There's nothing left to lose Ch. 2~5
okay, i'm FINALLY getting around to posting this stupid thing. *facepalm*
THERE'S NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
The world has turned and left me here
Just where I was before you appeared
And in your place, an empty space
Has filled the void behind my face
TWO: “The world has turned and left me here…”
One year, eight months and two weeks later
Sydney watched as one set of gates lifted off the ground and the next slid to the left as she walked down the corridor. The last time she’d made this walk, Will had been locked up in here, accused of being a double. Now, she going to see someone she’d hoped never to have anything to do with ever again.
She approached the glass window, watching as he takes on a look of genuine shock.
“My God, it can’t be you,” he whispers, looking at her through the glass with wonder in his eyes.
“Don’t pretend like you’re surprised,” she answers.
“Ms. Bristow, I am…” he shook his head, trying to hide his smile, “truly aghast. We were all under the impression that you were dead. I’m glad to see such a nasty rumor put a happy rest.”
“Cut the crap, Sark,” Sydney bit out, feeling impatient. She didn’t believe for a minute that Sark was glad to see her alive and ready to kick his ass. “I’ve read your ‘confessions’.”
At this Sark crossed his arms, lifting his chin in a poor attempt to keep a sense of superiority, even though he was the one in the cage. “Really? Then you know that I’ve been nothing but cooperative.”
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “I know about Allison Doren, and how you helped her get into my life,” she spat with as much venom as she could muster, trying to channel her pain into anger. “I know how you escaped custody a year and a half ago. And I think you not only knew that I was alive, and the Sloane was responsible. I think you know why he was keeping me and where.”
Sark’s eyes narrowed as he studied her, seeming confused. “Am I to understand that you have no idea where you’ve been these past two years?”
Sydney set her jaw.
”None?”
She glared at him.
And he burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” he managed between chuckles. “It’s just so astonishing, I can hardly believe it.”
Right at that moment, Sydney wished that looks had the power to kill.
Sark continued to smirk at her, saying, “If Sloane had plans to kidnap you, I was not privy to them. Truly, Sydney, I have no idea. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you, Sark,” she answered him with a skeptic look.
“Well, then that leaves us in a rather awkward situation, doesn’t it?” he told her, staring at her seriously. “I honestly wish I could be of more help to you, but I can’t.”
Sydney didn’t respond, but stepped away from the glass, motioning to the guard that she was finished.
“I’m glad to see that you’re all right,” Sark called after her retreating form, making her pause to look back at him. “It was becoming rather dull around here.”
Sydney didn’t respond, but merely walked back down the hallway and finally out of sight.
* * * *
Sydney gripped the steering wheel of her car as tightly as she could, gasping between sobs.
She’d practically run out of the JTF building, nearly knocking Vaughn down in the process and she’d driven out to a park just outside the city.
She’d been back for two weeks already and she thought she was ready to cope with everything. She’d been able to handle re-starting her life from scratch, to have everyone she knew and loved gone. She’d been able to handle Vaughn returning to the CIA and working with both him and Lauren in the same room. She had been strong. So why was it something as simple as going to see Sark made her come so unglued?
Sydney struggled to control her tears, to compose herself.
Of course, Sark really didn’t have much to do with it. It wasn’t his fault. He simply had been the last straw, what had made her realize that she wasn’t really handling anything in her life.
If anything, her visit to Sark had confirmed her suspicions about him. He knew something that could help her. But of course, in his usual fashion, he wasn’t going to give her anything for free.
And in some twisted and demented way, it soothed her to know that of all the things that had changed in the past two years, Sark had remained the same.
* * * *
He wasn’t expecting for Sydney to come back again so soon, so Sark was more than a bit surprised when he heard someone coming towards his cell. While he prepared himself to meet with her again, he was given a rather unpleasant surprise.
“What did you tell Sydney?” the apparently re-instated Agent Vaughn asked him, cutting right to the chase. “Actually, scratch that, what didn’t you tell her?”
Of all the many different reasons that Sark despised this man, his lack of competence was probably what most irritated him. Sark even considered it beneath him to even acknowledge his presence.
“Dammit, Sark, I’m not going to ask you again. And don’t give me bullsh!t,” Vaughn tried to sound firm.
Sark lifted an eyebrow at him before sighing and shaking his head in mock sadness.
“I’d love to have a ‘battle of wits’ with you, Agent Vaughn, but you appear unarmed,” he said smoothly, letting every word drip with condescension.
And, as expected, the comment went right over the other man’s head.
“You know more than you’re telling her,” Vaughn continued. “What are you holding back?”
“I have no reason to acknowledge that question by giving an answer,” Sark said calmly, but leveling a glare at Vaughn that he knew would spark some sort of fear or apprehension.
“She’s trying to put her life back together,” Vaughn argued, “And I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it is in your best interests to help her. Things for you here can get more uncomfortable. I don’t believe that all that you told us you did during that year and a half is true.”
Sark was tired of this man already. He crossed his legs up on the cot, his arms over his chest, and he closed his eyes. “Agent Vaughn, if you are questioning my confessions, take it up with your superiors. As for Sydney, if she wants something from me, she can come and ask me herself.”
Vaughn didn’t know how to respond so he settled for glaring at the blonde.
Sark, knowing that Vaughn was still there, passed on to say, “We’re done here.”
Possibly it was because Sark was behind glass and unarmed that Vaughn felt that he could take on the little miscreant for the way he’d said that. But he knew that Sark had made up his mind and there was nothing short of torture that would make him speak to him again. So it was a rather angry Vaughn that walked away, stewing in his own misery.
_________________________________________________________________
Will I ever get to where I'm going?
If I do, will I know when I am there?
If the wind blew me in the right direction would I even care?
I would.
I take a look around; it's evident the scene has changed.
And there are times when I feel improved upon the past.
Then there are times when I can't seem to understand at all
and yes it seems as though I'm going nowhere...
really f*cking fast
THREE: “Nowhere fast”
Two weeks later
Sydney’s front door opened, and Sydney looked over her shoulder from the sink where she was washing some vegetables.
“Hey,” she said, greeting her visitor.
“Okay, here we go,” Weiss said, sitting at the counter across from her. He held up two DVDs. “Monty Python night!”
Sydney burst out laughing. “Oh, my god!”
“Yeah, I bet you didn’t even remember these guys did you?” Weiss realized his poor choice of words when he saw Sydney’s smile waver.
“Oh, god, I’m an idiot,” he mumbled, wincing.
“No, it’s okay,” Sydney was quick to try to put him at ease. She smiled at him again. “So what did you bring?”
“‘Holy grail’ and ‘Meaning of life’”
“Okay, I’ll get the popcorn,” Sydney said, moving to dry her hands and reach for the snacks.
“I’ll get the beer,” Weiss offered, moving to her fridge.
Ten minutes later, they sat watching King Arthur and his knights of Camelot set off in search of the Holy Grail and Sydney had a good laugh. It had been so long since she’d had a movie night, and it felt good to relax for a while.
“Well, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!”*
Her mind seemed to warp suddenly, so fast she wasn’t sure what was happening…
*flashback*
“Well, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!”
Sydney chuckled at this, grabbing another fistful of popcorn and munching away, sitting on the couch in a dark room.
“What are you doing?” a voice she couldn’t recognize asked from behind her.
“Watching a movie, what does it look like?” she answered, much more smartly than she normally would.
“Another sappy romance?”
Sydney mock-glared at the other person who now stood in the shadows to her left and threw a few kernels of popcorn at them.
“This happens to be a comedy, and if you don’t shush, I’m going to miss it.”
“Oh, well, I’m so sorry,” came the reply in a laughing tone, “Please, carry on.”
*end flashback*
Sydney blinked as she heard Weiss’ laughter. He obviously hadn’t noticed anything was wrong with her. It was all so fast that it left Sydney wondering what that had been…she’d taken to daydream lately, but that felt more like…
Sydney frowned.
Could that have really been a memory?
Later that night, after she sent Eric home, she wandered into her bedroom and over to her dresser.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor she slowly opened the bottom drawer. Taking a deep breath, she reached inside, pulling out a small velvet pouch. She undid the knot holding it closed and emptied its contents into her palm.
The light from her nightstand caught on the plain band of white gold. She’d found it on a long silver chain hanging around her neck the day she woke up in Hong Kong. They’d been checked by Marshall for any signs of anything unusual, but neither the ring or the necklace held anything extraordinary but their quality.
Sydney slipped the ring off the chain, holding it up higher so that she could inspect it for the thousandth time. Engraved on the inside of the band was a simple date: April 17, her birthday.
In an unconscious move, she slipped the ring on, feeling the cool metal on her skin. She couldn’t understand the feeling (was it relief? Safety?) that came over her at feeling the eerily familiar weight around her third finger.
Sydney stared at her hand. She seemed hypnotized for a while slipping off to somewhere else where she didn’t know herself. She thought she heard bells, like those of a church, though there wasn’t one nearby for miles…
“For life is quite absurd,” she heard herself softly sing in a mournful version of the cheery song, “And death's the final word; you must always face the curtain with a bow; Forget about your sin…; Give the audience a grin; Enjoy it…it's your last chance anyhow…”**
Whatever this feeling was, she suddenly felt better than she had in a while. She tugged the ring off, feeling the loss of it already. Taking it between her fingers, she wondered how could something so insignificant…?
No, she told herself, It’s not insignificant.
It was obviously one of the many missing pieces of the puzzle that had become her life.
* * * *
Two weeks had passed since Sydney had come to see him. And for two weeks Sark was running over and over in his mind what he’d been told. Sydney didn’t remember a bloody thing from the past two years. It had been nearly four months since he’d turned himself into the US government, striking an agreement that would make Irina proud. Two months into his captivity, he’d learned that Sydney had returned…with no memory of the past two years and eight months of her life. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but two weeks after her return, there she had been, confirming it was all true. Why didn’t she remember anything? Surely, there were some things she wouldn’t want to forget…but he was obviously wrong. He’d known it the minute she’d fixed that cold stare at him. He’d laughed at her, when what he’d really wanted to do was give her a good shake and demand to know why the hell she’d done this to herself.
He’d felt like punching the walls of his cell, he was so angry at her. But he had to remain stoic, had to remain the same he’d always been with her, as if nothing had changed.
To make matters worse, it appeared that the insufferable Agent Vaughn had returned right along with Sydney. Sark often wondered why he hadn’t ridded himself of the man long ago.
Eventually, though, Sydney would come to him again. Hopefully, they’d be able to work around this whole mess and then maybe he could get some answers.
But he knew he’d have to be patient.
Truth takes time.
Oh, yes. Irina would be very proud.
________________________________________________________________
I've got nothing that I hide except for what's inside
I keep it all locked up, in this prison we call love
I'm suffocating
FOUR: “Crashing down”
One year, eight months earlier
“Where are we going?”
“I have a contact here that could be of some use to us.”
“Why? I assume I wouldn’t have to tell you how urgent it is for us to get out of the country as soon as possible.”
“Ms. Thorne, I would assume that you also know that as soon as the Covenant learns that I not only escaped from their grasp, but that I have taken you with me, the first place that they will look is the airports, knowing that the first thing I would do is to get us out of the country. We are taking the road and driving out, it’s much safer.”
“Fine. Then we’re going to Rome.”
“Rome?”
“Yes.”
Sark raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t put up any further protests. “Very well.”
They walked down a dark alley, rounding around to the back part of an antique shop. Sark quickly picked the lock of the back door and stepped inside, having Julia follow.
They climbed up a set of stairs which revealed the living quarters of the owners of the shop, a man in his late forties, who was sitting on the couch and looked up when his two unexpected guests came in.
However, instead of being afraid, he looked more amused.
“Argelly,” Sark addressed him.
“Mr. Sark,” Argelly responded, a hint of surprised amusement in his heavily accented English. “My, this is surprise.”
His face became steely. “I thought I told you I never would do anything for you again.”
“Now, now, Argelly,” Sark said, slipping into his business persona. “We both know that I would honor that, were it not that it would you still owe me something.”
The man before them narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “I thought that had resolved…” he said carefully.
Sark smirked a bit. “Not really. But if you do this for me, it will be.”
“Mr. Sark, unlike most people, I am not afraid of you,” the brave Argelly answered with a small chuckle. “I do not believe that I owe you anything at all. However, since you have come all this way, claiming that I do, I shall consider what it is you want. And you must give me a good reason for it.”
“I can compensate you handsomely, Argelly, you know that,” Sark answered. “I need you to make a passport and papers to leave the country.”
“Passport? For who? Her?” Argelly gestured towards Julia. “I’m not going to help you carry around your hostages, Mr. Sark. If she was your partner, you would have been better prepared.”
“I am not a hostage,” Julia defended herself.
“She’s my wife,” Sark quickly piped up.
Argelly’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he looked from Julia back to Sark, “Well in that case, it makes it all different doesn’t it?”
He paused and seemed to want to laugh at them. “It is best to use her real name then. Be back in hour with one and a half million.”
Sark’s jaw tightened, and Julia saw his itching for his gun. “Thank you,” he managed to grind out, taking Julia by the arm and leading her outside.
“He’s robbing you blind, you know,” Julia pointed out once they were back on the street.
“Thank you for pointing that out,” Sark spat at her. “But he’s the only one I can trust to do this fast enough.”
“And you didn’t even tell him my name,” she continued.
“I won’t have to, he’s going to look us up. Argelly doesn’t trust me,” he continued, fishing out his cell phone. “He doesn’t believe that we’re married. But he’s going to look up our marriage records anyway, to make sure I wasn’t lying to him.”
Julia wasn’t sure how to respond as Sark made a phone call.
“It’s me,” he spoke once the other person picked up. “I need you make a marriage certificate, right now … In my name and Julia Thorne’s … yes, with an ‘e’ …”
He glanced over at Julia, covering the receiver. “I’m going to need your information, date of birth and so on.”
Julia didn’t hesitate. “I was born in London, the 2nd of August, 1973. And I’ve lived in London most of life.”
Sark repeated the information to whomever he was calling while studying Julia. There was something very peculiar about the way she had just told him about her. Her eyes had become almost glazed over, her tone as if she was reciting something she had memorized. The woman with Sydney Bristow’s face was becoming more mysterious by the minute.
“What?” his attention was snapped back to the call he was making. “Oh, I don’t know…make it in England … Canterbury if you wish …”
“Old Soul’s church,” Julia spoke up in that same eerie voice.
“Better make it Old Soul’s church,” Sark amended. “ … Yes, I know I’m not Catholic, just do it…”
He turned to Julia again, “Any particular date you’re fond of?”
“April,” she answered automatically. “April 17th.”
“Dandy,” Sark muttered before passing on the information.
He waited for a minute for the person on the other line to confirm what he wanted. “Smashing,” he said, “ …yes, I know … right …thanks.”
He hung up and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
“All done then,” Sark told Julia and they continued to move down the nearly deserted street at half past-midnight.
Six hours later the sun was peeking out just over the horizon as they crossed the border into Italy, having left Romania and crossing through Slovenia in a ‘borrowed’ car.
They drove into Milan and from there Sark was able to charter a plane into Rome.
On the trip, Sark had been watching his companion, wondering first of all, why she was with the Covenant.
“I’d been hired by them,” she explained in that curious London accent he still couldn’t get used to coming from her. As obvious as it was that this was not Sydney, everything in her appearance indicated that she was. It was like right after Allison went through the genetic sequencing…
He shook his head. He couldn’t focus on Allison right now.
However, he had begun to have his doubts that Julia had undergone the same process in order to look like Sydney. For one, during the time they’d been together, she would have taken medicine, Provecilium to be exact, because the effects of the genetic splicing would have already begun to take it’s toll six hours after the last dosage. But not only did Julia not leave the Covenant facility with any pills, but she had not expressed any desire of acquiring any nor did she show any signs of having physical discomfort.
Which, therefore, Sark continued to muse, left another viable option: that Sydney Bristow, super agent extraordinaire, had been successfully brainwashed. The more he thought about it, the more all of her behavior up to the moment had begun to make sense.
He decided to put it to the test. “Ms. Thorne, if you don’t mind me asking, I’m curious to know why we’re taking this little road trip?”
Julia looked over to him, an unreadable expression on her face. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I wasn’t under the impression that you were a prisoner of the Covenant. Why would you need me to extract you from the facility if you could have easily walked out on your own?”
Julia didn’t respond for a minute, looking out the window of the car they were riding in, watching the scenery go by.
She sighed. “I’d been hired by the Covenant to handle some things they needed to have taken care of. As time went by and I learned more about their operations, I realized that though I was given relative freedom, I could never leave. They would come after me and everyone I ever held dear.”
She turned to look at him, her tone open and honest, but her eyes held something back. “That’s why I needed you. To get away. If they think that you’ve abducted me, then it makes things easier.”
“I see,” Sark nodded, going back to watching the road, digesting the information he was given.
“So what do you plan to do once we reach Rome?” he asked.
“I have an apartment there that Covenant doesn’t know about. I think we could hide out there, and figure out our next move,” she answered.
“We?” Sark asked.
Julia turned to look at him. “Yes.” The look on his face must have warranted further explanation because she continued, “Mr. Sark, I might seem a bit presumptuous in thinking that you had a reason for being in the Covenant facility, that you were looking for something…or rather, someone.”
She noticed Sark stiffen a bit before relaxing his body again and letting a smirk play on his lips. “Really, Ms. Thorne? How do you know I wasn’t just out for a good bit of sport?”
“You’re looking for Allison Doren,” she stated with such a definitive certainness that Sark nearly panicked. But he congratulated himself at keeping an impassive look on his face.
“You must be wondering how I know that,” Julia continued. “I know Allison, rather well, actually. And I believe, Mr. Sark, that we could be of use to each other, which is why I think we should stick together. I not only know what you want, but I know where to find it.”
The Covenant must have done a hell of a job on Sydney if she’d been able to see Allison and not kill her on the spot. But obviously, Sydney or no, the woman sitting next to him had no problem reeking havoc on his nerves.
They remained silent for the remainder of their trip.
It wasn’t until Sydney, or Julia (he had to keep reminding himself), opened the door to a rather large apartment in Rome that he began to think that this wasn’t a game anymore. And he had to tread carefully, because if there was enough of Sydney left in Julia, she wouldn’t be able to put up with him much longer.
“Make yourself at home,” Julia offered as she moved to open the curtains and window, letting in the mid-morning sun and airing out the stuffiness of the apartment.
She moved into the kitchen as Sark removed his jacket and slung it over the back of the sofa. He looked down at his black shirt and dark jeans, very casual compared to Julia’s designer clothes. He looked out one of the windows at the people seven stories below, going into the church across the street, reading themselves for Sunday morning mass.
“Here,” Julia’s voice turned his attention away from the window and to the glass of wine she was holding in her hand.
He smirked a bit at her. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” he asked.
Julia came back with a smirk of her own, “Never,” she answered, gesturing at her own glass.
Sark accepted the glass from her hands and shifted it towards her. “Cheers.”
She clinked her glass with his and took a small sip before turning and sitting down on a nearby chair.
“I’m going to ask you a personal question,” she said to him. “Which, I think I’m entitled to, given the fact that you know more about me than I know about you.”
Sark settled in a chair across from her. “Fair enough. What would you like to know?”
Here came the test of just how much Sydney was left in Julia. Sydney would ask him for his real name, his date and place of birth, the base of operations of his former employer, how he got out of custody…
“Are you in love with her?”
Sark choked on his wine. He coughed a bit, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at Julia, finding that she was giving him an expression crossed between curiosity and something he couldn’t really identify.
“Excuse me?” he managed to get out, buying himself time to compose himself.
“Allison,” Julia unnecessarily clarified. “Are you in love with her.”
Sark didn’t respond, but merely stared back at her as she took another sip of her wine. She then placed the glass on the coffee table between them, leaning forward and brushing back a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.
“I’m only asking, of course, because I’m not sure what to tell you,” she said in what sounded like a soft tone.
That wasn’t a good sign.
“You see Allison has been my partner for two months now, and … well, we’ve gotten to know each other. She’s mentioned you before.”
The way she said it made it clear to him just what kind of mentions had been made.
Sydney would have killed Allison in her sleep. Julia was Allison’s chum. Talk about turning the world inside out.
“So, that’s why I’m asking you whether you love her or not,” Julia went on when she noticed his continued silence.
“I don’t have an easy answer to give,” Sark finally said to her in a cool voice, taking more of his wine, needed the bit of alcohol to calm his nerves. He suddenly wished for something stronger.
Julia watched him for a minute longer before standing up and moving into the kitchen. She shuffled around a bit, and returned to him. As if she had read his mind, she handed him a tumbler full of Scotch before taking her seat once more.
“I’m not sure how to tell you, so I guess, I’ll come right out and say it,” Julia’s choice of words were not a good sign at all. “The last time I saw Allison, she … well, she’s been re-assigned for about two weeks now. She’s currently in the company of a Simon Walker. He’s her new partner.”
Here Julia paused.
“In more ways than one,” she added quietly.
The full significance of her words was not lost on Sark. He expected to feel … well … to feel anything. Anything but this sudden numbness that came over him. Allison…she’d moved on. She never had been one to just lay about and be idle. And he knew better than anyone that her greatest fear was being alone. He wasn’t surprised really. Somewhere deep down, he knew Allison had been lost to him ever since Tippin. He’d just been naively harboring the idea that she might still want him in the end.
Grateful for the stronger alcohol now in his hand, Sark quickly gulped down the Scotch, relived to feel the warming sensation that was helping against the cold he felt taking over.
He looked across at Julia. She wasn’t looking at him with pity or sadness …rather, she was giving him a look he could only define as understanding.
“Well,” he managed to croak out, aiming for an indifferent tone but falling short. “Then you certainly have saved me a great deal of trouble, Ms. Thorne.”
She smiled lightly at him. “Call me Julia.”
“Julia,” Sark repeated. Ironic that her name would be the female version of his, since ‘Julia’ seemed to be in every way exactly like him. His thoughts were becoming hazy, then, and as he looked over at her, he found that Julia was standing nearer to him now.
Looking at her right then, something changed. Something so unidentifiable that later he couldn’t blame himself for not seeing it coming. Sark suddenly realized that things were getting extremely fuzzy and he no longer had control over his limbs. His eyes dropped to the glass in his hand, noticing the white residue at the bottom of the glass.
He’d been drugged.
He glanced up at the woman before him, looking into her eyes and seeing what he’d been expecting to see since he ran into her.
She leaned over and kissed his forehead lightly.
“Good night, Sark,” she whispered.
“Sydney…” he managed to utter with the last of his strength before completely blacking out.
___________________________________________
And the truth is
I miss you
Yeah the truth is
I miss you so
And I’m tired
I should not have let you go...
FIVE: “A warning sign”
When Sark finally came to, he didn’t know what to expect.
The first thing he noticed as soon as he jerked awake was that he couldn’t move his arms or legs. As more of his sense returned, he deduced both is wrists and his ankles were handcuffed to the chair he in. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being knocked out by Sydney Bristow who was pretending to be someone named Julia. Sark gingerly tested the resistance of the handcuffs, not because he really believed he could make an escape, but more out of automatic reflex. His limbs were sore, and he was developing a massive headache.
His eye sight was the last thing to return. So when his surroundings, and the person sitting in front of him finally came into focus, he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Well, well. Good morning, Mr. Sark. Or, good evening, rather.”
Sark tried to focus his sight directly on the speaker, still shaking off the effects of whatever hell of a drug Sydney used on him.
“Mr. Kendall,” he acknowledged his companion. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Kendall seemed torn between laughing and maintaining his usual scowl.
“I’m sure you agree that this day has just been packed full of surprises,” Kendall observed. “I was calmly sitting in my office this morning when not only do I receive a phone call from an agent presumed dead but also to say that she’d apprehended an escaped criminal and restrained him to have him taken back into custody. It was even more surprising that when I arrived and you were still here.”
Kendall shook his head in mock-amazement. “Will wonders never cease?”
Looking around, Sark noticed he was still in Julia’s, or rather Sydney’s, apartment. The window to the outside revealed the nighttime sky.
“Where’s Sydney?” Sark heard himself suddenly ask.
At this Kendall seemed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Off being stubborn,” he answered, “But she’ll be back.”
“Mr. Kendall, as much as I would love to sit here and reminisce about the last three weeks since we’ve seen each other, I have a question which begs for an answer: What do you want from me? I would have assumed that you’d be only to eager to ship me back to my cell as soon as you would have arrived here. But since we’re still sitting here, there must be something that you want from me without the peskiness of going through channels.”
Kendall leaned forward, his trademark scowl back in place. “Believe me, I would have loved nothing more than to send you straight to rot in prison, you cocky bastard.” With that he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “But from what Agent Bristow has informed me, it would appear that we cannot take you back into custody … yet.”
Sark’s eyes narrowed, wondering what the other man was getting at.
Kendall didn’t leave him long without an explanation. “The Covenant believes that you have kidnapped Julia Thorne for … whatever reason. It’s too dangerous to extract Sydney, and to take you into custody would give her away. So, we need you to cooperate in order to maintain Agent Bristow’s cover within the Covenant.”
“And what if I choose not to?” Sark asked.
“That’s just the point, Mr. Sark,” Kendall said darkly, “You don’t have a choice. I have no problem asserting my authority off the records. It wouldn’t be the first time that Julia’s killed anyone.”
Sark looked back at the man before him with a new found respect.
“In that case, Mr. Kendall, I’m willing to be of service,” Sark responded carefully.
Kendall’s lips pulled into a superior smile. “I’m glad you see things my way.”
* * * *
And so it was that Sark was now standing here, with a new set of clothes and new orders, a tracking device implanted in his shoulder, waiting. Waiting for Sydney to come back. Before Kendall had left, she’d called, telling him that she’d do whatever Kendall wanted her to do. Which was exactly what the older man had been expecting.
Sark looked out the window, hearing the church bells announce morning mass.
She’d be briefed on the plane ride back to Rome.
He didn’t bother to look behind him when he heard the door open. He wasn’t sure what kind of anger would be emanating from her, since she now not only had to continue working with the Covenant, but she had to work with him as well. Kendall had also warned him that she would be upset since going to see the ex-Agent Vaughn. Sark knew enough about the man to know what Sydney would find, she would not like. It wasn’t easy seeing someone you love move on.
He heard the door close quietly behind her, and he heard her move over into the kitchen, dropping her things along the way.
He finally turned to look at her. He couldn’t see her face since she had her back turned to him, but he noticed something was different, merely in the way she was standing.
Before he could decide what to do, she spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She still wouldn’t turn to face him.
“About the handcuffs?” Sark asked, moving closer to her, wanting her to face him so he could know what he was dealing with. “Common, Agent Bristow. You know you’re not sorry at all. Were you to do it all over again, you wouldn’t do anything differently.”
“You’re right,” she said, turning around, but keeping her face lowered. “I’m not sorry.”
Finally she lifted her eyes up and Sark nearly took a step back from the wave of emotion radiating from her.
It wasn’t just the fact that she looked tired and there were dark circles beneath her eyes or that they were full of unshed tears.
As long as Sark had known her, no matter how bad things got for her, she always had that spark of hope and determination in her eyes. Like she always knew that she would win in the end.
Looking at her now, that was all gone.
She looked … broken.
As if to prove it, a tear escaped from beneath her lashes. His eyes followed the trail only to find that the dam that was holding al of them back had finally broken and they were now falling freely from her eyes. She gasped with the sobs, doubling over right there in front of him, wrapping her arms around her as she slipped to the floor.
The world that he knew, the world of the strong as steel Sydney Bristow, suddenly came crashing down with every sob that escaped from her.
And for some reason, that stirred something … a little something that he’d managed to store away in a fortress of concrete…his heart.
He knelt down, his hands hovering over her shaking body for a minute, as if not sure what to do. Finally, he touched her shoulders, lightly. She jumped, like an injured animal.
“Don’t touch me,” she commanded between hiccups. “I don’t need your pity, Sark.”
But he persisted, grabbing her by the shoulders more forcefully and pulling her into his arms.
“I don’t pity you, Sydney,” was all he offered as a response.
She resisted a bit longer, before giving up and collapsing onto him completely, wrapping her arms around his neck and crying into his chest.
He held her close, not offering any false words of comfort or trying to get her to calm down. She’d earned herself a good emotional breakdown. He just held her, giving her a shoulder to cry upon. He understood her broken heart, he knew her pain. He knew what it was like to have everything and everyone he cared about ripped from him without so much as a warning. He knew what it meant to have a destroyed life.
And that’s why she was accepting his strength.
Later he would realize that, sitting there on the kitchen floor of that apartment in Rome with a shaking Sydney in his arms, was when he decided he would dedicate his life to make sure no one hurt Sydney like that ever again.
TBC…
more chapters!
THERE'S NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE
The world has turned and left me here
Just where I was before you appeared
And in your place, an empty space
Has filled the void behind my face
TWO: “The world has turned and left me here…”
One year, eight months and two weeks later
Sydney watched as one set of gates lifted off the ground and the next slid to the left as she walked down the corridor. The last time she’d made this walk, Will had been locked up in here, accused of being a double. Now, she going to see someone she’d hoped never to have anything to do with ever again.
She approached the glass window, watching as he takes on a look of genuine shock.
“My God, it can’t be you,” he whispers, looking at her through the glass with wonder in his eyes.
“Don’t pretend like you’re surprised,” she answers.
“Ms. Bristow, I am…” he shook his head, trying to hide his smile, “truly aghast. We were all under the impression that you were dead. I’m glad to see such a nasty rumor put a happy rest.”
“Cut the crap, Sark,” Sydney bit out, feeling impatient. She didn’t believe for a minute that Sark was glad to see her alive and ready to kick his ass. “I’ve read your ‘confessions’.”
At this Sark crossed his arms, lifting his chin in a poor attempt to keep a sense of superiority, even though he was the one in the cage. “Really? Then you know that I’ve been nothing but cooperative.”
Sydney narrowed her eyes. “I know about Allison Doren, and how you helped her get into my life,” she spat with as much venom as she could muster, trying to channel her pain into anger. “I know how you escaped custody a year and a half ago. And I think you not only knew that I was alive, and the Sloane was responsible. I think you know why he was keeping me and where.”
Sark’s eyes narrowed as he studied her, seeming confused. “Am I to understand that you have no idea where you’ve been these past two years?”
Sydney set her jaw.
”None?”
She glared at him.
And he burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry,” he managed between chuckles. “It’s just so astonishing, I can hardly believe it.”
Right at that moment, Sydney wished that looks had the power to kill.
Sark continued to smirk at her, saying, “If Sloane had plans to kidnap you, I was not privy to them. Truly, Sydney, I have no idea. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you, Sark,” she answered him with a skeptic look.
“Well, then that leaves us in a rather awkward situation, doesn’t it?” he told her, staring at her seriously. “I honestly wish I could be of more help to you, but I can’t.”
Sydney didn’t respond, but stepped away from the glass, motioning to the guard that she was finished.
“I’m glad to see that you’re all right,” Sark called after her retreating form, making her pause to look back at him. “It was becoming rather dull around here.”
Sydney didn’t respond, but merely walked back down the hallway and finally out of sight.
* * * *
Sydney gripped the steering wheel of her car as tightly as she could, gasping between sobs.
She’d practically run out of the JTF building, nearly knocking Vaughn down in the process and she’d driven out to a park just outside the city.
She’d been back for two weeks already and she thought she was ready to cope with everything. She’d been able to handle re-starting her life from scratch, to have everyone she knew and loved gone. She’d been able to handle Vaughn returning to the CIA and working with both him and Lauren in the same room. She had been strong. So why was it something as simple as going to see Sark made her come so unglued?
Sydney struggled to control her tears, to compose herself.
Of course, Sark really didn’t have much to do with it. It wasn’t his fault. He simply had been the last straw, what had made her realize that she wasn’t really handling anything in her life.
If anything, her visit to Sark had confirmed her suspicions about him. He knew something that could help her. But of course, in his usual fashion, he wasn’t going to give her anything for free.
And in some twisted and demented way, it soothed her to know that of all the things that had changed in the past two years, Sark had remained the same.
* * * *
He wasn’t expecting for Sydney to come back again so soon, so Sark was more than a bit surprised when he heard someone coming towards his cell. While he prepared himself to meet with her again, he was given a rather unpleasant surprise.
“What did you tell Sydney?” the apparently re-instated Agent Vaughn asked him, cutting right to the chase. “Actually, scratch that, what didn’t you tell her?”
Of all the many different reasons that Sark despised this man, his lack of competence was probably what most irritated him. Sark even considered it beneath him to even acknowledge his presence.
“Dammit, Sark, I’m not going to ask you again. And don’t give me bullsh!t,” Vaughn tried to sound firm.
Sark lifted an eyebrow at him before sighing and shaking his head in mock sadness.
“I’d love to have a ‘battle of wits’ with you, Agent Vaughn, but you appear unarmed,” he said smoothly, letting every word drip with condescension.
And, as expected, the comment went right over the other man’s head.
“You know more than you’re telling her,” Vaughn continued. “What are you holding back?”
“I have no reason to acknowledge that question by giving an answer,” Sark said calmly, but leveling a glare at Vaughn that he knew would spark some sort of fear or apprehension.
“She’s trying to put her life back together,” Vaughn argued, “And I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it is in your best interests to help her. Things for you here can get more uncomfortable. I don’t believe that all that you told us you did during that year and a half is true.”
Sark was tired of this man already. He crossed his legs up on the cot, his arms over his chest, and he closed his eyes. “Agent Vaughn, if you are questioning my confessions, take it up with your superiors. As for Sydney, if she wants something from me, she can come and ask me herself.”
Vaughn didn’t know how to respond so he settled for glaring at the blonde.
Sark, knowing that Vaughn was still there, passed on to say, “We’re done here.”
Possibly it was because Sark was behind glass and unarmed that Vaughn felt that he could take on the little miscreant for the way he’d said that. But he knew that Sark had made up his mind and there was nothing short of torture that would make him speak to him again. So it was a rather angry Vaughn that walked away, stewing in his own misery.
_________________________________________________________________
Will I ever get to where I'm going?
If I do, will I know when I am there?
If the wind blew me in the right direction would I even care?
I would.
I take a look around; it's evident the scene has changed.
And there are times when I feel improved upon the past.
Then there are times when I can't seem to understand at all
and yes it seems as though I'm going nowhere...
really f*cking fast
THREE: “Nowhere fast”
Two weeks later
Sydney’s front door opened, and Sydney looked over her shoulder from the sink where she was washing some vegetables.
“Hey,” she said, greeting her visitor.
“Okay, here we go,” Weiss said, sitting at the counter across from her. He held up two DVDs. “Monty Python night!”
Sydney burst out laughing. “Oh, my god!”
“Yeah, I bet you didn’t even remember these guys did you?” Weiss realized his poor choice of words when he saw Sydney’s smile waver.
“Oh, god, I’m an idiot,” he mumbled, wincing.
“No, it’s okay,” Sydney was quick to try to put him at ease. She smiled at him again. “So what did you bring?”
“‘Holy grail’ and ‘Meaning of life’”
“Okay, I’ll get the popcorn,” Sydney said, moving to dry her hands and reach for the snacks.
“I’ll get the beer,” Weiss offered, moving to her fridge.
Ten minutes later, they sat watching King Arthur and his knights of Camelot set off in search of the Holy Grail and Sydney had a good laugh. It had been so long since she’d had a movie night, and it felt good to relax for a while.
“Well, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!”*
Her mind seemed to warp suddenly, so fast she wasn’t sure what was happening…
*flashback*
“Well, but you can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!”
Sydney chuckled at this, grabbing another fistful of popcorn and munching away, sitting on the couch in a dark room.
“What are you doing?” a voice she couldn’t recognize asked from behind her.
“Watching a movie, what does it look like?” she answered, much more smartly than she normally would.
“Another sappy romance?”
Sydney mock-glared at the other person who now stood in the shadows to her left and threw a few kernels of popcorn at them.
“This happens to be a comedy, and if you don’t shush, I’m going to miss it.”
“Oh, well, I’m so sorry,” came the reply in a laughing tone, “Please, carry on.”
*end flashback*
Sydney blinked as she heard Weiss’ laughter. He obviously hadn’t noticed anything was wrong with her. It was all so fast that it left Sydney wondering what that had been…she’d taken to daydream lately, but that felt more like…
Sydney frowned.
Could that have really been a memory?
Later that night, after she sent Eric home, she wandered into her bedroom and over to her dresser.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor she slowly opened the bottom drawer. Taking a deep breath, she reached inside, pulling out a small velvet pouch. She undid the knot holding it closed and emptied its contents into her palm.
The light from her nightstand caught on the plain band of white gold. She’d found it on a long silver chain hanging around her neck the day she woke up in Hong Kong. They’d been checked by Marshall for any signs of anything unusual, but neither the ring or the necklace held anything extraordinary but their quality.
Sydney slipped the ring off the chain, holding it up higher so that she could inspect it for the thousandth time. Engraved on the inside of the band was a simple date: April 17, her birthday.
In an unconscious move, she slipped the ring on, feeling the cool metal on her skin. She couldn’t understand the feeling (was it relief? Safety?) that came over her at feeling the eerily familiar weight around her third finger.
Sydney stared at her hand. She seemed hypnotized for a while slipping off to somewhere else where she didn’t know herself. She thought she heard bells, like those of a church, though there wasn’t one nearby for miles…
“For life is quite absurd,” she heard herself softly sing in a mournful version of the cheery song, “And death's the final word; you must always face the curtain with a bow; Forget about your sin…; Give the audience a grin; Enjoy it…it's your last chance anyhow…”**
Whatever this feeling was, she suddenly felt better than she had in a while. She tugged the ring off, feeling the loss of it already. Taking it between her fingers, she wondered how could something so insignificant…?
No, she told herself, It’s not insignificant.
It was obviously one of the many missing pieces of the puzzle that had become her life.
* * * *
Two weeks had passed since Sydney had come to see him. And for two weeks Sark was running over and over in his mind what he’d been told. Sydney didn’t remember a bloody thing from the past two years. It had been nearly four months since he’d turned himself into the US government, striking an agreement that would make Irina proud. Two months into his captivity, he’d learned that Sydney had returned…with no memory of the past two years and eight months of her life. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but two weeks after her return, there she had been, confirming it was all true. Why didn’t she remember anything? Surely, there were some things she wouldn’t want to forget…but he was obviously wrong. He’d known it the minute she’d fixed that cold stare at him. He’d laughed at her, when what he’d really wanted to do was give her a good shake and demand to know why the hell she’d done this to herself.
He’d felt like punching the walls of his cell, he was so angry at her. But he had to remain stoic, had to remain the same he’d always been with her, as if nothing had changed.
To make matters worse, it appeared that the insufferable Agent Vaughn had returned right along with Sydney. Sark often wondered why he hadn’t ridded himself of the man long ago.
Eventually, though, Sydney would come to him again. Hopefully, they’d be able to work around this whole mess and then maybe he could get some answers.
But he knew he’d have to be patient.
Truth takes time.
Oh, yes. Irina would be very proud.
________________________________________________________________
I've got nothing that I hide except for what's inside
I keep it all locked up, in this prison we call love
I'm suffocating
FOUR: “Crashing down”
One year, eight months earlier
“Where are we going?”
“I have a contact here that could be of some use to us.”
“Why? I assume I wouldn’t have to tell you how urgent it is for us to get out of the country as soon as possible.”
“Ms. Thorne, I would assume that you also know that as soon as the Covenant learns that I not only escaped from their grasp, but that I have taken you with me, the first place that they will look is the airports, knowing that the first thing I would do is to get us out of the country. We are taking the road and driving out, it’s much safer.”
“Fine. Then we’re going to Rome.”
“Rome?”
“Yes.”
Sark raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t put up any further protests. “Very well.”
They walked down a dark alley, rounding around to the back part of an antique shop. Sark quickly picked the lock of the back door and stepped inside, having Julia follow.
They climbed up a set of stairs which revealed the living quarters of the owners of the shop, a man in his late forties, who was sitting on the couch and looked up when his two unexpected guests came in.
However, instead of being afraid, he looked more amused.
“Argelly,” Sark addressed him.
“Mr. Sark,” Argelly responded, a hint of surprised amusement in his heavily accented English. “My, this is surprise.”
His face became steely. “I thought I told you I never would do anything for you again.”
“Now, now, Argelly,” Sark said, slipping into his business persona. “We both know that I would honor that, were it not that it would you still owe me something.”
The man before them narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. “I thought that had resolved…” he said carefully.
Sark smirked a bit. “Not really. But if you do this for me, it will be.”
“Mr. Sark, unlike most people, I am not afraid of you,” the brave Argelly answered with a small chuckle. “I do not believe that I owe you anything at all. However, since you have come all this way, claiming that I do, I shall consider what it is you want. And you must give me a good reason for it.”
“I can compensate you handsomely, Argelly, you know that,” Sark answered. “I need you to make a passport and papers to leave the country.”
“Passport? For who? Her?” Argelly gestured towards Julia. “I’m not going to help you carry around your hostages, Mr. Sark. If she was your partner, you would have been better prepared.”
“I am not a hostage,” Julia defended herself.
“She’s my wife,” Sark quickly piped up.
Argelly’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he looked from Julia back to Sark, “Well in that case, it makes it all different doesn’t it?”
He paused and seemed to want to laugh at them. “It is best to use her real name then. Be back in hour with one and a half million.”
Sark’s jaw tightened, and Julia saw his itching for his gun. “Thank you,” he managed to grind out, taking Julia by the arm and leading her outside.
“He’s robbing you blind, you know,” Julia pointed out once they were back on the street.
“Thank you for pointing that out,” Sark spat at her. “But he’s the only one I can trust to do this fast enough.”
“And you didn’t even tell him my name,” she continued.
“I won’t have to, he’s going to look us up. Argelly doesn’t trust me,” he continued, fishing out his cell phone. “He doesn’t believe that we’re married. But he’s going to look up our marriage records anyway, to make sure I wasn’t lying to him.”
Julia wasn’t sure how to respond as Sark made a phone call.
“It’s me,” he spoke once the other person picked up. “I need you make a marriage certificate, right now … In my name and Julia Thorne’s … yes, with an ‘e’ …”
He glanced over at Julia, covering the receiver. “I’m going to need your information, date of birth and so on.”
Julia didn’t hesitate. “I was born in London, the 2nd of August, 1973. And I’ve lived in London most of life.”
Sark repeated the information to whomever he was calling while studying Julia. There was something very peculiar about the way she had just told him about her. Her eyes had become almost glazed over, her tone as if she was reciting something she had memorized. The woman with Sydney Bristow’s face was becoming more mysterious by the minute.
“What?” his attention was snapped back to the call he was making. “Oh, I don’t know…make it in England … Canterbury if you wish …”
“Old Soul’s church,” Julia spoke up in that same eerie voice.
“Better make it Old Soul’s church,” Sark amended. “ … Yes, I know I’m not Catholic, just do it…”
He turned to Julia again, “Any particular date you’re fond of?”
“April,” she answered automatically. “April 17th.”
“Dandy,” Sark muttered before passing on the information.
He waited for a minute for the person on the other line to confirm what he wanted. “Smashing,” he said, “ …yes, I know … right …thanks.”
He hung up and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
“All done then,” Sark told Julia and they continued to move down the nearly deserted street at half past-midnight.
Six hours later the sun was peeking out just over the horizon as they crossed the border into Italy, having left Romania and crossing through Slovenia in a ‘borrowed’ car.
They drove into Milan and from there Sark was able to charter a plane into Rome.
On the trip, Sark had been watching his companion, wondering first of all, why she was with the Covenant.
“I’d been hired by them,” she explained in that curious London accent he still couldn’t get used to coming from her. As obvious as it was that this was not Sydney, everything in her appearance indicated that she was. It was like right after Allison went through the genetic sequencing…
He shook his head. He couldn’t focus on Allison right now.
However, he had begun to have his doubts that Julia had undergone the same process in order to look like Sydney. For one, during the time they’d been together, she would have taken medicine, Provecilium to be exact, because the effects of the genetic splicing would have already begun to take it’s toll six hours after the last dosage. But not only did Julia not leave the Covenant facility with any pills, but she had not expressed any desire of acquiring any nor did she show any signs of having physical discomfort.
Which, therefore, Sark continued to muse, left another viable option: that Sydney Bristow, super agent extraordinaire, had been successfully brainwashed. The more he thought about it, the more all of her behavior up to the moment had begun to make sense.
He decided to put it to the test. “Ms. Thorne, if you don’t mind me asking, I’m curious to know why we’re taking this little road trip?”
Julia looked over to him, an unreadable expression on her face. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I wasn’t under the impression that you were a prisoner of the Covenant. Why would you need me to extract you from the facility if you could have easily walked out on your own?”
Julia didn’t respond for a minute, looking out the window of the car they were riding in, watching the scenery go by.
She sighed. “I’d been hired by the Covenant to handle some things they needed to have taken care of. As time went by and I learned more about their operations, I realized that though I was given relative freedom, I could never leave. They would come after me and everyone I ever held dear.”
She turned to look at him, her tone open and honest, but her eyes held something back. “That’s why I needed you. To get away. If they think that you’ve abducted me, then it makes things easier.”
“I see,” Sark nodded, going back to watching the road, digesting the information he was given.
“So what do you plan to do once we reach Rome?” he asked.
“I have an apartment there that Covenant doesn’t know about. I think we could hide out there, and figure out our next move,” she answered.
“We?” Sark asked.
Julia turned to look at him. “Yes.” The look on his face must have warranted further explanation because she continued, “Mr. Sark, I might seem a bit presumptuous in thinking that you had a reason for being in the Covenant facility, that you were looking for something…or rather, someone.”
She noticed Sark stiffen a bit before relaxing his body again and letting a smirk play on his lips. “Really, Ms. Thorne? How do you know I wasn’t just out for a good bit of sport?”
“You’re looking for Allison Doren,” she stated with such a definitive certainness that Sark nearly panicked. But he congratulated himself at keeping an impassive look on his face.
“You must be wondering how I know that,” Julia continued. “I know Allison, rather well, actually. And I believe, Mr. Sark, that we could be of use to each other, which is why I think we should stick together. I not only know what you want, but I know where to find it.”
The Covenant must have done a hell of a job on Sydney if she’d been able to see Allison and not kill her on the spot. But obviously, Sydney or no, the woman sitting next to him had no problem reeking havoc on his nerves.
They remained silent for the remainder of their trip.
It wasn’t until Sydney, or Julia (he had to keep reminding himself), opened the door to a rather large apartment in Rome that he began to think that this wasn’t a game anymore. And he had to tread carefully, because if there was enough of Sydney left in Julia, she wouldn’t be able to put up with him much longer.
“Make yourself at home,” Julia offered as she moved to open the curtains and window, letting in the mid-morning sun and airing out the stuffiness of the apartment.
She moved into the kitchen as Sark removed his jacket and slung it over the back of the sofa. He looked down at his black shirt and dark jeans, very casual compared to Julia’s designer clothes. He looked out one of the windows at the people seven stories below, going into the church across the street, reading themselves for Sunday morning mass.
“Here,” Julia’s voice turned his attention away from the window and to the glass of wine she was holding in her hand.
He smirked a bit at her. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” he asked.
Julia came back with a smirk of her own, “Never,” she answered, gesturing at her own glass.
Sark accepted the glass from her hands and shifted it towards her. “Cheers.”
She clinked her glass with his and took a small sip before turning and sitting down on a nearby chair.
“I’m going to ask you a personal question,” she said to him. “Which, I think I’m entitled to, given the fact that you know more about me than I know about you.”
Sark settled in a chair across from her. “Fair enough. What would you like to know?”
Here came the test of just how much Sydney was left in Julia. Sydney would ask him for his real name, his date and place of birth, the base of operations of his former employer, how he got out of custody…
“Are you in love with her?”
Sark choked on his wine. He coughed a bit, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked up at Julia, finding that she was giving him an expression crossed between curiosity and something he couldn’t really identify.
“Excuse me?” he managed to get out, buying himself time to compose himself.
“Allison,” Julia unnecessarily clarified. “Are you in love with her.”
Sark didn’t respond, but merely stared back at her as she took another sip of her wine. She then placed the glass on the coffee table between them, leaning forward and brushing back a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear.
“I’m only asking, of course, because I’m not sure what to tell you,” she said in what sounded like a soft tone.
That wasn’t a good sign.
“You see Allison has been my partner for two months now, and … well, we’ve gotten to know each other. She’s mentioned you before.”
The way she said it made it clear to him just what kind of mentions had been made.
Sydney would have killed Allison in her sleep. Julia was Allison’s chum. Talk about turning the world inside out.
“So, that’s why I’m asking you whether you love her or not,” Julia went on when she noticed his continued silence.
“I don’t have an easy answer to give,” Sark finally said to her in a cool voice, taking more of his wine, needed the bit of alcohol to calm his nerves. He suddenly wished for something stronger.
Julia watched him for a minute longer before standing up and moving into the kitchen. She shuffled around a bit, and returned to him. As if she had read his mind, she handed him a tumbler full of Scotch before taking her seat once more.
“I’m not sure how to tell you, so I guess, I’ll come right out and say it,” Julia’s choice of words were not a good sign at all. “The last time I saw Allison, she … well, she’s been re-assigned for about two weeks now. She’s currently in the company of a Simon Walker. He’s her new partner.”
Here Julia paused.
“In more ways than one,” she added quietly.
The full significance of her words was not lost on Sark. He expected to feel … well … to feel anything. Anything but this sudden numbness that came over him. Allison…she’d moved on. She never had been one to just lay about and be idle. And he knew better than anyone that her greatest fear was being alone. He wasn’t surprised really. Somewhere deep down, he knew Allison had been lost to him ever since Tippin. He’d just been naively harboring the idea that she might still want him in the end.
Grateful for the stronger alcohol now in his hand, Sark quickly gulped down the Scotch, relived to feel the warming sensation that was helping against the cold he felt taking over.
He looked across at Julia. She wasn’t looking at him with pity or sadness …rather, she was giving him a look he could only define as understanding.
“Well,” he managed to croak out, aiming for an indifferent tone but falling short. “Then you certainly have saved me a great deal of trouble, Ms. Thorne.”
She smiled lightly at him. “Call me Julia.”
“Julia,” Sark repeated. Ironic that her name would be the female version of his, since ‘Julia’ seemed to be in every way exactly like him. His thoughts were becoming hazy, then, and as he looked over at her, he found that Julia was standing nearer to him now.
Looking at her right then, something changed. Something so unidentifiable that later he couldn’t blame himself for not seeing it coming. Sark suddenly realized that things were getting extremely fuzzy and he no longer had control over his limbs. His eyes dropped to the glass in his hand, noticing the white residue at the bottom of the glass.
He’d been drugged.
He glanced up at the woman before him, looking into her eyes and seeing what he’d been expecting to see since he ran into her.
She leaned over and kissed his forehead lightly.
“Good night, Sark,” she whispered.
“Sydney…” he managed to utter with the last of his strength before completely blacking out.
___________________________________________
And the truth is
I miss you
Yeah the truth is
I miss you so
And I’m tired
I should not have let you go...
FIVE: “A warning sign”
When Sark finally came to, he didn’t know what to expect.
The first thing he noticed as soon as he jerked awake was that he couldn’t move his arms or legs. As more of his sense returned, he deduced both is wrists and his ankles were handcuffed to the chair he in. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was being knocked out by Sydney Bristow who was pretending to be someone named Julia. Sark gingerly tested the resistance of the handcuffs, not because he really believed he could make an escape, but more out of automatic reflex. His limbs were sore, and he was developing a massive headache.
His eye sight was the last thing to return. So when his surroundings, and the person sitting in front of him finally came into focus, he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Well, well. Good morning, Mr. Sark. Or, good evening, rather.”
Sark tried to focus his sight directly on the speaker, still shaking off the effects of whatever hell of a drug Sydney used on him.
“Mr. Kendall,” he acknowledged his companion. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Kendall seemed torn between laughing and maintaining his usual scowl.
“I’m sure you agree that this day has just been packed full of surprises,” Kendall observed. “I was calmly sitting in my office this morning when not only do I receive a phone call from an agent presumed dead but also to say that she’d apprehended an escaped criminal and restrained him to have him taken back into custody. It was even more surprising that when I arrived and you were still here.”
Kendall shook his head in mock-amazement. “Will wonders never cease?”
Looking around, Sark noticed he was still in Julia’s, or rather Sydney’s, apartment. The window to the outside revealed the nighttime sky.
“Where’s Sydney?” Sark heard himself suddenly ask.
At this Kendall seemed to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Off being stubborn,” he answered, “But she’ll be back.”
“Mr. Kendall, as much as I would love to sit here and reminisce about the last three weeks since we’ve seen each other, I have a question which begs for an answer: What do you want from me? I would have assumed that you’d be only to eager to ship me back to my cell as soon as you would have arrived here. But since we’re still sitting here, there must be something that you want from me without the peskiness of going through channels.”
Kendall leaned forward, his trademark scowl back in place. “Believe me, I would have loved nothing more than to send you straight to rot in prison, you cocky bastard.” With that he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “But from what Agent Bristow has informed me, it would appear that we cannot take you back into custody … yet.”
Sark’s eyes narrowed, wondering what the other man was getting at.
Kendall didn’t leave him long without an explanation. “The Covenant believes that you have kidnapped Julia Thorne for … whatever reason. It’s too dangerous to extract Sydney, and to take you into custody would give her away. So, we need you to cooperate in order to maintain Agent Bristow’s cover within the Covenant.”
“And what if I choose not to?” Sark asked.
“That’s just the point, Mr. Sark,” Kendall said darkly, “You don’t have a choice. I have no problem asserting my authority off the records. It wouldn’t be the first time that Julia’s killed anyone.”
Sark looked back at the man before him with a new found respect.
“In that case, Mr. Kendall, I’m willing to be of service,” Sark responded carefully.
Kendall’s lips pulled into a superior smile. “I’m glad you see things my way.”
* * * *
And so it was that Sark was now standing here, with a new set of clothes and new orders, a tracking device implanted in his shoulder, waiting. Waiting for Sydney to come back. Before Kendall had left, she’d called, telling him that she’d do whatever Kendall wanted her to do. Which was exactly what the older man had been expecting.
Sark looked out the window, hearing the church bells announce morning mass.
She’d be briefed on the plane ride back to Rome.
He didn’t bother to look behind him when he heard the door open. He wasn’t sure what kind of anger would be emanating from her, since she now not only had to continue working with the Covenant, but she had to work with him as well. Kendall had also warned him that she would be upset since going to see the ex-Agent Vaughn. Sark knew enough about the man to know what Sydney would find, she would not like. It wasn’t easy seeing someone you love move on.
He heard the door close quietly behind her, and he heard her move over into the kitchen, dropping her things along the way.
He finally turned to look at her. He couldn’t see her face since she had her back turned to him, but he noticed something was different, merely in the way she was standing.
Before he could decide what to do, she spoke.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. She still wouldn’t turn to face him.
“About the handcuffs?” Sark asked, moving closer to her, wanting her to face him so he could know what he was dealing with. “Common, Agent Bristow. You know you’re not sorry at all. Were you to do it all over again, you wouldn’t do anything differently.”
“You’re right,” she said, turning around, but keeping her face lowered. “I’m not sorry.”
Finally she lifted her eyes up and Sark nearly took a step back from the wave of emotion radiating from her.
It wasn’t just the fact that she looked tired and there were dark circles beneath her eyes or that they were full of unshed tears.
As long as Sark had known her, no matter how bad things got for her, she always had that spark of hope and determination in her eyes. Like she always knew that she would win in the end.
Looking at her now, that was all gone.
She looked … broken.
As if to prove it, a tear escaped from beneath her lashes. His eyes followed the trail only to find that the dam that was holding al of them back had finally broken and they were now falling freely from her eyes. She gasped with the sobs, doubling over right there in front of him, wrapping her arms around her as she slipped to the floor.
The world that he knew, the world of the strong as steel Sydney Bristow, suddenly came crashing down with every sob that escaped from her.
And for some reason, that stirred something … a little something that he’d managed to store away in a fortress of concrete…his heart.
He knelt down, his hands hovering over her shaking body for a minute, as if not sure what to do. Finally, he touched her shoulders, lightly. She jumped, like an injured animal.
“Don’t touch me,” she commanded between hiccups. “I don’t need your pity, Sark.”
But he persisted, grabbing her by the shoulders more forcefully and pulling her into his arms.
“I don’t pity you, Sydney,” was all he offered as a response.
She resisted a bit longer, before giving up and collapsing onto him completely, wrapping her arms around his neck and crying into his chest.
He held her close, not offering any false words of comfort or trying to get her to calm down. She’d earned herself a good emotional breakdown. He just held her, giving her a shoulder to cry upon. He understood her broken heart, he knew her pain. He knew what it was like to have everything and everyone he cared about ripped from him without so much as a warning. He knew what it meant to have a destroyed life.
And that’s why she was accepting his strength.
Later he would realize that, sitting there on the kitchen floor of that apartment in Rome with a shaking Sydney in his arms, was when he decided he would dedicate his life to make sure no one hurt Sydney like that ever again.
TBC…
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