model Kim Smith as Amelia Christophe

Amelia in the Afternoon (Part 2)

  • Rating: PG-13
  • Category: Drama/Action/Suspense
  • Summary: Sydney and Amelia go on their first and last joint mission together.
  • Timeline: Late season 1.
  • Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot, Touchstone Television, and related entities. Amelia is mine and mine alone.

Sloane and Alain Christophe were sitting across from each other in Sloane‘s office. “You’ve made a wise decision, Alain,” Sloane assured him.

“I only hope it was the correct one. Her mother, rest her soul, would have me hanged if she caught even the slightest inkling that Mia was involved in this,” Christophe replied sadly.

Shaking himself free from such thoughts and slightly angry that he had allowed Sloane to see him like that, he perked up when Amelia walked into Sloane’s office.

“Papa!” she cried, rushing to his side.

“Ma belle,” he replied, patting her hand.

“Miss Christophe, let me be the first to congratulate you on being assigned to SD-6,” Sloane told her genuinely.

“What? No. Papa, you didn’t!” Amelia exclaimed.

Alain nodded sorrowfully. “Please give us a moment,” Christophe instructed Sloane.

“Take as much time as you need,” Sloane replied, getting up to leave. Amelia waited until Sloane had shut the door behind him before she began speaking her piece.

“Papa! How could you do this to me?” Amelia exploded. She began to pace the floor anxiously.

“Out of safety for you… and your child. I thought it best to keep you secure within SD-6, one of the stronger divisions within the Alliance. So I’m doing what’s best for you,” Alain said gently.

Amelia hated to admit it, but her father was right. Besides, this allowed her to find the leak for the Man. She sighed, sinking into the chair beside him. Alain took this as confirmation that she understood.

“Good,” he said professionally, patting her hand again and walking away, leaving Amelia to stew in her thoughts.

Sloane called for a briefing. “Your target is a man named Darien Burns. Second-tier in Khasinau’s organization that knows a lot more than what he doesn‘t. He has information on Khasinau’s next project and has generously agreed to give us what he knows. He has agreed to meet at a club on 47th, and Kaufman called the Society in twenty-four hours,” Sloane briefed them. Amelia, Sydney, and Dixon nodded.

“Who’s going in this time?” Sydney asked.

“I’m eager to send Miss Christophe into the field, so both you and she will go in as our spokespeople,” Sloane replied. Sydney and Amelia shared a smile.

“Marshall?” Marshall nodded, standing up.

“So I was watching Get Smart the other night. Not new episodes, of course, but the reruns on TV Land. It’s amazing what’s on at two in the morning,” Flinkman explained. “Okay, anyway, on this particular episode, Agent 99 had a meeting with a Communist defector, a rendezvous much like yours. Agent 99 used a hair barrette to snap pictures of the information to take back to HQ to safeguard the information. The defector’s higher-ups were never any for the wiser. Now, as you can see, it will easily blend with whatever crazy outfit you can come up with.” Marshall demonstrated the clicking motion of the small camera, which flashed a bright light into his eyes. “Oh, whoa. I forgot to turn the flash off. Look,” he said again. “See? Whoops,” he said, nearly dropping the delicate device.

That night, Sydney, Francie, and Will were eating dinner in Sydney and Francie’s apartment. Francie had tuned the TV to a movie. “Oh look, Syd, look!” Francie said, frantically hitting her best friend’s arm. Then, the sound of a loud blast erupted on the screen.

“Wow. I agree; those are some great effects!” Syd said, quietly absorbed in her dinner.

“The guys who did this movie, like, so deserve an award or something. Even if for only that one sequence,” Francie said, munching on her steak.

“How many times have you seen this movie, Francie?” Will asked incredulously.

“Oh.. six times in the last few weeks,” she replied loftily. Sydney and Will glanced at each other.

“What? I can’t help it if the movie channels repeat it like every hour on the hour,” Francie defended herself.

“You know what? You are in desperate need of a new hobby. Pottery, surfing, yoga…” Sydney told her best friend.

“That’s what I’m sayin’!” Will agreed as the phone rang.

“I got it,” Syd said, licking her fingers.

“Joey’s Pizza,” the voice said.

“Sorry. Wrong number,” she replied.

“Lemme guess,” Francie began. “Another Joey’s Pizza call?” Syd nodded her head.

“And how many Joey’s Pizza calls have you guys gotten in the last month?” Will asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“Enough to last us three lifetimes,” Francie replied, stabbing an asparagus spear onto her fork.

Sydney shook her head again in agreement. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should change our number!”

Vaughn was so deep in thought that he didn’t even greet Sydney as she walked up to the warehouse.

“Vaughn? What’s wrong?” she asked, her alarm antennae going up.

Wordlessly, he walked over to his briefcase and pulled out some black and white surveillance photos, and handed them to her. Sydney bypassed the first few ones. “Sark. Sark. Sark…” she said aloud. But the next ones caught her eye.

“That’s Amelia Christophe!” she said disbelievingly. Vaughn looked at her gravely as she continued looking through them all. He stayed silent until she’d seen the very last pictures. Sydney gasped. In those previous photos, her father and Amelia were having what looked like dinner. Surprised, Sydney returned the images.

“Vaughn, please tell me you have a logical explanation for those pictures,” Syd asked.

“Devlin spoke to your father about the ones he was in with Amelia,” Vaughn began. “Your father killed Amelia’s parents when a nuclear arms deal he was negotiating with them in Glasgow went wrong. He wasn’t aware that they even had a daughter, much less that she’d been adopted by Christophe and trained by the Alliance until a few months ago. Before that, she was working as a freelancer and somehow crossed paths with Sark. They became lovers. And from your father’s last meeting with her in SD-6, she was kidnapped because Sark found out that she was pregnant with his child.”

Sydney shook her head. “Who does she work for then?” she asked.

“We’re not entirely sure. Amelia has an allegiance to the Alliance, but Sark could’ve easily turned her. But your father assured Devlin that he’d got her in his pocket, for lack of a better phrase,” Vaughn explained.

“What’s my counter?” Syd asked, trying to sift through the information that Vaughn had told her.

“Inside the club office, there is a secure broadband connection. One of our guys will be there, and he will take the camera in your barrette and e-mail us the information. Uploading it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes,” Vaughn said.

“Okay,” Syd replied, nodding her head.

“Sydney? Just in case, do not let Amelia near the camera. Because we don’t know for sure what her true intentions are, she should know as little as possible,” Vaughn added.

Syd nodded again.

“How was your weekend?” he asked politely.

Syd looked at him, taken aback. “Good. Francie and I spent most of it watching TV, something I haven’t been able to do with her in months,” she said, smiling at the memory.

“How about you?” Sydney asked.

Vaughn shrugged, grinning. “Oh, the usual. Work. But I was able to catch the Maple Leafs against the Sharks at Weiss’ place on Saturday, though,” Vaughn told her.

“Really? That’s good,” Syd replied, genuinely interested. They smiled shyly and looked away.

The next night, Sydney and Amelia were approaching the Society. “Where’s the camera?” Amelia asked.

Sydney tilted her head to show where she’d placed the barrette in her complicated braided hairdo.

“Oh. I thought I was going to wear it,” Amelia said in an odd voice.

“I’m sorry. Maybe next time,” Sydney said, taking note of her tone of voice.

Noiselessly, they approached the club. The bouncer, sharing a warm smile with Amelia, pulled back the velvet rope and let them pass without being carded. Syd raised her eyebrows at Amelia.

“Old friend. Long story,” Amelia explained, grinning. There was something suspicious about that phrase that Sydney tucked away.

The two women pushed their way through the crowd of gyrating bodies with some difficulty. Eyeing several sweaty male clubgoers, Amelia hesitated briefly but made no moves to leave Sydney’s side. Burns had agreed to meet them at the belvedere in the back of the club. Adjusting her baby blue-tinted sunglasses, Amelia rapped on the door six times, announcing their arrival. A scantily clad woman opened the door and gestured for Syd and Amelia to go in. Behind a veil of cigar smoke, the portly, mustachioed Darien Burns eyed them critically.

“You are here about the refrigerator, yes?” he asked as they took seats in front of them.

“Yes, we’re here to talk to you about the classified ad you placed in the paper,” Syd began.

Darien got the message. Handing over a classified ad from a newspaper, he pointed at one particular spot, which had information encoded in the page.

“Yes, that’s the one,” Amelia said, fiddling with her sunglasses again. Syd angled her head to photograph the information.

“I’m sorry, but the refrigerator had been sold. I lost your number. Otherwise, I would’ve called to tell you,” Darien told them fretfully. Syd and Amelia knew the meeting was over.

“Thank you anyway, sir,” Amelia told him, shaking his hand.

“Perhaps we could do business another time,” he told them, also shaking Sydney’s hand.

“Anytime,” Syd replied.

Quietly, against a backdrop of thumping beats and strobe lights, Amelia and Syd made their way to the front door. Suddenly shots rang out. Instinctively hitting the floor, Syd and Amelia crawled to the closest barricade.

“Who is it?” Syd yelled to Amelia over the commotion.

Amelia pulled out a small handgun from her boot and peeked around the wall. “It’s Sark!” she cried.

Suddenly the glass sheltering the belvedere shattered less than two hundred feet away from them. “I’m going back to Burns!” Syd screamed over the disorder in the club. Amelia nodded.

“I got your back!” she said. Then, amid a hail of gunfire, Syd scrambled her way back to the belvedere. Burns’ bullet-ridden body lay motionless in the seat they had last seen him in. The newspaper he had shown them was gone too. Suddenly Syd was engaged in a fight with one of Sark’s men. Subduing him was easy.

“Amelia! I’m going radio silent!” Syd called over their radios.

Rushing to the club’s office and whispering the password, the CIA operative opened the door anxiously. “What’s going on out there?” he asked, taking Sydney’s barrette and attaching it to the computer.

“Sark crashed the party. How much longer?” Syd asked, breathing hard.

“Almost done,” he said, “got it.” He handed the barrette back to Syd, which she quickly stuck back into her hair.

“Wait,” he said, handing his sidearm to her. “Just in case. I’ve got another one.”

Taking it, she smiled and said, “Thanks.”

The operative returned the smile. “Anytime.”

Syd joined the gunfight but couldn’t find Amelia where she had left her. “Amelia! Where are you?!” Syd yelled over their radios. The club was a mess, and there were still people around, unable to get outside safely. Then, crawling across the floor, Syd thought she heard Amelia coughing.

“Behind the bar,” Amelia croaked. Syd rushed over to where Amelia had been hiding. Holding her chest, Amelia was squirming on the floor.

“Oh my God, are you hurt?” Syd asked.

“Dazed and confused maybe, but not hurt. Look,” Amelia said, showing the bullet hole in her protective vest.

“Let’s get out of here,” Syd instructed her, helping Amelia to her feet.

“What happened to Burns?” Amelia asked, leaning heavily on Syd.

“Dead. The paper is gone too,” Syd replied, kicking open a back door and into the night.

“We’ve figured out Khasinau’s next project. The Man has come up with a way to cryogenically freeze people for more than 24 hours and reanimate them with literally no side effects,” Sloane told Sydney, Dixon, and Marshall.

“Why would he want to freeze people for that long?” Dixon asked.

“There are millions of different reasons. But right now, we don’t have a clue. But sci-tech is decoding the message that Sydney and Amelia obtained further. So we’re not entirely sure if the numbers are correct, or perhaps we were off by an integer,” Sloane clarified.

“Speaking of Amelia, where is she? I wanted to congratulate her on a job well done,” he said to the three of them.

“Mr. Christophe paged her and needed to speak with her,” Syd reported.

“That’s too bad. I’ll tell Amelia when she gets back.”

Sydney sighed. ‘If she ever does,’ she thought to herself.

“Jack!” Amelia cried. Amelia was not contacted by her father but by Sydney’s father. They arranged for a secret meeting near an empty park.

“I heard about your mission. You and Sydney work well together,” he offered her stiffly.

“I’m looking forward to working with her more. She reminds me a lot of you, you know,” Amelia offered. “Is that the only reason you asked to meet me here tonight?”

Jack shook his head, and Amelia looked up at him, smiling eagerly. “Sydney asked me to return these to you,” he began, removing her blue-tinted sunglasses from his trench coat pocket. The smile faded from Amelia’s lips as she took them from him.

“Tell her I said thank you,” she said in a hollow tone, looking at them as if they were an alive grenade.

“I had the CIA’s OST run an analysis on them,” he added. Amelia braced herself for what she knew was going to happen next. An unmarked car pulled up beside them, and two men in suits approached her, one pulling out a pair of handcuffs. She made no move to resist.

“Jack! I’m so sorry!” she said, tears filling her eyes. The two CIA agents moved her to the car. “Wait! Jack, what if I told you that the baby is yours?” Amelia asked desperately.

Jack looked at her emotionless.

“I already have a daughter,” he replied simply.

“You don’t mean that!” Amelia cried.

“I’m not even going to ask,” one of the agents said. Jack unsympathetically watched as they put her in the vehicle. “Bristow, tell your daughter good work,” the other operative told him. Jack nodded as the agent glanced at Amelia.

“She’s been eluding us since the day she turned eighteen. Ten long years. It’s a good thing she picked up on your bait.” Jack nodded again and watched the night enveloped the car.

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