[Alias] This Shell of Mediocrity
Title: This Shell of Mediocrity
Fandom: Alias
Author: kawaiispinel
Feedback: ... Is loverly.
Word Count: 1463
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sark, Sydney
Pairing: At least one-sided Sark/Sydney, but that's a given.
Summary: "Let me put this in terms that you can understand, Sydney. You are not a domesticated little housewife. You were never meant for that sort of life."
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: So this is why I fail at LOST fic here lately- these two won't shut up. And if this seems like a snippet from a bigger fic... It's because it's sort of goes with this 'verse that accompanies an epic Sark/Sydney fanmix I've been working on. (Specifically, this bit coincides with the song "Rat Within The Grain.") I just... Felt like writing it, because the dialogue wouldn't leave my head. And I do love their seething hatred/unrequited lust
They can’t be having this fight. Not now.
And it’s with words, not their fists or bullets, so that makes it even more unwanted. The fact that’s been raining hard for the last five minutes isn’t helping either, but the rain is the least of Sydney’s worries.
Everything about this situation pisses her off. Vaughn being in the hospital and the fact that she has to rely on him to help her get her children back top the list, but everything that’s happened between them to get to this point is pretty goddamn high. All she wants to do is get her children back and go home, go back to her husband, and stay retired this time, anything Dixon needs, be damned, but none of that is going to happen until whatever it is between them right fucking now gets resolved.
Admittedly, what’s pissing her off the most this very second is how he can stand there in the rain like he’s not even bothered that he’s getting drenched, the lamplight he’s standing under illuminating him while keeping her in shadow and making his eyes look that much more blue as they reflect the light. He’s a stark contrast to her- equally soaked, but so angry that the water might have turned to steam on contact with her skin.
"Let me put this in terms that you can understand, Sydney," Sark goes on, continuing the point that started this whole scenario. "You are not a domesticated little housewife. You were never meant for that sort of life. The second your father saw you complete that puzzle, you were meant for far greater things. He knew it and since he’s not here to tell you that, I suppose I have to."
"First of all, you don’t get to talk about my father since you were working for the man who killed him," she snarls, taking a step closer. "And second of all, you don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about. My father supported me when I wanted out."
"Well, paternal instinct overrides a lot of things, including common sense," Sark continues, brushing her comment aside like she hadn’t even made it, much less made it with such venom in her voice, the very air she breathed might as well have been poisoned because of it. "I’m sure he knew the truth all along, however... That you can’t merely walk away from this life."
She has a few choice words for him- words she’s said repeatedly when this alliance began, after her children were kidnapped and Vaughn was injured, and especially when he began to proposition her for a more permanent alliance, which was what really started the downward spiral to this point. She can’t say any of those words, however, because he’s advancing on her until he’s out of light and in the shadows right in front of her, practically in her face.
"You and Michael might have believed that you could live that idyllic little life for the rest of your lives, but I’m sure both of you knew that it had to end eventually... That something would shatter your portrait of perfection."
"Don’t test me, Sark," she growls.
He doesn’t even miss a beat- it’s truly like she hasn’t even spoken. "Did you know that when Dixon came to you for that mission- the first one after your son was born- the only reason he called you out of retirement was because I made a phone call to him, insisting that he offer it up to you? It wouldn’t have been half as easy on the CIA to foil that particular mission if you hadn’t agreed."
She stares at him for a long time, unable to believe what she’s hearing. "You orchestrated that whole thing just to get me out of retirement?"
"To prove a point, really," he shrugs. "And that point was that you may pretend to be Mrs. Sydney Vaughn, doting housewife and mother of two, but that would never change the fact that you are Sydney Bristow, a deadly woman of action. That is your life, Sydney, and you can’t change that, which is why you, honestly, picked the wrong man."
She resists the urge to deck him for that last comment. It disgusts her to think of herself with him and make his sick little delusions a reality. She just responds, trying in vain to keep her tone even, because she’s not as good at hiding her emotions as he is, especially when she’s like this, "So what about Vaughn? By all means, he should be perfect for me- two agents who keep getting pulled back into the battlefield. Kinda romantic, don’t you think?"
She’s mocking him and he knows it. And he is in no mood to be mocked, especially about that. Lauren Reid wasn’t the only woman that Michael Vaughn never deserved to have- he should have had Sydney long before him and it’s the one less than pragmatic thought in his head that means anything to him.
"Vaughn was never good enough for you," he replies dryly, although she can see the hate in his eyes and she’s not sure if it frightens her or makes her deliriously happy that she’s hit a nerve. "And as an agent, he was relatively spineless."
She hits him for that- she can’t help it, really. He recovers quickly, hand going to his mouth to check on the split lip she’s given him, and then he’s back to staring at her stoicly, like it never happened save for the bleeding cut on his face. "Danger is your existence, Sydney, and thus danger should be what you embraced. Vaughn could never have given you that. He represents everything you think you want, but you’re not the sort of woman who gets that fantasy, and the sooner you realize that it’s not really what you want, the better. And if you don’t... Well, I’m sure Isabelle will."
She punches him again like it’s a reflex. "Never say her name again and don’t talk about my daughter like you know anything about her."
"I know a lot more about her than you think," Sark mutters, spitting blood on the pavement and then straightening up again. "I know that she’s her mother’s daughter in a lot of important ways."
"She’ll never even see that life," Sydney scowls.
"So do you intend to hide her from the world just in case another Arvin Sloane emerges to claim her as you were claimed? Perhaps that man will be me if you never see the light. The kindly grandfatherly puppetmaster who thought so highly of her mother. Pity said mother never lived up to her potential, but perhaps the daughter will be a much better example."
She’s on him like a wildcat, shoving him up against the lamppost as the rain starts to pour just a little bit harder as if it’s keyed into her anger. "You won’t live that long, Sark, believe me."
"You’ve been saying that for years now," he says soberly. "And here I still remain."
She wants to pull a gun on him and kill him right here, right now, but, dammit, she still needs him and he knows that, and by the time she’s ready to be rid of him, he’ll be long gone just like he always is.
And worst of all... She knows, to some extent, that everything he’s said is honest to God truth, and that makes this situation all the more unbearable.
She won’t let him know that. "Why don’t you just admit that none of this is about whether or not I’m living a lie, but, in all actuality, is about you losing your greatest opponent and not knowing what to do with yourself anymore?"
"It’s both, actually." And there’s a little flicker of a smile on his face. "I can admit that I do miss seeing you bursting in to save the day. Oh I could do without you spoiling my plans, but being your opponent was one of the greatest thrills of my life. Although, personally, I’d prefer us to be a bit more than just opponents. We could be amazing together."
"In your sick, sad dreams," she snarls, dangerously close to his ear.
"At least my dreams don’t contradict everything that I am," he whispers in her ear right back.
She lets go of him, backing off with a furious snarl. "We’re going to collaborate on this mission, because I need you to help me, but I want you to get it through your head that we are not partners. We will never be partners. We will never be anything. Do you understand?"
"You can tell yourself that all you like, Sydney. It won’t change a thing."
A thunderclap obscures the next words out of her mouth, although it’s just as well. They wouldn’t have meant a thing to him.
They barely mean a thing to her, really.