search for that word.
3. Reply to this post with one of the pictures on the first page of results -- don't tell me the word.
4. Put this in your own blog so that I can do the same.

Which are you more afraid of: Being too gullible and believing things that aren't true, or being too skeptical and missing out on something important?

To be perfectly honest I’m afraid of being either, there is not one that I am more afraid of being as playing into either would prove to be a huge disservice in the line of work that I do. Being either could easily cost me my life or another agent their life. I remember when my mother was in CIA custody I struggled with this. The tips she gave us, the first one I was too skeptical and compromised the mission and from then on I continued to struggle with being gullible and giving her what she wanted or being skeptical and losing something for the CIA. So many times I heard my father say “This woman cannot be trusted” and at first I wholeheartedly believed him. When he betrayed me and betrayed her by rigging the house with explosives I knew no one could be trusted, yet that was when I began trusting my mother, not because I wanted to, but because she is my mother and I have to believe that despite where her loyalties in her work lay that her loyalty to her daughters is more important. So to answer the question, I am terrified of either as I’ve been burned being both.

When I was eighteen years old I was studying outside for a midterm when a man approached me, told me that I fit a profile and that the US government was interested in working with me. He gave me his card and I walked around with it for a few days before I figured I had absolutely nothing to lose, I had always felt out of place at college and I needed the money. They offered me the job, not exactly within what I thought was the CIA, but a covert branch of the so-called CIA. After the first month I asked if I could test for agent training, the test was easy; they said I was a natural and maybe I was because I advanced quickly. It was exciting; it was the most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to me. Today, when I look back, and realize just how fooled I was by Arvin Sloane and SD-6 it makes me sick to my stomach. But even though that man has put me through perhaps the most painful rollercoaster ride of a life that I would never have asked for, the moment that I was approached to be part of something elite and secret still makes me proud…even though I realize now that it was a disillusioned and planned event courtesy of Project Christmas.

Now there has to be something wrong with this quiz. Sex Skill Level 8%, Flirting Level 4%, Kissing Level 55%? I do not agree with any of that. And I most definitely don't get tongue tied...ever.

Honesty. So much of my life is based on secrets and lies, I want so badly for my children to have an honest life. I want them to be honest in what they do, in what they say. I want to be able to give them honest answers to their questions. I want them to be honest because I believe that honesty leads to integrity, which is something I desperately would want them to have. I want them to be able to look at the honest relationship that Vaughn and I have and know that is what it should be like. I want to be able to say that I have an honest relationship with my children and husband. I want my children to lead from example with the same integrity I plan on showing them. It’s crazy to think about children and how some day that will happen for us, for Vaughn and I. I want them to stay innocent and away from the world of lies and deception, which is why I think honesty is the best value to pass onto them.

If I were to smack anyone with anything, it would not be a fish of all things, but however since the question does request I smack someone with a trout I do hope it’s a rather large trout.

The person I would whack straight in the head with a trout, with blinding force, would be Milo Rambaldi. I know he’s becoming a popular one to smack, but I think if anyone has any right to smack that man with a trout it is either my sister or myself.

This man has been a plague on my life; I’ve lost friends and loved ones to the grips of death and witness protection because of this sick prophet. Because of this man I lead the life I do. I am forced to keep secrets and put my life in danger constantly. Because of this man I was kidnapped. Because of this man I watched my own funeral. I saw my father, standing there on a beach mourning his “dead” daughter. I saw the love of my life, scatter my “ashes” into the ocean and then cry on the shoulder of a friend. Because of this man I was tortured; electrocuted and starved among other things. Because of this man I was forced to continue my life as if I were someone else; Julia Thorne. I had to pretend I was dead, I had to watch the man that I love move on into the arms of another woman and not say a single word. Because of this man something so horrible happened that I had those two years of my life erased from my memory. Because of this man, my eggs were harvested from my body so they could create a child, the child of Milo Rambaldi.

He has created a sick obsession in some to become omnipotent, and has nearly brought the world unto complete desolation, the apocalypse. He’s caused an entire Russian city to perish through these sick obsessions. An obsession that plagued the father of my sister, a man I once trusted. And for some unknown reason my face appears in one of his drawings, I am “The Chosen One” and my sister “The Passenger”, neither of us asked for this, yet we have been thrown into it. He has prophesized that we will fight at some point and both of us will die, something I do not believe to be true. Obsession and Rambaldi go hand in hand, I advise those of you interested in learning about this so-called prophet to limit it to a quick biography, choosing to stay away from delving in to any of his manuscripts and what they “really mean” would be in your best interests.

Your Birthdate: April 17

Your birth on the 17th day of the month suggests that you are very lucky financially, because this date indicates a solid business sense. Although you are probably very honest and ethical, this birthday enables you to be shrewd and successful in the world of business and commercial enterprise. You have excellent organizational, managerial, and administrative capabilities enabling you to handle large projects and significant amounts of money with relative ease. You are ambitious and highly goal-oriented, although you may be better at starting projects than you are at finishing them. A sensitivity in your nature, often repressed below the surface of awareness, makes it hard to give or receive affection.

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Perhaps.