Salvation

Previously on Alias: Captain Cuckoo went batty, Spy Mommy was sentenced to death, and Syd found out that not only did Spy Daddy rig the explosives, but he also trained her to be a mini-spy. Then she cried about it on Vaughn's shoulder. And we all sighed with unrequited lurve lust.

Parking Garage Rooftop Of Unrequited Lurve Lust And Slightly Embarrassing Mornings After. Virtuous Vaughn and Still Sad Sydney are hanging out on some random garage roof, both sporting sunglasses previously worn by Neo and Trinity, respectively. Vaughn tells Syd that her mother's trial starts tomorrow. Syd, whose hair is pulled back into a French twist that's so tight it looks like her forehead's actually pinned to her skull with industrial " Stanley staples, wonders aloud how long the trial will take. Vaughn surmises that, due to the eighty-six counts of espionage against Spy Mommy, the trial will probably take for-freaking-ever.

Syd is particularly moody today. She turns and demands to see the opening arguments. Vaughn -- convinced that every little thing he does, even if it's just to make it possible for Syd to watch her mother get sentenced to death, will allow him access to the downy glory that is Syd's inner thighs -- informs her that he'll arrange for a closed circuit feed into the Ops Center. This pleases Princess Penumbra, and she totters over to him on her spiky-yet-classy three-inch-heels. Showing that she's still just the girl door, Syd sort of slumps down to Vaughn and whiningly demands that he tell her a joke because, in her current Poe-ian state of mind, she could sure use one. Captain Comedian willingly obliges her with the strategic use of the infamous "Grasshopper Named Doug/Phil" joke that pretty much went out with Pop Rocks and whoopee cushions.

Silly Syd beats Merriment Michael to the punch line, but his hard humor work is rewarded by one of Jennifer Garner's stellar smiles. They both half-heartedly giggle at the lame joke, and Syd looks at Vaughn with the light of love shining in her eyes. Or, I mean, it would be if she weren't hiding behind those Foster Grants. (By the way, I actually inadvertently typed "ears" there instead of "eyes," and that set off a giggle-fest that, for some reason, I felt compelled to tell y'all about; because, like, how funny is it to have ANY light shining in Syd's ears, let alone the LIGHT OF LOVE? Tee hee.)

Conference Room Of Endless Expositions. Sloane's filling in the troops about Sark's activities; namely, he's been working on the development of a bio-weapon synthesized from a heretofore unseen virus. Sloane changes the picture on the screen to show Klaus Richter, the dude that Spy Daddy fed extra doses of morphine to in exchange for the whereabouts of the map to The Bible location. Yeah. I'm out of breath just TYPING that sentence.

Right, so Richter's been exposed to the virus. Commander Cup Runneth Over With Craziness nods at Inspector Dingus to explain about the virus. Dingus brings up a screen shot detailing normal flu antibodies. In comparison, Richter's blood work shows antibodies a thousand percent above normal levels, very similar to the Ebola virus. Only difference? This virus seems to be intent on breaking down bonds between cells. So, Inspector Dingus excitedly blabbles, in a couple of days Richter's body is gonna resemble that inside-out baboon in David Cronenberg's exceedingly disgusting remake of The Fly.

Captain Caca Brains cuts Dingus off with a terse "thank you," and Dingus looks incredibly wounded as he takes his seat. Corporal Cuckoo For Cocoa Puffs goes on to tell his team that Sark managed to get his hands on a medically-equipped 727 in order to transport three patients, all presumably suffering from the same virus as Richter, to a private hospital in Geneva. Why Geneva, you ask? Well, because they make great watches and Sark's an avid timepiece collector, if you really must know.

Okay, actually, the hospital is one of Sark's business fronts, and SD-6 believes that he's assembled a team to study the virus. Sloane informs Syd and Spy Daddy that their objective is to enter the facility and retrieve the research information. They'll be teaming up as a father who needs a kidney and the loving daughter who's lending him one of hers. Sloane's all, I trust that this won't be too much of a stretch for either of you? I mean, since you're so close and affectionate with each other and everything.

Of course, this actually IS a stretch for both of them, and Spy Daddy wants to talk about it just as soon as they're out of the meeting. Jack's all, dude? We should talk. Syd's all, fuck off and die, you sneaky son-of-a-bitch. Jack's all, oh yeah? Well, you must have questions, right? You can either be angry, or informed. Which one's it gonna be? Syd kicks him in the nuts and spits in his face, declaring that the time he comes anywhere near her, she's going to do something a little more permanent to his balls that will make procreation an impossible occurrence for him in the years to come.

Or she just retreats to some random conference room and allows Spy Daddy to whip out his handy bug-zapper interference pen and start to explain his abhorrent actions. He's all, sweetie, I was just doing it for your own good! I didn't want you to be a victim! I realize that, in not wanting you to be a victim, I sort of, well, MADE you a victim to my own selfish needs and wants, but, like, I MEANT well. I just wanted you to be tough as nails and able to see through people's facades, ya know? Is that wrong? Syd's all, uh, YEAH, goober! You should have told me the truth before I ended up at SD-6, you malfeasance-making motherfucker. Spy Daddy's all, YEAH, I KNOW! And don't you think I know how much a fucked that up? I wanted you to join the CIA and team up with me! But Sloane got to you first. Syd's all, yeah? That's a great story, Dad. Can I have milk and cookies and go to bed now? BECAUSE I DON'T BELIEVE A SINGLE WORD OF YOUR FUCKING FAIRY TALE. She stalks out of the room, leaving Spy Daddy alone with his Pursed Lips Of Utter Angst.

Ops Center For Sea-Green Window Glass And Diversionary Plot Points. Syd and Vaughn are following some geeky goon, who tells them that the feed from Mama Hari's hearing will be coming in right on that monitor over there in the corner that we don't give a shit about. As they start to watch, it becomes apparent that there's no judge. Instead, Senator Douglas is making some sort of announcement. Basically, there ain't no trial. Irina's been found guilty on all counts and has been sentenced to death by lethal injection. Oh, and that injection's taking place in exactly three days. Yeah, because ALL death row inmates, especially those specializing in counter-espionage, are iced less than ninety-six hours after their sentencing. Hello? Ted BUNDY, anyone? That guy brutalized countless women, and HE managed to hang around longer than it takes to order and receive Ratchet and Clank from Amazon.

Still, Syd and her French Twist Of Fortification are moderately shocked. Seriously, the new 'do is scaring me quite a bit. It's very Breakfast at Tiffany's for a girl whose main goal in life is to take down a bunch of baddies with several sweetly placed roundhouse kicks. Anyway, Samurai Syd and her Bun Of Brute Force take a seat on the floor of her apartment and write a letter to Deputy Director Devlin about Spy Daddy's responsibility in the Madagascar explosion.

While we listen to Syd's voice-over, we watch her jog through The CIA Park Of Potential Mother/Daughter Reunions. She stops to take a breather and dumps her hand-written note to Devlin into the cup of the "homeless guy" who's actually a CIA sentry. The sentry informs Ops that they have a dead drop, and they send someone to retrieve it.

And then we're at my ninth grade homecoming dance, and Bob Dobeus is asking me to dance. I mumble something about "no, thanks" and then proceed to hit the floor with my best friend Kendra Thraman while the Violent Femmes spit out "Blister in the Sun." Or we're at Foolio's Bistro Of Brouhahas, where the music fluctuates from techno-hypno-spy-disco to circa-mid-eighties-grunge-precursor-pop. Syd's angsting to Will about how she used to want her mom dead, but now she's trying to save her. What is UP with that? Will's all, I know I should say something profound and deep here, but I can't stop thinking about how cute your butt looks in those pants, so I'll just say something about how you did the right thing and then go back to dreaming about your butt.

Syd finally moves on from her favorite subject, namely HER, and asks Will how he's doing. As it turns out, Will got his thirty-day sobriety chip. Now, even though he was never really a drug addict (large vomit scene notwithstanding), he's pretty proud of this false accomplishment. "Oh, by the way," he continues, "you know anybody who needs a car? I'm hockin' mine." Syd's all, whuh? Why? Will's all, hey, some of us aren't international double agents with offshore bank accounts, okay? It's either sell the car or stop paying my student loans, and I can't deal with having bad credit AND a criminal record. Oh, dude. Fuck your student loans. And while you're at it, fuck the IRS. I've been saying fuck you to both of them for years. And I'm none the worse for wear.

Syd tries to offer Will the money, even though they both know he's not gonna go for it. Still, it's something a friend would do. I mean, I wouldn't do it, but I'm not really a very good friend. Any of the three people who still speak to me will attest to that. ["Don't believe it, folks! She lent me Viggo for ten whole minutes once!" -- Sars] Foolio walks over and starts obsessively cleaning plates that are just sitting on the table between Will and Syd. And she's wearing rubber dish gloves. And she's bitching and moaning about being rear-ended by a bunch of frat guys. And I'm wondering why, even though Merrin Dungey is a very talented actress, this character is still even a PART of this show? Enough already! She's got the restaurant, she's not around much anymore -- just give Merrin Dungey her own damn show and BE DONE WITH IT. I don't care what you do with this storyline or this character, as long as you DON'T DO IT ON THIS SHOW.

Blah blah blah, there's a hamburger behind you. Bling blam blooey, restaurant reviewer guy's coming. Flim fling flotsam, I gotta go back to cleaning. Crick crack cupola, I gotta catch a plane. God, was this whole scene even necessary? Viggo! Viggo! Stop playing with that new light saber I bought you and go get me a drink! I thought I could actually make it through this recap without alcohol but I was wrong, wrong, WRONG. Do we have any lighter fluid in the house? Mommy's thirsty.

Back at Ops Center, Vaughn's traipsing along with Devlin, blithering on about Project Christmas and how the KGB developed their own version of the kiddie spy program. Apparently, one of the CIA's Russian contacts sent over a sample of a list of questions that were posed to a bunch of first graders in Russia years ago in order to determine what kids would make good agents in the Soviet Secret Service. Why does this matter? Because the questions are remarkably similar to the questions that appear on a standardized IQ test that's given to first graders in the U.S.