Here’s my first post-resurrection fic, a one parter, with Sydney and Sark on the run – searching for answers about Jack. If you are looking for detailed answers, this is not the story to read. But I do give some resolution to the situation.
Rating: PG-13 for some death and innuendo. And as always: I own nothing except the storyline. All the rest belongs to JJ.
The title and words in italics are a poem by Jewel.
Still Life
Orange
Tired eye
Dry upon the table
Constant longing
In love with the sun
Her eyelids ached to close. She gave in as she sunk further into the white, warm bubbles that smelled faintly of chamomile and lavender.
She sensed him before she saw him – just a face and then a figure passing by her door, pausing briefly than on its way. He never came in – just watched her. Normally it would have made her uneasy, being watched like that, especially by him. But this time it was different.
He was protecting her.
Not that he would ever have admitted it. But he was just the same.
She closed her eyes again – giving in to the bone deep weariness that her life had become.
The constant running was terrifying. They had both learned how to blend into a crowd. But they had never expected to do so for this long a period of time. She kept waiting for them to stumble somehow. Life always fell apart on her no matter how hard she tried.
It had fallen apart on her regarding her father – her father whom she had come to trust; the father who had betrayed her on the deepest level.
She had not yet come to terms with what she had learned that night in Wittenberg. But she was searching for more answers. Searching – with him by her side.
Not the one anyone would ever have thought. The other one – the one that nobody ever believed would be on her side; the one that she had broken out of CIA custody and was now playing a game of hide-and-seek with.
Sark.
He walked by her door. He could smell the bath salts.
Chamomile and lavender. She must be feeling particularly low today.
He paused by the door but kept walking. She avoided him at night. He kept watch while she slept. They moved during the day. It was like they were strangers; strangers who lived together.
It wasn’t what he had imagined – a partnership with her. Before he had imagined them working together to bring down the Alliance, guns blazing, and kicking ass. And they had worked together briefly in Japan; her for the antidote, him for Sloane. He wanted it to be like that – spying, playing a game, and having fun. Not this constant running.
They were working together now. But they were working to stay alive, to stay hidden from the world – while searching discretely for answers.
He owed her his life. It was as simple as that.
He had no conventional morals – he killed for a living, he tortured others by the request of his employers, and he had no problem f***ing another man’s wife, as deceitful as she was anyway.
But he did understand the value of such a debt.
At first, when she approached him in the cell about a partnership – he entered into it with the intention of betraying her, leaving her to fend for herself once he was out.
But he could not leave her. Suddenly he understood what Irina had gone though – betraying and leaving her family.
He mocked her goodness while he secretly never wanted her to lose it. He pushed her limits while he protected her.
He was with her day in and day out. And he had come to respect her.
He had never respected anyone before – but he respected her.
So he only paused briefly at her door, drank in the scent of the bath mixed with the scent of her presence, and he left her to keep watch the rest of the night.
The next day they left this city and changed aliases. They were on the move again – following another probable dead end, searching for the unobtainable.
But still they went.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dawn
Fiery arms
That wish only
To embrace a sea
Too big to be held
She was searching for a safe haven in the madness. The one thing she desired was safety, stability, and normalcy.
She had never experienced true normalcy and it was doubtful she would now. But she still wished for it.
He wished for his old life. Or, if not all of his old life, he wished for certain aspects of it.
The fast cars, the fast women, the fine wines, and the clothes – Armani, Prada, Gucci, and whatever else he desired.
Now he was driving across the South American countryside in worn denim and a simple gray tee. The woman sitting beside him had her face hidden with large black sunglasses and a floppy brimmed straw hat, her clothes complimenting his – denim and cotton.
They looked like a young couple on vacation. They looked normal. But they were anything but.
They reached the airport in Santiago and boarded a plane headed to Bangkok. She had a contact in Thailand that she hoped would come through. For her sake – and his, he hoped they would. The constant running was never a life he had wanted to live.
He had wanted to retire and live on his sprawling estate in Russia. He loved Russia. Russia was his one and only true love. Russia suited him. And he suited Russia.
But now he was running. Running towards something, running away from something – he did not know anymore.
They reached Bangkok and drove to the dingy hotel. It was yet another in a long line.
Her contact had come through, however. There were documents, in a safe, in a business building in the middle of the city. These documents would tell her all she needed to know. They belonged to her mother.
She felt like she was running in circles. The only thing that kept her going was the promise of the truth.
She crawled into bed, exhaustion her constant companion.
She drifted off to sleep – fitful, nightmarish sleep – while he watched her.
He was about to drift off to sleep as well, when his body suddenly became upright and alert.
There was a noise – an unfamiliar noise. An intruder. It was time to do his job.
The outside door leading into their room was open – swinging in the night breeze. He heard shuffling around the kitchen area. Hiding in the shadows, he made his way down the short hallway of the hotel room.
There was only one intruder – but he could see more outside in the parking lot. He knew then what it was. It was a CIA mission. Come to take him in and kill him, and to either rescue or persecute her.
He pulled the knife out of his boot. His skills as an assassin came to him naturally as he quietly slipped behind the agent and slit his throat.
The agent made a strangling noise, his body jerked, and then he sunk down to the floor – dead. He took the gun out of the agent’s hands and shot out at the rest of the team.
It was those gunshots that woke her up. She walked down the hallway cautiously – still wearing her clothes from earlier.
She found the body of the agent, and recognized the face. She froze in terror as he stopped shooting to drag the body out of the hotel room.
He left it in the parking lot for the team to pick up as they sped away.
She was shaken. They had gotten so close to her this time. She was not running fast enough, she was not finding answers fast enough.
They moved up the timetable and went after the documents an hour later.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bones
Why do I even try?
A constant ache
A constant dry thirst
A scratch beneath
A sheet of steel
She struggled with the decoding device tonight. Her hands were still shaking from the encounter earlier in the evening.
Inside the safe were documents – documents that would either redeem her father, or condemn him forever in her eyes. She almost didn’t want to see them. After all, she was halfway to forgiving him already – and shouldn’t she let sleeping dogs lie?
But she couldn’t. She never had been able to. No matter what she found, she had to look; she had to know the truth.
Finally she got the documents, but decided not to look at them there. She had to prepare herself. And she felt uneasy that night.
The atmosphere in the quiet building was gray – with dark anticipation. She was so rarely afraid, but tonight it lived inside her, growing stronger every second.
The intruder from earlier shook her nerves, for he had been CIA. They had found her. He had come to take her back. And not to the life she once knew.
There was only one reason the agent had failed.
Her protector.
Suddenly she was surrounded. They were back. Or they had followed the two rogue spies.
“CIA. Freeze.”
She thought she might die there on the spot. She recognized the voice well.
Vaughn.
The man who she had loved too much – and lost. The man who she no longer loved – and had left so easily. The man who knew the truth about her father – and did not tell her.
She turned to face her former lover. Her heart was ripped out of her chest. The tears in her eyes threatened to fall but she gained her composure and began to devise a plan of escape.
His gun was trained on her – a pained look in his eyes. He did not want to be doing this. But she had given him no choice the moment she ran.
She was outnumbered, but she had the rush of adrenaline. With that she could do anything.
Suddenly he was there by her side. The other man. Both of his hands held guns – guns that were firing rapidly.
He jerked his head to the side and she began to run while he ran and shot, ran and shot.
She picked up a gun from one of the fallen agents and began shooting as well.
It all happened so fast – she had no time to react. One of the many flying bullets entered into Vaughn’s neck straight to the artery. He went down. Others stopped to see to him, but the two kept on running. She looked back only once, and very briefly.
Blood was everywhere – the life seeping out of him quickly. It could not be stopped. The last thing he saw was her face.
It wasn’t until an hour later, when they were on yet another flight that she allowed herself to go back to that moment.
They did not know whose bullet it was that hit him – and it was better that way. He could live with killing the CIA agent, but even with all the betrayal, she could not. So they assumed it was him.
The file was left unopened still.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Non-vision
A strange hour
Neither awake nor dead
Just asleep
In a room
That dreams itself
Into being
He took her to Russia after the plane crash declared them dead. She was now included in his retirement plans.
Russia was no longer his only true love.
It was a year later and the file remained intact. She walked around the mansion, the estate grounds like a ghost. She was in between the living and the dead. He hated seeing her like this.
The only time she came alive was in his arms at night. Then her body shimmered with fire. But it was not enough for him. He wanted it all. There was only one way he could have it. She had to know.
He contacted the one person that knew they were still alive.
Irina.
She came quickly. He handed her the file. One afternoon, a dark afternoon filled with the promise of snow, she pulled her daughter aside and opened the black folder.
Her daughter read the documents and cried until all her tears had been used up. She knew what she had to do to find peace.
She left.
There was a hole in his heart when she left. She had not disappeared into the night. It had been a calm discussion between the two. He had let her slip through his fingers because he knew he could not make her whole.
But she made him whole.
And still he let her find her way. He could only hope that she would come back to him. Her mother also left him – back to her own life in hiding.
He was truly alone. At one point in his life, this was what he had wanted. But that was not the case any longer. Russia was no longer home without her.
Another year passed. He heard news of her, traveling aimlessly. She was still running, and still searching for peace.
She was not running alone, but he had not heard that. She was not running at all, actually.
She was with her father. She was traveling with her father.
The documents had not redeemed him fully, but they had also not condemned him. What they had done was allow her to give him a chance to explain. However, she was now an enemy of the CIA – after breaking out a known terrorist and being an accessory to the killing of two agents.
Her father would meet her once a month, always in a separate location. She would do analysis work for him, and they would speak of the past. He would explain his choices to her honestly. And she would listen.
It was at their last scheduled meeting that things changed for the worse yet again. But this time it was not a father’s betrayal. It was not a daughter’s betrayal. It was a CIA taskforce betrayal.
Her father had been under investigation for the past four months. They tracked him to the meeting. Just as they were about to part ways – both having achieved peace – the agents came in, knocking down the door with brutal force.
He sacrificed his freedom to save her. He distracted the agents, allowing her to escape through the back door. It was there that Jack Bristow was taken into custody for contacting an enemy of the United States.
But he was at peace over the affair, for he knew it would never stick. He knew too many CIA secrets, had too many contacts to remain a prisoner for long. They would either kill him, or he would escape.
His wife would see to that.
His daughter was free though, and that is what mattered to him. She was free and finally at peace.
The dark cell was no prison to him as long as he knew that.
She was no longer trapped in the darkness of her own fears, fears of betrayal. They were all swept away and she realized something important.
She missed Russia – and she missed the promise of safety that was housed in the vast country with the surprising man that she loved.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Conspiracy
A million watery ears
Beneath our skin to hear
That we all want to be each other
(that we already are)
She slipped into Russia undetected, even by him. When his security system alerted him to the presence of another individual, he never thought it would be her. He prepared for an assassin who had finally found him.
He shot her before he recognized her.
She screamed in pain as she crumpled to the ground, her leg throbbing, housing a bullet.
His eyes opened wide with shock. And then pain. He had just shot her. The one he had hoped would come back to him finally did. And he had welcomed her back by shooting her.
He bent down and looked into her eyes. There was pain in them, but there was also mirth. She started laughing despite the fire she felt around the entry wound.
There was nothing he could do but chuckle as well.
She was not dead, the wound was not fatal. He nursed her back to heath, though months later she still had a limp when she walked.
He bought her a fancy cane that she used to walk around the house, and around the grounds. This time when she walked she was not haunted. She was peaceful. And so was he.
They heard through Irina that the official CIA story was that Jack Bristow had been executed as a traitor. But they also were told that this was a cover. Jack had disappeared, escaped so easily and evaded detection that the CIA had given up.
He was working with Irina, doing what he did best. One day he might come to Russia, but only when he was ready to settle down. He was not there yet. He lived too much for that life.
There were times that the two missed the game. They still sparred in the training room to remain in shape – for they never knew when someone might come for them. But for the most part, they enjoyed their retirement.
But nothing lasts forever. While the CIA had given up on her father, they still searched for her – led by Weiss. Once she had turned up with Jack, they assumed that Sark was still alive as well. Weiss still grieved the death of his best friend, and blamed them for it.
Irina contacted them with a warning. The Americans had not found their haven in Russia – but they wanted to keep it safe. So they left in the middle of the night to run yet again. But this time they wanted to be found. They wanted to smoke out the CIA and then fake their deaths. So they could go back to Russia in peace.
It happened in Prague. Weiss and the team of agents saw them enter the building, saw the building explode, and had the DNA from two charred bodies tested. Technically – it was a match.
They all knew that such deaths could be faked – and had been in similar ways before. However, until intel surfaced that showed them alive, their files were closed and all searches were halted.
They traveled back to Russia and were met by her mother and father. They did not stay long, just enough time to share some tears and some laughter.
The two globe trotters left for their next exotic location. The other two remained.
They were in Russia. They were home.
FIN
Rating: PG-13 for some death and innuendo. And as always: I own nothing except the storyline. All the rest belongs to JJ.
The title and words in italics are a poem by Jewel.
Still Life
Orange
Tired eye
Dry upon the table
Constant longing
In love with the sun
Her eyelids ached to close. She gave in as she sunk further into the white, warm bubbles that smelled faintly of chamomile and lavender.
She sensed him before she saw him – just a face and then a figure passing by her door, pausing briefly than on its way. He never came in – just watched her. Normally it would have made her uneasy, being watched like that, especially by him. But this time it was different.
He was protecting her.
Not that he would ever have admitted it. But he was just the same.
She closed her eyes again – giving in to the bone deep weariness that her life had become.
The constant running was terrifying. They had both learned how to blend into a crowd. But they had never expected to do so for this long a period of time. She kept waiting for them to stumble somehow. Life always fell apart on her no matter how hard she tried.
It had fallen apart on her regarding her father – her father whom she had come to trust; the father who had betrayed her on the deepest level.
She had not yet come to terms with what she had learned that night in Wittenberg. But she was searching for more answers. Searching – with him by her side.
Not the one anyone would ever have thought. The other one – the one that nobody ever believed would be on her side; the one that she had broken out of CIA custody and was now playing a game of hide-and-seek with.
Sark.
He walked by her door. He could smell the bath salts.
Chamomile and lavender. She must be feeling particularly low today.
He paused by the door but kept walking. She avoided him at night. He kept watch while she slept. They moved during the day. It was like they were strangers; strangers who lived together.
It wasn’t what he had imagined – a partnership with her. Before he had imagined them working together to bring down the Alliance, guns blazing, and kicking ass. And they had worked together briefly in Japan; her for the antidote, him for Sloane. He wanted it to be like that – spying, playing a game, and having fun. Not this constant running.
They were working together now. But they were working to stay alive, to stay hidden from the world – while searching discretely for answers.
He owed her his life. It was as simple as that.
He had no conventional morals – he killed for a living, he tortured others by the request of his employers, and he had no problem f***ing another man’s wife, as deceitful as she was anyway.
But he did understand the value of such a debt.
At first, when she approached him in the cell about a partnership – he entered into it with the intention of betraying her, leaving her to fend for herself once he was out.
But he could not leave her. Suddenly he understood what Irina had gone though – betraying and leaving her family.
He mocked her goodness while he secretly never wanted her to lose it. He pushed her limits while he protected her.
He was with her day in and day out. And he had come to respect her.
He had never respected anyone before – but he respected her.
So he only paused briefly at her door, drank in the scent of the bath mixed with the scent of her presence, and he left her to keep watch the rest of the night.
The next day they left this city and changed aliases. They were on the move again – following another probable dead end, searching for the unobtainable.
But still they went.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dawn
Fiery arms
That wish only
To embrace a sea
Too big to be held
She was searching for a safe haven in the madness. The one thing she desired was safety, stability, and normalcy.
She had never experienced true normalcy and it was doubtful she would now. But she still wished for it.
He wished for his old life. Or, if not all of his old life, he wished for certain aspects of it.
The fast cars, the fast women, the fine wines, and the clothes – Armani, Prada, Gucci, and whatever else he desired.
Now he was driving across the South American countryside in worn denim and a simple gray tee. The woman sitting beside him had her face hidden with large black sunglasses and a floppy brimmed straw hat, her clothes complimenting his – denim and cotton.
They looked like a young couple on vacation. They looked normal. But they were anything but.
They reached the airport in Santiago and boarded a plane headed to Bangkok. She had a contact in Thailand that she hoped would come through. For her sake – and his, he hoped they would. The constant running was never a life he had wanted to live.
He had wanted to retire and live on his sprawling estate in Russia. He loved Russia. Russia was his one and only true love. Russia suited him. And he suited Russia.
But now he was running. Running towards something, running away from something – he did not know anymore.
They reached Bangkok and drove to the dingy hotel. It was yet another in a long line.
Her contact had come through, however. There were documents, in a safe, in a business building in the middle of the city. These documents would tell her all she needed to know. They belonged to her mother.
She felt like she was running in circles. The only thing that kept her going was the promise of the truth.
She crawled into bed, exhaustion her constant companion.
She drifted off to sleep – fitful, nightmarish sleep – while he watched her.
He was about to drift off to sleep as well, when his body suddenly became upright and alert.
There was a noise – an unfamiliar noise. An intruder. It was time to do his job.
The outside door leading into their room was open – swinging in the night breeze. He heard shuffling around the kitchen area. Hiding in the shadows, he made his way down the short hallway of the hotel room.
There was only one intruder – but he could see more outside in the parking lot. He knew then what it was. It was a CIA mission. Come to take him in and kill him, and to either rescue or persecute her.
He pulled the knife out of his boot. His skills as an assassin came to him naturally as he quietly slipped behind the agent and slit his throat.
The agent made a strangling noise, his body jerked, and then he sunk down to the floor – dead. He took the gun out of the agent’s hands and shot out at the rest of the team.
It was those gunshots that woke her up. She walked down the hallway cautiously – still wearing her clothes from earlier.
She found the body of the agent, and recognized the face. She froze in terror as he stopped shooting to drag the body out of the hotel room.
He left it in the parking lot for the team to pick up as they sped away.
She was shaken. They had gotten so close to her this time. She was not running fast enough, she was not finding answers fast enough.
They moved up the timetable and went after the documents an hour later.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bones
Why do I even try?
A constant ache
A constant dry thirst
A scratch beneath
A sheet of steel
She struggled with the decoding device tonight. Her hands were still shaking from the encounter earlier in the evening.
Inside the safe were documents – documents that would either redeem her father, or condemn him forever in her eyes. She almost didn’t want to see them. After all, she was halfway to forgiving him already – and shouldn’t she let sleeping dogs lie?
But she couldn’t. She never had been able to. No matter what she found, she had to look; she had to know the truth.
Finally she got the documents, but decided not to look at them there. She had to prepare herself. And she felt uneasy that night.
The atmosphere in the quiet building was gray – with dark anticipation. She was so rarely afraid, but tonight it lived inside her, growing stronger every second.
The intruder from earlier shook her nerves, for he had been CIA. They had found her. He had come to take her back. And not to the life she once knew.
There was only one reason the agent had failed.
Her protector.
Suddenly she was surrounded. They were back. Or they had followed the two rogue spies.
“CIA. Freeze.”
She thought she might die there on the spot. She recognized the voice well.
Vaughn.
The man who she had loved too much – and lost. The man who she no longer loved – and had left so easily. The man who knew the truth about her father – and did not tell her.
She turned to face her former lover. Her heart was ripped out of her chest. The tears in her eyes threatened to fall but she gained her composure and began to devise a plan of escape.
His gun was trained on her – a pained look in his eyes. He did not want to be doing this. But she had given him no choice the moment she ran.
She was outnumbered, but she had the rush of adrenaline. With that she could do anything.
Suddenly he was there by her side. The other man. Both of his hands held guns – guns that were firing rapidly.
He jerked his head to the side and she began to run while he ran and shot, ran and shot.
She picked up a gun from one of the fallen agents and began shooting as well.
It all happened so fast – she had no time to react. One of the many flying bullets entered into Vaughn’s neck straight to the artery. He went down. Others stopped to see to him, but the two kept on running. She looked back only once, and very briefly.
Blood was everywhere – the life seeping out of him quickly. It could not be stopped. The last thing he saw was her face.
It wasn’t until an hour later, when they were on yet another flight that she allowed herself to go back to that moment.
They did not know whose bullet it was that hit him – and it was better that way. He could live with killing the CIA agent, but even with all the betrayal, she could not. So they assumed it was him.
The file was left unopened still.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Non-vision
A strange hour
Neither awake nor dead
Just asleep
In a room
That dreams itself
Into being
He took her to Russia after the plane crash declared them dead. She was now included in his retirement plans.
Russia was no longer his only true love.
It was a year later and the file remained intact. She walked around the mansion, the estate grounds like a ghost. She was in between the living and the dead. He hated seeing her like this.
The only time she came alive was in his arms at night. Then her body shimmered with fire. But it was not enough for him. He wanted it all. There was only one way he could have it. She had to know.
He contacted the one person that knew they were still alive.
Irina.
She came quickly. He handed her the file. One afternoon, a dark afternoon filled with the promise of snow, she pulled her daughter aside and opened the black folder.
Her daughter read the documents and cried until all her tears had been used up. She knew what she had to do to find peace.
She left.
There was a hole in his heart when she left. She had not disappeared into the night. It had been a calm discussion between the two. He had let her slip through his fingers because he knew he could not make her whole.
But she made him whole.
And still he let her find her way. He could only hope that she would come back to him. Her mother also left him – back to her own life in hiding.
He was truly alone. At one point in his life, this was what he had wanted. But that was not the case any longer. Russia was no longer home without her.
Another year passed. He heard news of her, traveling aimlessly. She was still running, and still searching for peace.
She was not running alone, but he had not heard that. She was not running at all, actually.
She was with her father. She was traveling with her father.
The documents had not redeemed him fully, but they had also not condemned him. What they had done was allow her to give him a chance to explain. However, she was now an enemy of the CIA – after breaking out a known terrorist and being an accessory to the killing of two agents.
Her father would meet her once a month, always in a separate location. She would do analysis work for him, and they would speak of the past. He would explain his choices to her honestly. And she would listen.
It was at their last scheduled meeting that things changed for the worse yet again. But this time it was not a father’s betrayal. It was not a daughter’s betrayal. It was a CIA taskforce betrayal.
Her father had been under investigation for the past four months. They tracked him to the meeting. Just as they were about to part ways – both having achieved peace – the agents came in, knocking down the door with brutal force.
He sacrificed his freedom to save her. He distracted the agents, allowing her to escape through the back door. It was there that Jack Bristow was taken into custody for contacting an enemy of the United States.
But he was at peace over the affair, for he knew it would never stick. He knew too many CIA secrets, had too many contacts to remain a prisoner for long. They would either kill him, or he would escape.
His wife would see to that.
His daughter was free though, and that is what mattered to him. She was free and finally at peace.
The dark cell was no prison to him as long as he knew that.
She was no longer trapped in the darkness of her own fears, fears of betrayal. They were all swept away and she realized something important.
She missed Russia – and she missed the promise of safety that was housed in the vast country with the surprising man that she loved.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Conspiracy
A million watery ears
Beneath our skin to hear
That we all want to be each other
(that we already are)
She slipped into Russia undetected, even by him. When his security system alerted him to the presence of another individual, he never thought it would be her. He prepared for an assassin who had finally found him.
He shot her before he recognized her.
She screamed in pain as she crumpled to the ground, her leg throbbing, housing a bullet.
His eyes opened wide with shock. And then pain. He had just shot her. The one he had hoped would come back to him finally did. And he had welcomed her back by shooting her.
He bent down and looked into her eyes. There was pain in them, but there was also mirth. She started laughing despite the fire she felt around the entry wound.
There was nothing he could do but chuckle as well.
She was not dead, the wound was not fatal. He nursed her back to heath, though months later she still had a limp when she walked.
He bought her a fancy cane that she used to walk around the house, and around the grounds. This time when she walked she was not haunted. She was peaceful. And so was he.
They heard through Irina that the official CIA story was that Jack Bristow had been executed as a traitor. But they also were told that this was a cover. Jack had disappeared, escaped so easily and evaded detection that the CIA had given up.
He was working with Irina, doing what he did best. One day he might come to Russia, but only when he was ready to settle down. He was not there yet. He lived too much for that life.
There were times that the two missed the game. They still sparred in the training room to remain in shape – for they never knew when someone might come for them. But for the most part, they enjoyed their retirement.
But nothing lasts forever. While the CIA had given up on her father, they still searched for her – led by Weiss. Once she had turned up with Jack, they assumed that Sark was still alive as well. Weiss still grieved the death of his best friend, and blamed them for it.
Irina contacted them with a warning. The Americans had not found their haven in Russia – but they wanted to keep it safe. So they left in the middle of the night to run yet again. But this time they wanted to be found. They wanted to smoke out the CIA and then fake their deaths. So they could go back to Russia in peace.
It happened in Prague. Weiss and the team of agents saw them enter the building, saw the building explode, and had the DNA from two charred bodies tested. Technically – it was a match.
They all knew that such deaths could be faked – and had been in similar ways before. However, until intel surfaced that showed them alive, their files were closed and all searches were halted.
They traveled back to Russia and were met by her mother and father. They did not stay long, just enough time to share some tears and some laughter.
The two globe trotters left for their next exotic location. The other two remained.
They were in Russia. They were home.
FIN
