Tous Le Mesonges Que Tu Dis
Title: Tous Le Mesonges Que Tu Dis/All the Lies You Tell
Disclaimer: I own nothing Alias.
Summary: Second in a series of somewhat Sarkney stories.
A/N: All I’m trying to do here is fill the void of Sarkney-less-ness that seems to becoming more and more prominent on Alias. :P Hope you enjoy this: there might be one more someday, when I feel like it. ;) Thanks for the replies! Again: confusion - PM me. Cause I have to draw diagrams for some of this. Seriously. My mind is just that scattered.
Sydney sprints down the hallway, her long leather jacket flying out behind her. She holds a small, brown, globe-shaped figure under her right arm as she runs, careful not to drop it.
Sydney makes a full-on turn at the corner, and smacks straight into another human body. She stumbles backward and falls, but she pushes herself up and runs into Sark again.
She barely registers the look of surprise on his face as she is kicked back to the floor and held there by a hard black shoe.
She gazes up at the silver barrel hole gleaming at her forehead. Dizzily, she feels for the globe and finds it’s still intact.
“I thought we might meet again - only this time you seem to have lost your elegance,” he says, sounding a little breathless. She’d hit him hard.
“I believe,” she murmurs, “it was you who ran into me.”
“The laws of physics and motion will undoubtedly prove you wrong, Sydney. You have what I came for, obviously,” he says, briskly changing the subject.
Sydney’s voice is dry. “Don’t waste your time bargaining for something you won’t get.”
He looks at her innocently. “Of course I will. Don’t you know I always do, in the end?”
Suddenly she thrusts herself off the floor, and the globe is instantly knocked out of her hand by Sark, who takes off running.
Before she can start off after him, she hears a murmur of voices coming from the left - she can’t see them - she skids to a halt before reaching their line of vision.
She feels the interior of her jacket, fumbling for her tranquilizer gun - son of a bitch! - her mind exclaims - he’d taken her gun!
Sydney looks around wildly and spots the air ducts lining the wall. It’s the only way she can get to Sark in time without being seen. With a sigh of resolution, she hurries over, reaches up and pries the door off the side. She sticks it between her knees, hoists herself up and in, grabs the door and pulls it in behind her.
She’s pretty certain of her direction; she moves as quietly and quickly as she can through the darkness.
She’s heading straight now, and doing well, until she’s slammed into at the crossway.
Sydney can barely see Sark’s face. She says coolly, “It was definitely you who ran into me that time.” She keeps her voice low, as he does.
He sounds tired. “Sydney - this just keeps getting more and more painful - what if I made a deal with you?”
She stares at him. “You’ve got both weapons. Why am I not dead?”
He considers, and then replies, “Because I fear the wrath of Irina Derevko.”
Sydney can’t tell, in the dark, if he’s being serious. The thought of Sark being afraid of her mother makes her want to laugh - except she can’t right now. “What’s the deal?”
“We each take half of the globe. Whoever finds us a way out of here gets the other half - they’re useless without each other. I swear I’ll give up my half if you find a way.”
Sydney pauses and pretends to consider. “You know, I had it first.”
He sounds amazed - and highly amused. “Agent Bristow, are you sulking?”
She sighs, aggravated. “Split the globe.”
He takes the fragile globe and carefully finding the breaking point, creates two halves, handing a shell to her.
At that moment, a loud, pulsing alarm sounds.
“That’s them - they must’ve discovered it was missing,” Sydney breathes.
“Then don’t waste time - we’re taking your direction.”
Sydney immediately begins crawling forward again, Sark just behind.
At the end of the line, Sydney whispers, “The door’s right here - I’m getting out.”
Sark pulls her back. “Look through that hole.”
Sydney hesitates, then peers through the miniscule opening.
A guard is standing by the entrance, with a formidable gun.
Sydney starts to say something, but Sark silences her with a wave of his hand. He takes out the tranquilizer and shoots through the hole at the guard.
Except nothing happens.
Sark turns to Sydney furiously and motions at the gun. She imagines what he might say: Bloody CIA won’t even issue you proper ammunition.
Suddenly, Sark withdraws, his face stricken. Before Sydney can frown, a stream of bullets sears through the sides of metal they’re surrounded by. She reacts without thinking; taking her piece, she kicks out the door, falling out of the ducts and is up against the heavily muscled guard.
With a few hand maneuvers she’s gotten rid of the gun, and a kick and a ram into the wall, and then she can hear Sark hop out behind her and head to the door.
A punch sails past her ear just as she returns her attention to the fight.
She brings a leg up, and it crashes down on the neck. The guard finally crumples. Sydney whirls around and sees Sark, holding a small device to the scanner on the wall. As she runs over, he murmurs, “System’s in lockdown - I’m deactivating the door code.”
“I know what a deactivator looks like.”
“With the weapons you’re issued, the gadgets can’t be any more sophisticated, can they? Keep watch,” he instructs her.
Sydney ignores him. “That deal is still on?”
“I assume so.”
“I’m just curious - how will we determine-”
“We haven’t reached that point yet. Done,” he says, pushing open the door.
They race outside, and they keep running until they’ve reached a safe location, where they simultaneously stop.
Sark looks at her. “You have yours?”
“You realize I could’ve been in and out in five minutes, tops, if you hadn’t come and-”
“Complicated things,” he finishes. “If you’re still having thoughts of fighting me for it, don’t. It’s easier this way, be assured. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a good look at your half before I give mine away.”
Sydney hesitates. Her agent training screams at her not to, but she can’t help but trust him.
Reluctantly, she hands it over.
There’s a spark in his eyes as he lifts it to the light, seemingly memorizing every detail. He brings it down and looks at the inside. Suddenly, his eyes flick to his left, behind Sydney. She whips around and sees - nothing.
He frowns slightly. “Could’ve sworn . . . but then it pays to be on one’s guard . . .” He trails off and he finishes. “You know there’s one thing I admire in you a great deal.”
She cocks her head.
He gives her his half of the globe. “Your honesty.” Then he is gone.
* * *
It’s been a few days since the mission, and Sydney’s reflecting - about Sark.
He likes her honesty? Probably, she thinks idly, because he’s lacking in that quality himself, and then realizes it might be true.
And at the party, she remembers. He’d kissed her - not once, but twice, supposedly under their cover. Supposedly.
She will admit one thing: He’s a good kisser.
She rises and, going to the counter, rifles through the mail.
Frederick Smith.
She stares for a second, and then rapidly tears through the envelope to reveal a note.
Agent Bristow -
I said I admired your honesty, because I admit it’s not a trait I share. Unfortunately, we work in a business where honesty is nearly impossible. I hope you understand.
Before she can finish, her cell phone rings. “Hello?”
“Sark must’ve switched the globes somehow. We got nothing, again. Get over here.” The caller slams the phone down in Sydney’s ear.
Numbly, she turns back to the note.
You had to know I would switch the globe with a forgery. Had you not showed up, no one at the museum would’ve realized a thing had happened. Such, however, was not the case.
Clearly, solo missions are not your forte. Regards.
-S
End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing Alias.
Summary: Second in a series of somewhat Sarkney stories.
A/N: All I’m trying to do here is fill the void of Sarkney-less-ness that seems to becoming more and more prominent on Alias. :P Hope you enjoy this: there might be one more someday, when I feel like it. ;) Thanks for the replies! Again: confusion - PM me. Cause I have to draw diagrams for some of this. Seriously. My mind is just that scattered.
Sydney sprints down the hallway, her long leather jacket flying out behind her. She holds a small, brown, globe-shaped figure under her right arm as she runs, careful not to drop it.
Sydney makes a full-on turn at the corner, and smacks straight into another human body. She stumbles backward and falls, but she pushes herself up and runs into Sark again.
She barely registers the look of surprise on his face as she is kicked back to the floor and held there by a hard black shoe.
She gazes up at the silver barrel hole gleaming at her forehead. Dizzily, she feels for the globe and finds it’s still intact.
“I thought we might meet again - only this time you seem to have lost your elegance,” he says, sounding a little breathless. She’d hit him hard.
“I believe,” she murmurs, “it was you who ran into me.”
“The laws of physics and motion will undoubtedly prove you wrong, Sydney. You have what I came for, obviously,” he says, briskly changing the subject.
Sydney’s voice is dry. “Don’t waste your time bargaining for something you won’t get.”
He looks at her innocently. “Of course I will. Don’t you know I always do, in the end?”
Suddenly she thrusts herself off the floor, and the globe is instantly knocked out of her hand by Sark, who takes off running.
Before she can start off after him, she hears a murmur of voices coming from the left - she can’t see them - she skids to a halt before reaching their line of vision.
She feels the interior of her jacket, fumbling for her tranquilizer gun - son of a bitch! - her mind exclaims - he’d taken her gun!
Sydney looks around wildly and spots the air ducts lining the wall. It’s the only way she can get to Sark in time without being seen. With a sigh of resolution, she hurries over, reaches up and pries the door off the side. She sticks it between her knees, hoists herself up and in, grabs the door and pulls it in behind her.
She’s pretty certain of her direction; she moves as quietly and quickly as she can through the darkness.
She’s heading straight now, and doing well, until she’s slammed into at the crossway.
Sydney can barely see Sark’s face. She says coolly, “It was definitely you who ran into me that time.” She keeps her voice low, as he does.
He sounds tired. “Sydney - this just keeps getting more and more painful - what if I made a deal with you?”
She stares at him. “You’ve got both weapons. Why am I not dead?”
He considers, and then replies, “Because I fear the wrath of Irina Derevko.”
Sydney can’t tell, in the dark, if he’s being serious. The thought of Sark being afraid of her mother makes her want to laugh - except she can’t right now. “What’s the deal?”
“We each take half of the globe. Whoever finds us a way out of here gets the other half - they’re useless without each other. I swear I’ll give up my half if you find a way.”
Sydney pauses and pretends to consider. “You know, I had it first.”
He sounds amazed - and highly amused. “Agent Bristow, are you sulking?”
She sighs, aggravated. “Split the globe.”
He takes the fragile globe and carefully finding the breaking point, creates two halves, handing a shell to her.
At that moment, a loud, pulsing alarm sounds.
“That’s them - they must’ve discovered it was missing,” Sydney breathes.
“Then don’t waste time - we’re taking your direction.”
Sydney immediately begins crawling forward again, Sark just behind.
At the end of the line, Sydney whispers, “The door’s right here - I’m getting out.”
Sark pulls her back. “Look through that hole.”
Sydney hesitates, then peers through the miniscule opening.
A guard is standing by the entrance, with a formidable gun.
Sydney starts to say something, but Sark silences her with a wave of his hand. He takes out the tranquilizer and shoots through the hole at the guard.
Except nothing happens.
Sark turns to Sydney furiously and motions at the gun. She imagines what he might say: Bloody CIA won’t even issue you proper ammunition.
Suddenly, Sark withdraws, his face stricken. Before Sydney can frown, a stream of bullets sears through the sides of metal they’re surrounded by. She reacts without thinking; taking her piece, she kicks out the door, falling out of the ducts and is up against the heavily muscled guard.
With a few hand maneuvers she’s gotten rid of the gun, and a kick and a ram into the wall, and then she can hear Sark hop out behind her and head to the door.
A punch sails past her ear just as she returns her attention to the fight.
She brings a leg up, and it crashes down on the neck. The guard finally crumples. Sydney whirls around and sees Sark, holding a small device to the scanner on the wall. As she runs over, he murmurs, “System’s in lockdown - I’m deactivating the door code.”
“I know what a deactivator looks like.”
“With the weapons you’re issued, the gadgets can’t be any more sophisticated, can they? Keep watch,” he instructs her.
Sydney ignores him. “That deal is still on?”
“I assume so.”
“I’m just curious - how will we determine-”
“We haven’t reached that point yet. Done,” he says, pushing open the door.
They race outside, and they keep running until they’ve reached a safe location, where they simultaneously stop.
Sark looks at her. “You have yours?”
“You realize I could’ve been in and out in five minutes, tops, if you hadn’t come and-”
“Complicated things,” he finishes. “If you’re still having thoughts of fighting me for it, don’t. It’s easier this way, be assured. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a good look at your half before I give mine away.”
Sydney hesitates. Her agent training screams at her not to, but she can’t help but trust him.
Reluctantly, she hands it over.
There’s a spark in his eyes as he lifts it to the light, seemingly memorizing every detail. He brings it down and looks at the inside. Suddenly, his eyes flick to his left, behind Sydney. She whips around and sees - nothing.
He frowns slightly. “Could’ve sworn . . . but then it pays to be on one’s guard . . .” He trails off and he finishes. “You know there’s one thing I admire in you a great deal.”
She cocks her head.
He gives her his half of the globe. “Your honesty.” Then he is gone.
* * *
It’s been a few days since the mission, and Sydney’s reflecting - about Sark.
He likes her honesty? Probably, she thinks idly, because he’s lacking in that quality himself, and then realizes it might be true.
And at the party, she remembers. He’d kissed her - not once, but twice, supposedly under their cover. Supposedly.
She will admit one thing: He’s a good kisser.
She rises and, going to the counter, rifles through the mail.
Frederick Smith.
She stares for a second, and then rapidly tears through the envelope to reveal a note.
Agent Bristow -
I said I admired your honesty, because I admit it’s not a trait I share. Unfortunately, we work in a business where honesty is nearly impossible. I hope you understand.
Before she can finish, her cell phone rings. “Hello?”
“Sark must’ve switched the globes somehow. We got nothing, again. Get over here.” The caller slams the phone down in Sydney’s ear.
Numbly, she turns back to the note.
You had to know I would switch the globe with a forgery. Had you not showed up, no one at the museum would’ve realized a thing had happened. Such, however, was not the case.
Clearly, solo missions are not your forte. Regards.
-S
End.