Write a mediocre song about this shell of mediocrity and pretend there's nothing wrong. [Locked]

[sarkraticmethod]

Contrary to popular belief (or at least the belief that may or may not be expressed by one Sydney Bristow at this point, given his last reply to her on his journal), Sark is not really a masochist. Well, maybe a little in highly controlled circumstances, and that's not even the point. The real point is that for this to work, he needs her full

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[sarkraticmethod]

Sark gives her a look like he's seriously considering if she has any manners at all in a rather bemused sort of way. It's actually rather amusing how quickly she's starting to remind him of his Sydney. He figured the discernible differences would stop being so discernible after awhile.

"Hello, Sydney," he finally says, because one of them is going to be pleasant during this conversation and it's going to be him... Well, as pleasant as he gets anyway. He tends to make pleasant rather unpleasant without really meaning to.

He goes back to his tea, very pointedly not looking at her for his next comment. "Before I answer that question, I must ask you... How are you feeling? April's been very concerned about your wellbeing."

It's... Something of a lie, yes, but not completely. Really, if April was overly concerned it was more because he might have been or because if something serious were to happen to Sydney, he'd be upset, but still. It's better than making a mocking comment about reluctant soldiers and the battles they fight anyway, cleverly disguised as a question about her health. Really, he just needs an assurance that she'll be able to handle this mission when Dick sends him the information.

[mademeaweapon]

The question surprises her, a little. She blinks, shakes her head slightly, and shifts her weight a little. Moving in certain ways still hurts, pulls at her stitches, but she's careful, knows enough not to tear them. "You can tell her I'm fine. I heal fast."

She's still not moving to sit down. He's not a friend. Neither is he an enemy, because she's through with... all of that... and he hasn't given her any reason to hate him yet, but the things Marshall's said about him are enough to make her a little suspicious of this meeting. Alright, more than a little.

[sarkraticmethod]

Right, because he's never known any member of her family to be put out for very long. If she's well within at least a week or less, they should be fine. "I'll be sure to pass that along."

He finally puts the cup down and looks at her, because there is no avoiding this (not that he wants to) and he might as well get it over with. It's not like he's good at small talk and that'll just make Sydney want to kill him more. Really, it'd be easier if she'd sit down, but he honestly doesn't blame her for not doing so. "No doubt you've noticed there's been an unusual level of activity in this city lately."

He makes it a point to emphasize the word in a way he expects Sydney to understand. Terrorist activity, in other words, but you don't say terrorist in a coffee shop these days. Not unless you want to induce mass hysteria, considering what happens in coffee shops. Or at least that one.

He holds up a finger as if he's expecting her to demand to know what that has to do with anything before she answers. "It's relevant. I'm getting to the point. Trust me."

Those two words are just unintentionally laughable coming from him.

[mademeaweapon]

Sydney's jaw tightens a little as he speaks. She tilts her head just slightly to one side, curls her fingers into her palm, and somehow manages to keep from snapping at him that whatever activity is going on in the city, it's none of her business, at least no more than any other person's. It's not her job anymore. "Get to it quickly."

[sarkraticmethod]

Sark sighs. Of course, he knew she was going to be difficult about this. That's not the problem, the problem is convincing her, and first he has to actually tell her the truth.

"There are only two ways I can go about dealing with this. The first is to track down whoever is responsible and join them." He waves a hand at her vaguely. "As I'm telling you this, you can plainly see that I didn't consider that option for very long."

He fiddles with his teacup, not looking at her again. "The other option was to seek out a source of intel and eliminate the problem. Unfortunately, to attack a problem at its source, you need more information than I've been given. My contact needs peace of mind that I can do the job before he'll provide me with that information, which is where you come in."

He looks at her again, expression completely devoid of shame. "The fact is, I can't do it without you, and that's not an expression of endearment as much as it is a cold, honest fact. I really can't do it without you."

And he's bracing himself- although calmly and discreetly.

[mademeaweapon]

He did say she'd probably want to hit him. And she does. But they're in a public place, and she's perfectly capable of controlling herself and... "No. I'm done with that, and you can find someone else." She doesn't give him a chance to reply, just turns and starts for the door. If he follows her, then she'll hit him.

[sarkraticmethod]

That.. Was the second choice he figured she'd make. He growls a little in a way he would only do if he knew no one else was looking and slaps the money for the tea on the table for following after her.

He waits until she's actually out the door before darting after her. Fine. If she wants to have this discussion in the street, then he will happily oblige her. It takes a lot to get him angry, and apparently a lot equals out to Sydney denying her potential- denying everything that's her. Denying everything about her that he loves.

"Your skill at deception, Sydney Bristow, is very commendable. Pity it seems that the one you're most adept at fooling is yourself. You can't walk away and you've already proven it once and now you're wearing the scar to prove it." There isn't even the slightest bit of anger in his tone, just cold venom. He bites it back as if he knows that's not going to get him anywhere, but whatever damage that causes has been done, so he just presses forward, desperately.

"Besides, if there's one thing I know about you, it's your capacity for human compassion, and if you're even remotely the woman I knew, you won't stand by and let innocent people die when you know you can do something about it. One of us has to do this for the right reasons, otherwise I know I'm no better than what I'm fighting against."

It's true too. He's only doing it out of boredom and while he knows restraint and not to kill unecessarily, even that's enough to probably involve more casualties than necessary.

This is probably not a good conversation to be having on the street, but thankfully it's dark out and it's not exactly crowded.

[mademeaweapon]

She tenses a little at the sound of his voice, but doesn't stop walking. She's going back to the Tower, and she's going to pretend this conversation didn't even happen, that he didn't even ask her, and...

She finally whips around, glaring at him like she wants badly to kill him here and now and is holding herself back by the thinnest of threads. "This isn't what I want. This isn't the life I want. And just because you're too twisted or broken or I don't care what to do anything else, I am not letting you pull me back into that."

She doesn't say that he hit a nerve. Tries not to let on that that mention of letting innocent people die was what made her stop and that a part of her can't help but want to fix it. It's not what ordinary civilians do. It's not what people living a normal life do. But...

"I am not the only person who can help you with this."

[sarkraticmethod]

She could have slapped him. It would have been so much easier to deal with that. Physical pain goes away after awhile, even if it's unpleasant. In two years of knowing her, Sydney's called hum a hundred things and none of them have phased him, because he could accept that they were true or that she was just saying things because she didn't know what else to think, too blinded by her own dislike to really see anything else.

Broken never came up in any of that and it stings that it's coming up now. Too twisted to function like a normal human being. Too programmed to accept normalcy and get away from this life once and for all. Too broken to be anything other than someone's weapon.

...God, this is what April must feel like, although he's sure it's worse for her. He's just not used to having it shoved in his face. He's stronger than broken. He is.

He keeps staring at her, looking almost hurt, which is more expression than you can get on his face normally, but even he can't push that away. He's not sure what his reaction to that should be- just one more testament to how badly he's fucked up, isn't it? He can't even get angry, unless it's useful somehow, because it's not becoming. It gives away too much.

He closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down and breathe and ignore the way his chest is constricting. It shouldn't get to him. Nothing gets to him, except, apparently, the reminder of exactly why nothing gets to him.

"Who else?" He finally asks, eyes clenched shut. "Not a single person in this... jīngcháng méiyòng de universe can do half of what you can do."

It's easy to tell when Sark's upset- he has this bad habit of breaking out other languages. It's one of the few ways you can tell something is deeply wrong with him. It's not like he's good at showing it any other way unless you just catch him on a really bad day.

"Maybe I am twisted and broken." God, that hurts to admit and it almost shows. "But you're no better than I am. We don't get to be normal. You could try it, of course. I don't fancy our chances of ever leaving this places, so if you wanted to elope with Will Tippin, the one perfectly normal thing in your positively insane life, and live out the rest of your days as an ordinary woman, you could probably manage it. It would be just like starting over. The problem is you'd never be able to maintain the illusion. It would just be another alias, one so effective that it fools even you. Eventually, however, the ennui of a mundane existence would kill you far more effectively than any terrorist plot ever could. You were never meant for that life, Sydney. I know this, because I'm not and we're fundamentally opposite sides of the same coin, whether that's something you want to face or not. A gun with the safety off is still a gun, after all. That will never change."

He's shaking. Why is he shaking? Has it really been so long since he's gotten upset than one trivial little insult has rattled him that much? "If you think otherwise, prove it. Just do it this once and if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you can just turn and walk away from it, then I'll let you go. You have my word."

And it'll kill him if she chooses it, but if he's right and he thinks he is, it'll probably kill her too.

[mademeaweapon]

Sydney doesn't interrupt him, but that's mostly just because she can't think of anything to say to him. Even after he's finished speaking, she just stares at him for a moment or two, jaw clenched tight, most of the muscles in her neck and jaw and shoulders so tense it all aches.

Just turn and walk away, Sydney. It's not your job anymore. Just walk away and it's over, I'm done with this and I can just

She punches him, hard as she can, all the energy tensed in her muscles going into it. Her expression hasn't changed, and if the utter loathing in her eyes is any indication, he's lucky to get away with just one punch. "Just this once," she growls softly. "This once, and I'm not doing it for you."

[sarkraticmethod]

He probably needed that if only so it could knock some sense into him, except it didn't work as well as he would have hoped. He's still shaking and he thanks his lucky stars she didn't knock anything loose although he's fairly certain he's going to be spitting blood for the next hour either way and his face is definitely going to sport a rather impressive bruise for awhile, and he can't bring himself to care right now about any of that.

It takes him a moment to turn back towards her, meeting her look of loathing with something no one would ever be able to name. It's not emotionless in the slightest- it's just hard to say exactly what that emotion is.

"That's all I ask," he responds, voice eerily soft. He straightens a bit and tries to bring some level of business back to his tone, but it falls just a bit flat. "I'll contact you when I have the details. Ask Flinkman if he can be spared from Torchwood, if you want. He's necessary for this as well."

He starts off making a point not to brush against when he moves past her. He needs to get back to the hotel, away from her and people in general, and get back in control of himself. She hurts him enough just by existing in this constant space of Cannot Have.. Of course, she'd have to add to it by hitting him where it hurts mentally too. Life would be so much easier if he didn't love her so damn much. If he didn't see it as a personal insult that she can't stand what she was meant to be.

It doesn't matter- or rather, it won't matter in a moment's time. He got what he wanted. Objective achieved and nothing else matters.

In a few hours, he won't even be wondering if he hurt her as badly as she hurt him and not even in a hateful context... In a genuinely concerned context that, given the circumstance, just makes him even more irritated.