We open up in a movie theatre, one of those retrospectives places like in Foul Play. Man, I love that movie. Shut up. It's cute. And it has Chevy Chase BEFORE he became pathetic and Goldie Hawn BEFORE she started trying to look younger than her daughter. There's a film noir-type movie playing on the screen. Jack enters, looking impressively manly, and takes a seat. He starts talking to someone we can't see about how he has five names, Alliance partners, and he needs their whereabouts and phone records. "Assume the usual protocols have been compromised," he says, leaning over and pressing a piece of paper against some guy's shoulder. As he pushes, the guy kind of falls over and Jack realizes that The Guy is now The Dead Guy. He also realizes that the jig, she is up.
As Jack puts the list back in his pocket and starts to get the hell out of there, some guy with a gun comes up and instructs him to take it easy. Jack's not really a "take it easy" kind of guy, however, and just pulls the gun around, shooting the guy in the chest. No one in the theatre even notices the gunshot, because this is L.A. and they all probably figure that someone's just settling a dispute over who ate the last Milk Dud. Jack gets up to leave. Unfortunately, the theatre is hiding yet another one of (I'm assuming) Face Doneaway's lackeys, and he chooses this moment to come forward and put the grab on old Jacky Boy.
Lackey Number Two is fairly inept, however, and it would seem there are very few men with guns out there who are any match for our Spy Daddy. There's some fairly significant ass-kicking going on, during which we have occasion to glimpse Victor Garber not only doing his own stunts, but also looking pretty goddamn hot while doing them.
After dropping Lackey Number Two with a couple of choice sidearm slams to the throat, Jack makes haste down a back stairway and winds up in the parking garage. Before he can find his keys and locate his Beemer, however, Syd peels around the corner, squeals to a halt, and shouts, "Dad! Get in!" This, of course, echoes the scene from the pilot episode where Jack performed the very same action for Syd. Nice juxtaposition. He gets in, and they go off.
Spy Barbie and her proud papa burn rubber away from the movie theatre (which, according the ensuing car chase footage, seems to be located in a vacant warehouse district to a freeway -- the hell?), and Syd does a damn fine job of driving like a martini-less Diana Ross desperately headed for her watering hole. As they careen around other cars on the road, a big-ass black GMC truck peels out from behind a car and starts following them. Unfortunately, Spy Daddy's too busy bitching out his daughter to notice.
Jack's all, Syd? Honey? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? Squeal. Screech. Syd's all, Kendall called. He was worried that you hadn't checked in since last night. Jack's all, yeah, well, that might be because Face Doneaway and her Minions of Doom are after my ass. Squeal. Screech. Syd's all, whuh? What in the hell is going on? Jack's all, well, someone duped the Alliance out of a hundred million dollars. They're a little attached to their money, you know, and, like, well, they think the person who stole their cash is me. Squeal. Screech.
Syd looks remarkably hot (and remarkably like a young Jackie Kennedy) in her sunglasses, dudes. Seriously. Also seriously, some random CIA dude comes on the line and announces to Syd that she has a couple cars on her tail. Syd picks up speed, and Random CIA Dude gives her driving instructions to her getaway vehicle as Spy Daddy and Syd keep harping at each other.
"How long have you known about this?" snaps Syd. "I didn't tell you because it didn't concern you!" he snaps back. Squeal. Screech. Crash. Syd's all, uh, if the Alliance thinks you're lying to them, they're gonna off you, dude! That SORT OF concerns me! Jack's all, yadda yadda yadda, sweetheart. I'm a wee bit more concerned with THEM suspecting YOU as my accomplice! "That's why I kept you out of it," he grits. Squeal. Screech. Crash. Syd gets her final instructions from Random CIA Dude to hard left it and left it again and her transport, a big ol' empty truck with a ramp, will be right there. She peels around the corner, peels again, and safely hooks them up in the waiting truck. As the chasers come around the corner, the truck starts to drive away with the ramp lifting up, hiding the car. They're home free. ["And then April comes over in one of her skintight jumpsuits and starts tinkering with Kitt's…oh, wait, wrong show." -- Sars]
By the way, production team? You might have wanted to double-check the street before you re-shot the "car peeling 'round the corner" segment. The skid marks from the first, second, and third times you shot the scene were still glaringly apparent the fourth time around. You know. In case you were wondering whether or not we paid attention to that shit.
Oops Center. Jack and Syd walk down the hall as Jack completely recaps Sloane's situation with the Alliance. You know. For those of us that DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO THAT SHIT. As Victor Garber regurgitates the entire "Is She Dead/Isn't She Dead" Auntie Em storyline, we're treated to some flashback shots, including, but not limited to, Auntie Em drinking the "poisoned" wine, Half-Naked Uncle Arvin in the bathroom contemplating the amazing mysterious self-conjuring glass of wine, and Uncle Arvin opening up the box with Auntie Em's finger in it.
Seriously, it's all in there. The entire segment takes little more than a minute and a half, but to recap it? Well, that would take probably a whole page, and really, I'm just not up to it. The last recap was longer than the first half of my imaginary never-to-be-completed novel, and I'm trying to avoid having to do THAT all over again. Don't know what's going on? Really? Read the recaps. That's what they're there for, dudes.
Jack winds up his synopsis, and Syd wants to know why the Alliance investigation is focusing on him. "I was no more a suspect than anyone else," says Jack, "but as they examined my conduct, they realized I had secrets. Elements of my alibi that, because of our work for CIA, I can't fully justify." "And Sloane -- does he think you did this?" asks Syd. "I'm not certain," he clips. Syd's all, so what? You gonna just hang around Oops Center until the Alliance grows bored or something? Jack's all, yeah, for the moment. They have good doughnuts and, you know, Lena Olin's in a cage at the back. Wouldn't EVERY MAN IN THEIR RIGHT MIND stay here?
"The man I went to meet at the movie theater," says Jack, "had information about the Alliance. Intel I'm not sure the CIA can access." Syd's beeper goes off. It's one of her many SD-6 pimps. Jack's all, you better go in. Syd's all, no way! I'm calling in sick so I can help you! Wait. Can evil spies working for underground organizations even call IN sick? I mean, it's not like they're accountants or anything. They fly around the world and steal global secrets and kill people in the name of justice or whatever; I don't think calling in sick is really an option here. Whatever. Jack's not really fond of the idea of Syd not going in because, basically, Face Doneaway ain't interested in Syd yet, but if she fails to show up for work, Face's interest is pretty likely to be piqued. "You can't allow that to happen," he concludes.
Credit Dauphine, a.k.a. "SD-6," a.k.a. "The Place With The Big Shiny Red Light Room," a.k.a. "Where Good Agents Go Bad," a.k.a. "Captain Crackers's Cave Of Chaos." Syd exits the extra-special elevator and enters The Big Shiny Red Light Room. She then walks in slo-mo through the super-techno lanes of SD-6 and passes by Face Doneaway, who's just milling around some desk with one of her minions. As Syd passes, Face looks after her with this expression on her face that's totally, "Okay, THAT'S the face I want! That one! Grab her! We're gonna do a little Face/Off on her sharply sculpted cheekbones!" Seriously. She looks like a rabid hyena. I am more than a little frightened of her at this moment.
Conference Room Of Endless Expositions. Sloane, Syd, and Dix just sit there as Inspector Dingus stutters, "Okay, let's be honest. Among life experiences to be avoided, getting kidnapped definitely ranks near the top. E-except, actually, third grade kind of sucked, too. There was this whole thing -- lunch money thing. That's all right. I kind of overdid it but you saved my bacon. Thank you." Then he gives Syd an arrangement of pale pink roses that's roughly the size of a late-model Ford. Then Dingus hands Dixon a gift of cologne and blithers something about how it's a really nice scent and it's going to be nice on him, not that Dixon needs a new scent because his natural scent is really -- Sloane's finally had it. "Marshall?" he says, managing NOT to crack up completely. "You know, I'll be quiet now," says Marshall. "I appreciate that," says Sloane, ready to get down to business. "Actually, Mr. Sloane," continues Marshall, obviously not aware that Sloane would kill him just as soon as look at him, "I noticed you're not wearing the tie I gave you." Sloane shoots him a glance; Marshall just goes, "That's okay," and finally shuts up. Ron Rifkin just swivels and looks over at Carl and Jen as if to say, "Okay, I am NOT laughing this time, you guys. I am NOT. You guys! Oh, shit!"
Seriously. I don't know how they don't all lose their lunch on a regular basis from laughing so hard at Kevin Weisman. He's just bloody hilarious. I realize he's just the comic relief, but there's a difference between comic relief and comic relief done well, and this is a hockey puck of a steak, it's so well done. All I can say is, if there aren't numerous outtakes on the pending DVD release of the first season, I'm showing up at J.J.'s house with a bazooka and a truckload of angry fans.
Sloane slips a picture of some device up on the screen. "You're looking at a prototype of the triad's most startling achievement to date," he says. "The quantum gyroscope missile guidance system. According to the partial specifications we were able to intercept, not only is this device cheap and easy to manufacture, but it is far more accurate than anything in our current arsenal. It is capable of turning a '70s-era SCUD into a precision-guided munition with range and lethality equivalent to that of a cruise missile." Okay, see, I had to directly transcribe that because there was NO WAY IN HELL to paraphrase it. None. And honestly, it actually takes more time to paraphrase and figure out the inherent meaning in some of this poncey dialogue than it does to just watch the captions and click-clack away at the keyboard. Really. No, really. Also? Shut up.
Syd asks where the gyroscope pics came from. Sloane informs her that there was an SD-5 recon op on the Triad's research and development lab in Nice, France. Consequently, Dix and Syd's assignment is to acquire the gyroscope from a Triad courier by the name of Karl Schatz. He'll be transporting the gyroscope to Berlin for mass production, and Syd will intercept it en route. "There is no room for failure on this one," he says, grimacing. "You can imagine the consequences if enemies of the United States acquired this technology.
Subbasement Of Dreams And Desires. Syd's pouting in the corner. "There are so many things I hate about Arvin Sloane," she whimpers, "but the thing that I hate the most is the way he wraps his criminal activity in a flag." And that thing he does with his teeth after he eats spinach. And that sound he makes when he snores. And the way he watches TV with his mouth hanging open. Oh. Wait. That's Viggo. God, I'm glad he's gone. Fucking hippie hobbit fancier.
What's that? Who's on the phone? Who? Owen Wilson? I don't know any...oh, wait! Dignan? DIGNAN'S ON THE PHONE?! Julio. JULIO. Put the phone down and walk away. It's been two weeks since Mommy kicked Viggo's stanky ass out and she's feeling the need for some sugar. And Owen Wilson is sweeter than summer fruit, dude. JULIO! Don't make me hit you! Hiiiii, Owen!
While I'm chatting up my new would-be boyfriend, Vaughn's trying to assure Syd that the CIA won't let Sloane get away with the gyroscope theft. They'll make a defective copy of the scope for Syd to give to SD-6, and all will be well. Unfortunately, the pictures from which the CIA could actually make the copy are currently accompanying Dix to Nice at the moment. Vaughn's all, okay, well, then we'll get a team to France. "When you're through with the mission," he concludes, "make sure you're holding the gyroscope. We'll duplicate it on site. And, Syd, you should know that, uh, we've been doing everything we can to help your father."
Screeeeeeech! Someone just ripped that needle right off the record. Syd's cheekbones sharpen and clarify until it looks like her face is made of soapstone, not flesh. No wonder Face wants to switch with her. Syd's all, uh, WHAT? You've been helping my father. Vaughn's all, yeah, so? Syd's all, so you KNEW the Alliance was investigating my father. Vaughn's all, again, yeah, so? Syd's all, well, uh, would you care to share just how LONG you've known this? Vaughn finally clues in to the fact that Syd's a wee bit perturbed. "Two weeks," he responds, moving toward her. "Syd, I understand you're upset." Uh, YEAH I AM, she spits. Then there's a lot of "So you --" and "Then I --" and "But you --" and "He's not --" and "How dare --" and "You bastard --" and "What the --" until, finally, Syd goes OFF. "There's no upside to keeping me informed?" she carps. "You didn't tell me about Monolo or that you had discussions with my mother! You didn't even tell me that you were seeing Alice again!"
Screeeeech! Again, needle off the record time. What? Whuh? Uh. Syd? I think you went a tad too far with that one. Vaughn obviously agrees with me, because there's this sort of stunned pause and then he's all, uh, I beg your pardon but how in the HELL does my seeing Alice have jack-all to do with you? What is this about? Syd waffles and backtracks and brings it to some lame-ass conclusion about how this is about her being too old to be coddled. "Your life is complicated, Sydney!" he shouts defensively. "Forgive me for trying to make it any easier!" Syd leans in, thins her lips until they practically disappear, and goes, "I don't need you for that." Vaughn just grimaces and stubbornly nods his head as if to say, "Yeah? Well, good! Because I don't need you for that either! Or again! Or WHATEVER! Fuck you!" They glare at each other, and Syd flits off in a well-controlled huff as Vaughn's left behind to stare at the floor in search of secret to figuring out that infernal creature known as "woman."
Oops Center. Jacky's chillin' at a computer, playing a refreshing game of QBeez, when a message comes through from Sloane. In a voice-over, we hear Sloane telling Jack that he informed Face Doneaway of Jack's late-night visit to Sloane's place. "Not because I believe you're guilty -- I don't -- but because I had to." He goes on to tell Jack about the Alliance, and we flashback to F. Murray Abraham sticking Sloane in the neck with the tracking device. Okay, I know it's not F. Murray Abraham, but the guy TOTALLY looks like him. I mean, really, would the man who so brilliantly portrayed Salieri in Amadeus actually do time on a network show? I highly doubt it. Of course, the man who recently appeared in the horrific Thir13en Ghosts probably would relish doing some time on a QUALITY network show. Because, you know, an hour spent in the presence of Matthew Lillard is one hour too many, my friends.
Sloane continues giving Jack the details on just what the tracking device can do. Namely, it tracks Sloane's whereabouts and his vital signs and transmits his conversations back to the Alliance. Dayum. That is one highly sophisticated piece of machinery, dudes. Wish I'd had one of those for my old boyfriend Hank4. Maybe then I would have known about the Asian "massage parlor" he visited in Philadelphia BEFORE he decided to tell me SEVEN MONTHS LATER. Fuckstain.
So, anyway, Sloane's all, see, Jack? The Alliance already knew you'd been to see me. If I'd lied about it, I'd be screwed, buddy. And we don't want that, now do we? Oh. Well, never mind. All those leads you gave me were dead ends. So here's one of my own. As Sloane tells Jack about murdering a member of the Alliance, we flashback to that time in Montreal when Sloane shot the shit out of Jean Briault. "It is quite possible," finishes Sloane, "that the blackmailer was stirred by revenge. That he, or she, was close to Briault. Stay safe, Jack. Good luck."
Then we see Jack slo-mo-ing his way over to a meditating Irina. I think I've figured out why Lena Olin has such a hot body. I think she's a runner. She has these angled shoulders and small waist and...wow. Have I just analyzed Lena Olin's body? I definitely need to get laid. AND NOW.
Anyway, Jack hands Irina the printed-off copy of Sloane's email, and she looks it over. Jack's all, Briault has a wife and kid, but neither one of them would have the smarts to blackmail the Alliance and the other partners. They thought Briault was a pussy-boy. "No one was sad to see him go," he concludes. Irina's all, so, then, what? You have nothing, honey. Jack just shrugs. She's all, you considering going into witness protection? Jack's all, nope. No way. That would leave Syd exposed. Can't do it. Irina's all, you'd have to take her with you, Bingo. Jack's not into that idea either. "Then if you're not here to say goodbye or give me some good hot monkey love, why did you bring this to me?" she smirks. "I need someone to brainstorm with," he lamely responds. Irina's all, uh, yeah, well, I'm sure the CIA has people for this sort of thing, right? Jack's all, yeah, yeah they do. But you're hotter than they are, and this is an excuse for me to get close enough to smell your prison perfume. Irina sort of gets what he's hinting at and orders him to bring her everything information resources has on Briault. Smoldering looks are exchanged. Jack subtly nods his head as if to say, "If there weren't security cameras up our asses right now, we would SO be performing a repeat of The Toaster Show."
Towering Inferno Of Nostrils. I'm sorry, people, but Sloane's storming down the halls of SD-6 and his nostrils are FUMING! He looks like a drawing of a dragon. Or, more specifically, the dragon in Shrek. Except she was a girl. Which he isn't, but...oh, never mind. Uncle Arvin busts into Face Doneaway's office and states, "I understand you have requested Sydney Bristow's computer." Face applies solvent to her lacquered lips in order to separate them from each other and says, "Well, three months ago, Agent Dixon reported evidence suggesting she's a double agent." Sloane glowers and is all, that was a misunderstanding, you freakshow! Syd was on a mission that Jack authorized. Put your face back together and fuck off. Face is all, yeah, I read your report, you small little man. "I think either she was an accomplice to his blackmail or else the two of them have been up to something more...long-term," she says as her nose falls off onto the desk. Furiously, she grabs a jar of rubber cement and attempts to affix her plastic proboscis back onto her skull as Sloane says, "Sydney Bristow is an excellent agent." After handing Face some masking tape, he starts to leave. "All the more reason he would enlist her help," she says, wrapping the tape around her face. Sloane looks back at her briefly as her chin cracks into a thousand pieces. He heaves the door off its hinges and exits as Face puts her fist up to her chin to hold everything in place.
Oops Center. Vaughn's debriefing Syd about her upcoming mission and how, after she nabs the scope, she and Dix will separate for their flights home and blah blah blah. She's all looking aside and posing petulantly. He's all, any questions? Syd's all, gee, I dunno. Maybe you should go over it again, you know, because it's so COMPLICATED and you could make it EASIER for me. Vaughn's all, okay, don't pull that spurned woman teenager crap with me, all right? It's not like I didn't ask you to the prom or something. And I'm about as happy to be here as you are, okay? And stop sighing and rolling your eyes. You look like a four-year-old. And not in the cute "aw she's having a temper tantrum" way either.
Suddenly, who should appear but The Tool Of Tension Disarming, Agent Sean! He's all, hey! Look who's joining you in France! Syd's all, HEY! I'm so glad you're here. Vaughn's being a meany! Agent Sean says in mock surprise, "'Hey'? Three months in the hospital, I get a 'hey'? How 'bout a little sugah?" Syd launches herself forward into his arms and gives him a well-earned hug. Agent Sean wants to be filled in. Vaughn and Syd glance and glare at each other. Syd stalks off to go write in her diary, "That Vaughn makes me so mad! I can't believe he stood right to me in the sloppy joe line and didn't even say HI! I've definitely decided not to like him anymore. I even gave Agent Sean a big huge hug right in front of Vaughn! Hee! He's so mean! Meany!" Or she says she has to get to her plane. "I'll see you in France," says Vaughn, desperate to get in the last word. "What-EVAH," says Syd's back. "Okaaaaay," says Agent Sean, having developed keen senses attuned to "relationship bullshit."
Nice. Land Of Tourism, Leisure, And Meg Ryan Movies That Make You Go, "Oh, Why Can't I Be Cute And Perky AND Nail Me Kevin Kline With A French Accent?" We're at the Nice airport. The camera swoops down, and we're with Dix, who's dressed up as a French priest collecting contributions for his "Get The Catholic Church To Admit There's Something Wrong With Celibacy" fund. He turns toward the camera, pulls down his shades, and informs Syd that there's "nothing yet. No sign of a courier." Syd copies that and requests that Dix let her know when to move.
Dix returns to donation hunting and quickly checks his donation can. "You know what?" "What?" asks Syd, wondering why the costume department has declared war on her by placing a big purple punk wig on her head. "I've already made forty-seven euros," says Dixon, thinking that he'll take the money and buy Syd a decent wig. Syd just smiles and considers taking out the entire costume department with a couple of decent roundhouse kicks just because they decided that orange-tinted wraparound sunglasses equal "hip."
Meanwhile, over in the French Oops Center, Agent Sean's making his happy-go-lucky I-cheated-death way over to Vaughn with a couple cups of coffee. He's all, you sure you don't wanna talk about this? Vaughn's all, okay, I didn't want to talk about it back at Oops Center, I didn't want to talk about it on the Oops Plane, and I sure as FUCK don't wanna talk about it at the French Oops Center. Agent Sean -- who, after cheating death, isn't having any of this "I don't wanna talk about it" bullshit -- keeps on. "I share my fights with you!" says Sean, handing Vaughn his coffee and Kahlua. Vaughn's all, uh, no you don't. Agent Sean's all, yeah-huh! Remember when Alan pissed in the living room? Vaughn's all, dude? THAT WAS YOUR DOG. Sean's all, yeah, but I was angry about it and I TALKED to you about how angry I was! Vaughn's all, give it a rest, funny man. "All right," says Agent Sean, "here's a thought: Tell her how you feel." Vaughn looks at him all, dude? Guys don't talk about this shit, okay? And guys on ASSIGNMENT IN NICE especially don't talk about this shit. Sean's all, I know, I know. I was all about not crossing the line and shit. But that was before I ALMOST DIED. Did you guys know that Agent Sean almost died? Oh, and this just in. AGENT SEAN ALMOST DIED. In case you weren't aware, Agent Sean almost died. Did you know that? Anyway, he blabbles something about there not being a white light and that it's all just darkness. DARKNESS I tell you. Vaughn considers the darkness, and you can totally tell that he's SO taking it to heart. "I understand," he says, earmarking the furrow on the left side for Agent Sean and his newfound sense of death-defying romance. Just then, Dix comes over the waves and tells Syd that it's gametime. Schatz, the mark, has arrived, so it's time for Vaughn and Sean to table their emotions-in-motion discussion.
Back in the airport, we get a glimpse of Syd reading a trashy mag and quickly move to Dix, pushing his yellow-tinted sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. Turns out, they're NOT a bad costume department move (unlike Syd's pathetic Tang-flavored shades) and happen to be equipped with a device that can tell exactly where the gyroscope is hidden on Schatz's body. Hee. "Schatz" is just inherently funny. "Gyroscope is in a shoulder harness," says Dix. "Under his left pec. You can use the Artful Dodger." "Right," says a smirking Syd, slamming the magazine down and then twisting the ring on her first finger.
As she does so, we slam back to the conversation with Inspector Dingus wherein he describes the ring. Turns out the ring basically cuts through anything after you turn it a few times. Dingus demonstrates by turning it, gesturing with his hands, and then cutting off his own tie. "Damn it," he pouts. "I liked this tie." Yeah. Outtakes. I'm not kidding, J.J. So, back at the Nice airport, Syd completes the Artful Dodger turnaround and sets off.
Schatz makes his way through the airport with his two bodyguards. Dix intercepts him, begging for money. They quickly push him aside. As they pass, Dix gets on the horn and tells Syd that she better hurry. And she does. And she's walking. Or should I say CLOMPING. Because, dudes. She is wearing an outfit that, quite frankly, would frighten Nancy Spungen. Or even her present-day alter ego, Courtney Love. It's all black zipper boots and red fishnets and black kilt mini and dog collar choker and excessive ear and nose jewelry...in short? It's a fiesta del failure, people. And there's not a single '78 punker who would disagree with me.
So, Wendy O. Williams's cuter little sister stomps through the Nice airport to the kickin' strains of "Hella Good" by No Doubt. Schatz is making his way to the security gate, and Syd O. Williams just kind of shoves her way past with a very bad, "How ya doin'?" impersonation of a New Yorker or something. Not really sure what she's going for here, actually. How many New Yorkers do YOU know who would dress like that? Anyway, she dumps her bag on the belt and hip checks her way through security, setting off the alarm. She's all, wasn't me! And I'd like a meatball samwitch so, like, faggheddaboutit! The French guard is all, uh, yeah, go back through the gate TO THE SEVENTIES and remove all your jewelry. She goes back through the gate all, damn machine does this every time an' shit! Then she removes all her completely stupid throwback jewelry, bitching about it the entire time. Schatz and his companions are all, "Stupid American." They are. You just know they are. And you know what? They're right. Because if some fucking American showed up in front of ME at a security gate dressed like THAT, I'd be all "Stupid American" as well. A dog collar? The FUCK?
So, she removes her shit, and just so we're all aware that there's a grand plan behind the Stupid American shtick, we're treated to a shot of Dixon standing nearby, holding up his contribution can. There's a big red button on the bottom that his finger is just itching to push. Syd removes her last piece of useless punk-inspired ear jewelry and walks through the gate as Dix simultaneously pushes the red button, setting off the alarm. She's all, "Oh. My. Gawd." Are they SERIOUS with this shit? They couldn't make her English or something? Oh, wait, of course she had to be American. Because someone from another country, ANY other country, would A) not be caught dead in that outfit and B) not be such an obnoxious twit. The obnoxious twit part is designed to hold shit up, see? And only an American is obnoxious enough to do THAT. Right? RIGHT?
The French guard pulls her aside and she's all, watch the hands, Romeo! This ain't a date! No, I'm not kidding. She looks back, sees that Schatz is about to come through and that she might lose him, and says, "Okay, wanna get your thrills?" And then she rips off her top, exposing a relatively disgusting black and red PVC bra, and stomps her way through the security gate, conveniently bumping into Schatz on her way through, cutting through his holster, and relieving him of the gyroscope.
And she does this all with Phyllis Diller's purple fright wig on her head.
She goes "excusez-moi" at Schatz, passes through, dumps her coat on the belt, turns and faces the French guard in all her punk rock glory, and then stomps back through the gate, eliciting no alarms. The French guard thanks her, she thanks him, and then she openly, in front of EVERYONE, puts a big-ass silver disc of a gyroscope into the pocket of her bag. It's the size of an ASHTRAY. Dix, not realizing that EVERYONE IN THE AIRPORT HAS SEEN THIS, congratulates Syd on her good work and tells her that he'll see her in L.A. Syd stalks off, bag in tow, with a semi-grin on her face.
French Oops Center. Syd enters and hands the gyroscope off to Agent Sean. She looks over and sees Vaughn on the phone. "Base ops," says Vaughn, "this is Boy Scout. Mountaineer has just delivered the package. We're proceeding with the copy." He hangs up. Syd clomps over and thumps her bag onto the end of the table where Vaughn's standing. He moves over to her. "We're estimating two hours 'til the duplicate is ready," he says. She just looks down at the floor, unsure as to whether or not those big frosty black things on her eyelids are false lashes or radioactive mutant spiders. Vaughn looks over at Agent Sean, who gives him a sideways nod; the universal guy sign language for, "Dude. Go for it. Or I will." Vaughn looks back at Syd, looks down at his shoes, looks back at Syd, wonders if he can unbutton another button on his oxford without attracting attention, and finally says, "Listen, uh, do you want to go to dinner? When we were driving into town I saw this place. Rousseau, I think it's called."
Syd drags her eyes up from beneath their burden and just looks at Vaughn. She looks totally surprised. But Syd's wig is totally psyched. The wig's all, hell yeah! In fact, fuck the dinner, let's just FUCK! Unfortunately, Syd's all, Vaughn, uh, whuh? We can't do that, dude! Vaughn's all, why not? Syd's all, I'll give you two good reasons why not. My mother and my father. They've been married for over fifteen years and they hate each other -- oh, sorry. I just channeled Cameron Frye there for a moment. Syd's all, for a million reasons. "If Alliance security sees us together, they'll kill us." "The nearest Alliance cell is in Zurich," he says, determined to get a yes out of her. "The CIA tracks SD-6 security section. There haven't been any signals, no movement." Syd's all, you're SERIOUS? Vaughn just goes, "We've been to restaurants and sat near each other. We've met in parks and convenience stores, and all of them in L.A. where we are much more likely to be seen. Look, two things -- one, I think it's not that great a risk and two, I am hungry. I'm starving." If Michael Vartan said ANY of this to ANY of us, he would have had us at "Uh, do you wanna have dinner?" But when he tosses in the "I am hungry, I am starving" comment, and his mouth kind of turns up at one corner, just hinting at the beauty that is his full complete smile, I think -- no, I KNOW that we, all of us, would have PASSED OUT DEAD from the glory of it.
So, it's no surprise that, when Vaughn says, "I mean, we're gonna be together anyway, why can't we be eating? Aren't you hungry?" Syd says, "Yeah, I'm hungry," and then turns to look off into the distance of the French Oops Center in search of a shroud to hide her blush and her grin and her overall ENJOYMENT of this moment. She kind of looks down at her bag and Vaughn kind of ducks his head at the same time, trying to figure out what signal she's going to give as her go-ahead that this date is gonna happen. Finally, she just looks right at him and says, "Let's do it."
And millions of avid female watchers everywhere breathe a collective "FINALLY!"
Vaughn produces the most relieved and fantastically gorgeous smile I've ever seen, Syd kind of nods in agreement at the relief and acknowledgement of the fantastically gorgeous smile, and then she announces that she's going to go and change. Vaughn's all, good idea. Because I was thinking of taking you to a place that DOESN'T serve raw meat on a stick. She leaves, and Agent Sean walks up. "And?" he says expectantly. Vaughn sheepishly responds, "We're goin' to dinner." "Hooo!" says Agent Sean, revealing his version of the cabbage patch. Vaughn's suddenly all business, however, and tells Agent Sean that he's going to keep his comm channel open and that he wants Sean to monitor the RF frequency. Agent Sean's all, yeah, whatever, Love Buckets. In exchange, I'll take an éclair. Vaughn's all, dude? I'm serious here. Agent Sean's all, yeah. If they're small, gimme TEN, okay?
Hell-Lay. Face Doneaway's Office Of OH MY GOD WHAT'S HAPPENED TO HER FACE? Some lackey enters and informs her that Sydney's just left the airport with a man. A MAN. Face Doneaway's all, a MAN? That little bitch! And she's got my FACE! What man? Lackey's all, I dunno, but it ain't Dixon. Oh, and your left eye just shriveled up and popped out onto your PDA, dude. Gross. Face Doneaway's all, okay...uh...lemme find it...oh, hell. Just find out who the man is, okay? And while you're at it, call Dr. Ernest Menville! I wanna have some WORDS with him! This face was supposed to last at LEAST two more weeks!
Nice. The Romantic Restaurant Of Living Dangerously. Vaughn and Syd enter, trailing behind the owner. The owner asks if they're staying in town, and Vaughn responds, in French, that they're going to L'Avignon because his mom was born there or something. Who gives a shit WHAT he says? VARTAN'S SPEAKING FRENCH. Sigh. There's just nothing quite like it. I guess the real question is, can Michael Vartan GET any hotter? I really don't think it's humanly possible.
So, Syd removes her white three-quarter-length coat, and the owner takes it as Syd and Vaughn take their seats. Syd's wearing a casual outfit of white scooped-neck-for-convenient-kissing shirt and not-too-difficult-to-remove tan jeans, while Vaughn's sporting a dark-color-that-accentuates-my-inherent-sexiness-shirt and a leather just-makes-me-seem-dangerous-and-therefore-bang-able jacket. The owner drops a couple of menus in front of them and disappears. The restaurant is romantic and seems to have a running soundtrack of jazzy yet not entirely stale music on the sound system. Think St. Germain or Koop and you'll be on target. Vaughn gives Syd a full-on smile, and it is so cute that I was actually yelling, "OH MY GOD YOU'RE SO CUTE!" at the screen. Syd just kind of smiles uncomfortably and opens her menu. Yeah. She's freaking just a little bit. She looks at her menu and then glances up at him. He looks at his menu and then glances up at her. They both look down at their menus. They both pretend to actually consider the menus. Then they both look back up at each other. Then they look back down at their menus. Vaughn starts to say something. Syd kind of looks down at her menu and then makes a decision. "I think wine would help the situation," she says, snapping shut her menu. "I was just thinking the same thing," says Vaughn directly after her, signaling the owner in a panic.
God, yes, wine would help the situation. So would an Ecstasy enema or something. Jesus! And I thought that I was uptight! Julio! Did you send the car for Owen Wilson? He'll be at the airport in a half hour, Julio! Get on it! And while you're at it, check the vegetarian lasagna and open the wine. It has to BREATHE. Oh, for god's sake, Julio. Stop crying. STOP CRYING. Viggo's not coming back. EVER. You'll like Owen, though. He knows big words and he loves hash brownies. Trust me. Mommy wouldn't steer us wrong. NOW SEND THE CAR!
In a lovely juxtaposition, as Vaughn and Syd are contemplating their wine selection, over in Cellblock Seduction, Irina's pouring herself a glass of water. She and Jack are hanging out at a table strewn with papers and food cartons. Aw. Do you see how they did that? They're putting Vaughn and Syd on the same playing field as Jack and Irina! Vaughn and Syd, out on a date. Jack and Irina, IN on a date. It's all so cute and sweet and twisted and wrong and not of the Lord. "There must be a dozen ways to blackmail the Alliance," Irina purrs to Jack, who's just finished the last egg roll, "all of them far less elaborate than this one." "So, we can assume," says Jack, flipping through papers and getting his greasy fingerprints all over them, "a secondary objective to make Arvin suffer. Someone harboring an acute hatred...meaning it could be anyone." Hee. Including YOU Jack? "Does the Alliance have any permanent connections in Peru?" says Irina, looking feral and sexy and, quite frankly, in danger of licking Jack from head to toe. "Peru? No, why?" he asks, wondering why she hasn't licked him from head to toe yet. They blah blah back and forth about how Briault would travel using his credit card, except when he went to Lima six times this past year. He also declared, like, seventy thousand in cash. Irina's all, why? What's he doing with all that cash? And how can I get my hands on it? There's even more blah blah-ing about the whole Peru thing. Yawn. Point? Briault was hiding something. Care? Not me.
Jack gets up to leave. "When I was your wife," says Irina, stopping Jack cold. He stares down at her. She continues, "I would meet my case officer in his hotel room." Jack continues to stare at her, conflicting emotions running across his eyebrows. "I suggest you find out where Briault stayed. And pull the hotel security footage." And then she looks at him with an expression that pretty much says, "Yeah, I fucked you over. But I'm trying to help you out now BECAUSE I fucked you over. And by the way, I'm not HAPPY that I fucked you over. I just did it because, well, because..." And Jack's responding facial expression suggests, "Wow. I just sat here with you, poring over this shit, working together with you, just like we used to, and now you have to remind me of what a scary bitch you are and how much I actually love you, even though I hate you. Thanks for that, by the way."
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why these two actors should be nominated for EVERY AWARD KNOWN TO MAN.
That is all.
Jack storms out, leaving Irina to shove her hair behind her ears and look after him in a thoughtful and not entirely unlustful manner.
Speaking of lust, Vaughn and Syd are enjoying their evening out as a bald guy enters the restaurant and quite clearly takes a shot of them via his wristwatch/digital camera. Syd's all, so I heard you on the phone with base ops. Your code name is "Boy Scout"? What is THAT all about? Vaughn smiles, totally disarmed, and explains something about his clandestine service training. Agent Sean comes on the line all, dude? This story SUCKS. Tell her she's pretty! Or at least tell her a story that DOESN'T SUCK. Vaughn responds by taking his earpiece out and setting it on the table. "Sorry," he says to Syd, with a totally adorable sideswiping grin.
At the same time, Bald Guy and his compatriot, Blond Mullet Guy, are checking into Vaughn's history via a computer. Baldy's all, he's not SD-6. Blond Mullet's all, who cares? Let's get back to that hot guy and that hot girl and the impending hotness that is bound to ensue from them just being together. Back with Syd and Vaughn, Vaughn's suddenly turned into a weird stalker guy because he asks about Syd's pets. Syd's all, the hell? My PETS? Tell me I'm pretty, goddammit! Then we're back with Baldy and Mullet as they keep searching and come up with a match. Michael Vaughn. Complete with library card and identification as an employee at the Department of State. Okay, like, "Department of State" is practically a RED FLAG for CIA, all right? And yeah, you'd think they could come up with something better than Department of State if he's working with something as sensitive as SD-6, right? Like, make him a fucking analyst at the IRS or an advertising exec or something, okay? These idiots in the car right outside the restaurant made Vaughn as CIA just as soon as "Department of State" rode across their screen!
Back in the restaurant, the lovers (not the lover's, as ABC's band of monkeys suggested in their promo) are finishing off the wine. Syd says something about playing pool. Vaughn says they should play sometime. They look at each other searchingly. Just then, the owner arrives, and because it's late, and because they've had lots of wine, and because the writers couldn't think of any other way to get these two into a room together naked, the owner gives them a complimentary key to a room in the inn upstairs, which he conveniently owns.
Vaughn grabs the bill, with the sex key laid upon it, and looks at Syd. "Did you ask him to do that?" he asks. She looks off to the bar in search of a way out of the impending hot sex that is bound to happen if she and Vaughn enter a hotel room together, and says, "There are so many issues with this, I don't know where to begin." Vaughn's all, hold on a sex -- I mean, "sec." "I think we should keep an open mind about this." Syd's all, an open mind? How's Alice, by the way? I miss her so...Vaughn's all, it would be rude to overlook such a generous offer without proper consideration. Syd's all, okay, if that makes it easier for you to sleep at night. Vaughn's all, okay then. Syd's all, okay then, BUT there are still issues. Vaughn's all, totally. I'm clear on the issues. Does that mean we can go have hot monkey sex now? And there are burning looks. And burning looks. AND BURNING LOOKS. Until, finally, Syd says, "Okay." And it looks like they're off to The Room Of Sex And Consequences.
Unfortunately for all of us, at that same moment, Agent Sean's overseeing the manufacturing of the fake gyroscope when a call comes in from Cute Tech Guy Rick, who informs Agent Sean that someone's onto Vaughn. Agent Sean immediately gets on the headset, trying to contact Vaughn. Unfortunately, because Agent Sean's been through a near-death experience, he doesn't remember that Vaughn's removed his earpiece and is currently trying to get himself a piece of Sydney pie. He ditches the headphone idea and screams at someone to get him the name of the restaurant where they're having dinner.
Meanwhile, Syd and Vaughn are thisclose to heading upstairs and making the beast with two backs. The owner shows up with a phone call for Vaughn. It's Agent Sean. "You've been made! Get out of there now!" Just then, Vaughn sees Bald Guy coming through the door. "Syd, behind you!" Syd spins and flings an ashtray or a dish or something toward the door and then ducks down. Blond Mullet starts shooting with his machine gun -- quite a lot of bullet-power for just taking out two people, by the way -- and Vaughn takes a couple of shots and then dives behind the bar.
Vaughn and Syd make haste down a back hallway and out onto a fire escape. They run down an alley, and a car comes peeling around the corner. They turn and see Blond Mullet guy with his machine gun. Just to make sure that they are aware that it's a machine gun in his hands and NOT a really ugly baby, he fires off a round at their feet. Syd and Vaughn stop short. Bald Guy gets out of the car with his gun readied. Blond Mullet shouts for Vaughn to drop his gun. Vaughn does so. Blond Mullet shouts for them both to get on their knees with their hands behind their heads. They obey.
Bald Guy idiotically makes a call on his cell phone as Blond Mullet starts clamping Syd's wrists. "Patch me through to Los Angeles," says Baldy. "[Face Doneaway]." Syd shoots a look at Vaughn. Blond Mullet walks over and starts to shackle Vaughn, but Vaughn has other things in mind. He shoots out his left leg, retrieving his knife, and then shoves it directly into Blond Mullet's neck. Then he pulls Blond Mullet's gun around and shoots the shit out of Bald Guy. God-DAMN I love it when Vaughn's ActionVaughn! When they're both down for the count, Vaughn frees Syd from her bonds and moves toward her as if to embrace her. She puts him off, however -- GODDAMMIT -- when she hears someone responding to Bald Guy's call. Syd runs over and picks up the phone, hearing Face Doneaway's voice on the other end, sounding strangely as if she's seeking her long lost youth. "Hello? Hello? HELLO?"
Syd shuts off the phone and turns to Vaughn. He hands her the keys. "Take the car," he says. "I'll have Weiss pick me up." Syd's all, I'll pick up the copy of the gyroscope before I get on the plane. Vaughn's all, dude? ABORT THE MISSION. Syd's all, but honey! Vaughn's all, no discussion. Syd starts to cry. Shocker. Is she crying about the bad mission, or is she crying about the fact that she and Vaughn didn't get to share a night of durrrrty lurrrrve? She's all, we were so stupid. Vaughn's all, it's totally my fault. Syd's all, that's not true, love muffin. Vaughn's all, you gotta get out of here. They look like they're about to kiss. COME ON! But they don't. "See you back in L.A.," she says, and runs off. He runs off in the opposite direction.
Oops Center. Vaughn's sitting at his computer, typing up a note to J.J. Abrams that says, in a nutshell, "Uh, thanks for attempting to gain me access to the inner sanctum of Syd's thighs, dude. Oh, and thanks for TOTALLY NOT GETTING ME THERE IN THE LONG RUN. Guns? Knives? Thugs with mullets? Yeah. Not exactly getting horizontal, now, is it? If you're gonna have us endure a rain of bullets, dude, the LEAST you could do is let us touch tongues for a second or two! God. Am I ALONE on this one? Give a brother some lovin', my man!" Agent Sean walks up and reads over Vaughn's shoulder. Sean's all, that your Kendall debrief? Vaughn's all, yeah-huh. Agent Sean's all, dude? You can't give him THAT! At least paste a few naked pictures of Irina in there or something! Dude, I'm serious! Vaughn's all, he'll have to know why SD-6 has the real gyroscope. Sean's like, yeah, okay, fine. But you have to be a little more creative, buddy. Tell him it was my fault, okay? Tell him the lenses took too long to grind and we missed Syd's plane. Or, like, tell him that aliens abducted you and you were anally probed! That'll do it! Aw, he's so cute when he's taking the fall for his buddy. I think Agent Sean's secretly in love with Agent Michael. I do. In the platonic war-buddy sense, that is.
Vaughn and Sean go back and forth about just whose fault it was, and Sean manages to work in yet another mention of his near-death experience. I think it's all about Greg Grunberg being funny now. There's no way you keep mentioning that shit and not think it's funny. Finally, Sean offers the coup de grace: "Not to mention the fact that all the damage that you and Sydney have done to SD-6 -- have you given any thought to the fact that maybe all that work was done because of the way you feel about each other?" Vaughn says nothing, just stares at his screen. "How's that for spin?" Agent Sean says ruefully. Vaughn shoots him a glance, de-creases his one of the furrows on the right, and contemplates Agent Sean's statement. "S'not bad," he says. Sean's all, okay, well, whatever, dude. Just make sure you discuss this crap with Syd first, okay? This affects her too.
Then, as a variation on the Mission: Impossible theme plays (I'm serious, J.J. -- your obsession with all things Cruise is getting WAY out of hand), Spy Daddy makes his way over to Cute Tech Guy Rick and asks, "Anything?" Rick yadda yaddas something about Briault and his Peruvian hotel. Rick's cute, but the helium voice has GOT to go. And sometimes? Sometimes, when the light hits him just right, he looks like the Michael Jackson that Michael Jackson WISHES he looked like. By that I mean that he's cute, has smooth white skin and a cleft chin, parts of his face aren't falling off, and he's not dangling a child over a balcony.
Anyway, Jack sees something of interest on the screen and tells Cute Tech Guy Rick to zoom in. He does. D'oh! That's Face Doneaway behind Briault in the picture. Is it just me, or does Face look better in black-and-white fuzzy pixelation? Yeah, that's what I thought. Right, so after figuring out that Face was banging the Briault, Jack stalks off down a hall. Kommandant Kendall follows him. Kendall's all, dude? Are you going to SD-6 to prove that Face blackmailed the Alliance? Jack's all, yeah, how'd ya know? Kendall's all, I should ask you the same thing about how you plan to PROVE this. Jack's all, Monaco, bearer bonds, bank account -- Face stole some serious shit, dude. After arguing with Kendall about his lack of safety at Oops Center and Syd's possible inclusion in the witch hunt, Jack finally stalks off.
Ess Dee Sex. Jack enters the offices and turns sharply around a corner as another one of Face's lackeys enters her office and informs her that Jack Bristow is in the hizzouse! Face, who's just finished shellacking her cheekbones, says, "Seal the exits! No one leaves until we find him! Who monitors closed-circuit?" She tries to get out of her chair, but some of the super glue she used to put part of her scalp back into place has accidentally fallen onto her chair and now she's stuck. "Solvent!" she barks. "I need solvent! And a banana daiquiri! Pronto!"
Meanwhile, Jack's in some computer lab, plugging in Face's account number. Balance? Zero, my friends. Zip. Zilch. Zed. Jack's bummin'. He exits the computer lab and is about to go out the way he came in, but Face's lackey is there to bar the way. Jack's all, uh, can I help you? Jack has obviously forgotten that you can't just come and go as you please when you're the subject of a cosmetic-surgery-fueled witch hunt. The lackey's all, yeah, uh, could you come with us, please? Jack's not fond of this idea, so he turns to...what? Run? Hide? Kill? IT'S SD-6, NOT TARGET, JACKY. Did that big red elevator light take his BRAIN as well as his PICTURE? Jesus. Lackey Boy shoots Jack with a tranq dart, and Victor Garber gives this hilarious sort of pained/panicked look over his shoulder and drops faster than a porn star's panties.
Tiki Torture Room And Luau Lounge. Face Doneaway's plastic surgeon is about to stick her with another needle full of Botox when she notices that Jack, strapped to the official Chair Of Crucifixion, is slowly rejoining the land of the living. "Hello, Jack," says the woman who, with every new tuck and peel, gets that much closer to Jocelyne Wildenstein territory. "There's a plane waiting to take us to London, but I thought we should wait for your daughter to return before we left." Jack just stares at her. Really, there's not much more he can do, considering that he's buckled into a chair with his left arm readied for an injection. "I came here to investigate a blackmail but...you've proven far more compelling than a simple thief." "I know what you did," rasps Jack slowly. "Do you? I'm eager to hear what that may be." Dr. Dermabrasion moves over to Jack's arm as Face explains that what's in the syringe is sodium pentothal. The camera closes in on Jack and then Face and then Jack and then Face and GOOD GOD NOT THAT CLOSE! Jesus. That visage was NOT meant for extreme close-up, people. Shudder. "Won't take more than a few minutes," she says, taking a seat. "Then we'll talk about Sydney."
Anyway, before Dr. Dermabrasion can administer the truth serum, the doors burst open and Sloane makes his deus ex machina entrance. With no sound, we see Face sort of fling her arm out and mouth, "Get out of here this instant!" I seriously think this woman is entirely put together with rubber bands and epoxy, because it looked like that last arm fling was going to send her appendage winging off into the corner. As Sloane's men grab the feisty and ferocious Tiger Lady, we hear Jack explain in voice-over, "Five minutes longer and I would have told everything. Sydney and I would have been revealed as double agents and killed."
Jack is lifted off the chair and Sloane puts his arm around his back, supporting him and walking him out of the room. "Fortunately," continues Jack in voice-over, "Sloane saw the email that I sent him from the server room, detailing what I discovered." Face Doneaway is tossed into the Chair Of Crucifixion, and Dr. Dermabrasion prepares HER arm for injection. Considering how much growling and shrieking she's doing right now, and just what havoc it's wreaking on her distressed facial tissues, I seriously hope that after Dr. D extracts all the info he needs from his truth serum-injected quarry, he'll perform a little chemical peel free of charge.
Mama Hari's Den Of Delights. "And have they recovered the cash?" asks Irina, to whom Jack's obviously been telling his tale. "Not yet," he grits. Irina's all, and Uncle Arvin never questioned why you bolted? Jack's all, nah, he realized Face was on a witch hunt and that running was a valid option. "In fact, he's taking a week off and leaving me in charge while he's gone." He looks mildly amused at this prospect. "Thank you for everything," he says begrudgingly. She smiles softly at him. "There is one thing that strikes me as odd," says Irina. Jack raises his eyebrows and, for a moment, looks very much like his daughter. It's pretty weird. You know. Because they're not REALLY related and all? Yeah. Anyway. Jack raises his eyebrows and says, "Yes. Me too." "You said Sloane requested Kane to investigate," she says. "The one person who had an apparent motive for blackmail," he says. "Someone easy to frame." They both come to the same conclusion at the same moment, and that electric current of energy runs between them, hinting at the kind of passion and intellectual stimulation that these two might have had in their marriage. Sigh. They have to get Lena Olin out of that damn box and into Jack's bed. NOW. Or not. I could totally see myself passing out from the shock of it.
Subbasement Of Dreams And Desires. Syd's pacing back and forth, wondering if her hair looks okay or if she wore the right shoes or if maybe, just maybe, she bends over to pick up her watch that accidentally-on-purpose sort of just kind of falls on the floor, Vaughn will grab her from behind and --
Ahem.
Vaughn enters, and Syd asks what Kendall said. Vaughn's all, he told me about your dad, but he didn't mention anything about our date, if that's what you're wondering. Syd's all, have you written your debrief yet? Vaughn's all, no, not yet. "If I tell the truth," he says earnestly, "at the least, they'll remove me as your case officer. Despite what we did, how stupid we were, I know we do good work. We need to stay together." "I agree," says Syd, making us think that she's agreeing to the "stay together" part. But then she says, "We do good work." Aw. But you should stay together too! Preferably naked!
Syd then takes something out of her pocket. It's the gyroscope. Vaughn's all, what the? Syd's all, SD-6 was in such a state over the whole Face situation, it was pretty damn clear that no one was going to be asking questions about the dead guys in France, so, like, I gave SD-6 the counterfeit. We win. Yay us! And then Vaughn smiles at her with this look of total and complete admiration that's about a billion times hotter than any pelvis-grinding scenario.
Center For Wailing Ovaries And Women Who Wish They Had Something More To Do Than Sit On The Sofa Eating Popcorn And Providing "Real Life" Moments For Their Super-Secret Spy Friends. Syd and Foolio are chillin' and chompin' on the sofa. Foolio says something about blood tests. Fortunately for Merrin Dungey, The Clown College Of Moronic Make-Up has left the building. Unfortunately for Merrin Dungey, this seems to mean that all of the make-up went with them. What, so, one week she has the Serious Seventies Slut look going for her, and the she's got the Agnes Of God Why Don't I Have Even Mascara On palette? The hell? Actually, I'm being a little harsh. She looks fine. Pretty, even. I guess I just must be recovering from the shock of not seeing eighteen layers of sparkly robin's-egg blue eye-shadow slapped across her eyelids.
Foolio's all, okay, I had this blood test and there was this guy there, giving blood, and he's cute, and I look over and smile at him and guess what happens? Syd looks up and says, "He fainted?" in this kind of bored voice. Foolio's all, what? Where you THERE? You just GUESSED that? Way to steal my thunder, by the way. Syd's all, oh, calm down. It's that whole blood sugar thing. What, did you think he fainted because you were so PRETTY? Oh. I guess you did. Foolio's all, yeah-huh! Here I am thinking the dude fainted because of my smile (which, considering how damn bright her smile is, isn't totally out of the realm of possibility) and that's pretty cool and you go and piss on my parade. Thanks, Syd. Thanks a lot. Remind me not to get you anything for your birthday.
By the way, says Foolio, mentally making a note to short-sheet Syd's bed while she's in the bathroom, anything about Michael? Syd's all, nah. Not gonna be, either. He's totally worth fantasizing about. I mean, not. Not fantasizing about. NOT. That "not" is important, right? Foolio's all, okay. Right. Get your coat. We're going for cocktails. Syd's all, oh, no, Foolio. I can't. I have to wash my face and set my alarm and go save a Third World country tomorrow. Foolio's all, dude? I'm serious. You need a Cosmo the size of Indonesia right now. Move it! A short while later, Syd and Foolio are sippin' and quippin' at The Plot Device Diner. What, because there are no other BARS IN L.A.? ["At least they aren't at Shooters." -- Sars]
As Syd and Foolio get their groove on, Vaughn and his extremely sexy unbuttoned oxford are typing up their report for Kendall. It's not really a necessary scene, but as I've said before, I'd tune in to watch Michael Vartan cleaning the grout on his bathroom tile with a toothbrush and some bleach, so necessary isn't really an issue with me, per se.
Elsewhere in the universe, Sloane's opening up a briefcase full of dough. Some incredibly geeky dude looks very pleased to see this cash. He grabs what looks like a wedding band and holds it up to Sloane's neck. It emits a sort of high-pitched garbled tone. "Damn, I'm good," says Geek. "It's working?" asks Sloane. Geek says something about a spectral algorithm or some shit. Sloane doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about, and neither do we, but as long as that ring knocks out the Alliance's ability to listen in on Sloane and his vitals, who gives a damn? "Ten mil," Geek giggles to himself. "Holy god!" Sloane goes to leave. "Must feel good," says Geek. "What's that?" says Sloane, turning. "Being able to speak freely," says Geek, more than pleased with himself. "Nobody knowing your business." "Yeah," whispers Sloane, "it does." Then he calmly pulls out his gun and shoots Geek down. We hear him scrambling on the floor, and then Sloane just walks right over and gives him a bullet to the head. Dayum! Sloane's one vicious motherfucker when he wants to be.
The Philippines. Land Of Typhoons, Earthquakes, Volcanic Eruptions, Floods, Garbage Landslides, And Really Cheap Seaside Hideaway Huts. As a lovely piece of opera flits over the soundtrack, Uncle Arvin makes his way across a rocky shore wearing what can only be described as his Steve Martin suit. I realize we're supposed to buy that he's in the tropics now, okay? But wouldn't a pair of dark linen pants and a t-shirt be more appropriate? Does the man EVER not wear a suit? I mean, Ron Rifkin looks handsome and everything, but he also looks like David Byrne in Stop Making Sense. And that's not right. Not right at all.
He approaches a drab house with a thatched roof and walks up to the screen door and says, "We did it." Out of the shadows, a very alive Auntie Em emerges. "Are you sure? Are you sure it worked?" she quivers. "Yes, my love," he says, "We're free!" Then he gives her this completely loving and beautiful smile. She returns it, and they kiss passionately. As they embrace, she puts her arm around him, revealing that where her ring finger used to be is a soft fluffy bandage. D'oh! And ew! And yuck! And awwww.