Prologue: Run, Sydney, Run
Loyalties: A Father Goose Tale
A BTVS – Alias Crossover
Disclaimer:, BTVS characters and canon belong to Joss Whedon et al.
Alias characters and canon belong to JJ Abrams et al.
Not to me. So it goes.
If you are not familiar with Alias:
First, I highly recommend that you beg borrow buy rent or steal the DVD’s for the first two and one third seasons (and I recommend the rest as well, just not so highly).
Secondly, MAJOR SPOILERS
for the first three seasons, starting with the timeline description on this page.
I’ll try to put the major points in the text, but I am going to assume a basic knowledge of the main characters and events of the first two seasons. For a good briefing on the show:
Think James Bond
meets Run, Lola, Run
for the tone. ALIAS TIMELINE:
The story picks up at the end of PRELUDE, the 7th episode of the 3rd season and will be AU
after that. To the best of my recollection and reference, canon up to that point. Season three events taking place prior to Prelude still occur but may be subject to radically different interpretations compared to canon.
Lauren is not evil, at least not in a Sark-banging double-agent way. BTVS TIMELINE:
Canon for BTVS/AtS, and assumes Angel, Spike, and Gunn all died in NFA.
Takes place approximately three and a half years after Chosen and begins a few days after the events described in my previous fic “Father Goose and the Black Knight.”
There may be a few cutesy references, but it will not be necessary to read the previous fic to follow this one. WARNINGS:
Violence, cussing, Xander in the same room with Faith, Sydney, and Irina, so definitely thoughts of sex at the very least. Some motorcycle porn seems likely.
Also, I know just enough about networks, computer security, high-end security systems etc. to have some idea of how much I don’t know. Also, yawn. It’s very possible that at some point Marshall will do something utterly preposterous, technologically speaking. All I can say is, it won’t be the first time.
One last note: While this will be updated regularly, at the very least on a weekly basis, I’m not going to be able to match the almost daily pace of “Father Goose.” Just so you know.
That lamp has a bug killer in it. So we're safe here. Sydney Bristow
Prologue: Run, Sydney, Run
The goon behind Sydney pulled her back and held her down, his hands cold and rigid on her shoulders. She tried to lean forward and found she couldn’t even budge the man. So she leaned back, put her best weapon into play.
She smiled, said,
“Since I guess I’m going to stay awhile,” she nodded wryly at the man behind her, added, “you won’t mind if I get comfortable?” Knowing that what she planned shouldn’t work with pro’s like these and knowing it would anyway. She laid her leg on the table, the slit dress falling away from the smoothly muscled and perfectly tapered limb. She leaned slowly forward, gliding her hands down to undo the strap of her shoe with its stiletto heel.
“Because,” she added, “these shoes are killing me,” and she swapped legs in a swirl of red fabric and slid her hands slowly down again to undo the other shoe so she had one in either hand and she pulled her legs back, bare now as the skirt fell down her thighs to gather around her waist and she giggled. And kicked over the table.
And whirled, twisting free of the man behind her and slamming a stiletto heel into the eye of the goon on her left with a backhand sweep of her left arm. She carried on with her right hand, slamming the second shoe’s sharp point into the ear of the man who’d held her, followed through with a high kick that hammered the heel into the man’s brain and still whirling counter-clockwise pulled her pistol from the holster on her thigh and leaped the fallen table. She shot Allison twice in the chest and once between the eyes for good measure and looked for Sark but he had buried himself under Allison’s body and there was no time. She grabbed her mother’s arm and pulled her to her feet and they ran. She could hear screaming from the club patrons, could hear the heavy boom of her father’s pistol knocking the bodyguards down and clearing their path.
They ran, dodging between tables,
“This way,” her mother shouted, and tugged in turn at Sydney’s hand as the younger woman turned back to fire a shot or two at the pursuit. Sydney gaped and nearly stopped in amazement as she saw Allison stand, blood still leaking down her face and chest, pushing Sark down behind her, shielding him from the gunfire as she shouted at her minions to go after Sydney. And they came, the one angrily pulling the shoe from his eye, the other from his ear, others showing the bloody effects of her father’s marksmanship, but still they came.
“Sydney,” her mother pulled frantically at her arm, “run, Allison won’t kill us but her goons might lose control, we need to run,” and they did and fast, but the guards came even faster, stumbling as Syd’s bullets hit them but still coming.
They burst out into the alley,
“That way,“ Syd yelled, pointing in the direction of the stashed motorcycle.
But then a man loomed out of the darkness, light from the club door catching his ominously scarred visage, a slash across one cheek, a patch over one eye and a grim look in the other and Sydney raised her gun to fire…. -30-
Next: Chapter 1: The Retelling