Alias: Forgive Us Our Tresspasses
Title: Forgive Us Our Tresspasses
Fandom: Alias
Author: kawaiispinel
Feedback: ... Is loverly.
Word Count: 618
Rating: PG
Characters: Sydney, Sark
Summary: There are many things that displease Sydney Bristow- being handcuffed to a confessional with Sark is three of them.
Disclaimer: Alias is JJ's and I claim no right to it even if half the characters live in my headspace. Not my fault they moved in without my permission.
Author's Note: Written for allfireburns who wanted Sark/Sydney with the prompt "state of grace," and I totally forgot about the Billy Joel song and actually took state of grace literally, because I'm awesome like that, so... You may get two fics for this prompt, Aubrey. Or not. AND OH MY GOD, I'M BEING PRODUCTIVE. THIS MADNESS CAN'T GO ON, CAN IT?
There are a lot of things that displease Sydney Bristow. Being handcuffed in a confessional with Sark is three of them. Of course, he would have had to go and shoot that pretentious little mouth of his off- for an operative of considerable skill (or so everyone kept telling her- she was starting to have doubts), he certainly failed at the concept of undercover... And who let him pretend to be a priest anyway? Somewhere the Vatican was pissing itself in sheer abject horror at the mere thought of Sark as a Man of God. He wouldn't know state of grace if it punched him in the face... Which is what she would be doing right now if both her hands weren't cuffed and he wasn't on the other side of the booth.
"That could have gone better," Sark muttered, coupled with the sounds of what was probably his foot scraping up against the back of the confessional as he tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position.
Sydney scoffed bitterly and gave the partition between them a swift kick. The wooden panel wasn't that thick- odds are, Sark would feel it and it would convey precisely how annoyed with him she was right now. "Oh really? I thought it went remarkably well. I really liked the part where you called the most prominent figure in Italian gunrunning an imperialist twit."
"He was a barbarian, Sydney."
"He was a mark, Father Egotist, or did you conveinently forget that this is not some little depraved sociopath pissing contest? We had a mission objective and if you're really as good as you claim to be, you would have stuck to the plan."
"Do you have any respect for Houses of the Lord, Agent Bristow, or does the presence of God just not give your inumberable charms any pause at all?" She didn't dignify that with a response, mostly because anything she wanted to say needed to be punctuated by causing him actual physical pain and a lot of incoherent sputtering about how he had no right to preach at her about religion when Holy Water probably burned his skin on contact. "First of all, I know for a fact you've gone off-book numerous times, so if you're going to chide me for my behavior, don't start there. Second of all, I do recall those mission objectives- retrieve the key to the nuclear warhead that Signor Pazzi recently purchased, which you'll find that I've done."
Sydney balked. "How the hell-?"
"I was an accomplished pickpocket as a child," Sark responded as a means of explanation, as if that was supposed to explain anything at all... And, at this point, Sydney was still too annoyed too ask for anything more. She might have been happier if he had royally fucked up the mission. At least then she could gleefully tell Sloane that he wasn't worth keeping around and hope he shipped him off to Siberia.
"Pazzi's going to notice his key's missing," she pointed out, managing not to sound as petulant as she suspected she might.
"Yes, that did cross my mind. Hopefully, the fact that we've missed our extraction deadline will alert Dixon to our predicament before Signor Pazzi returns and changes his mind about not eliminating us altogether." Sydney's response to that was another scoff, followed by dead silence that might have been pleasant had Sark not decided to ruin it. "Since I gather we're going to be stuck here for awhile longer, I don't suppose there's anything you'd like to confess?"
Sydney glowered at the place where the back of his head would be. "Yeah, I do. I have this insatiable desire to dropkick a priest. That's a sin, right?"
Fandom: Alias
Author: kawaiispinel
Feedback: ... Is loverly.
Word Count: 618
Rating: PG
Characters: Sydney, Sark
Summary: There are many things that displease Sydney Bristow- being handcuffed to a confessional with Sark is three of them.
Disclaimer: Alias is JJ's and I claim no right to it even if half the characters live in my headspace. Not my fault they moved in without my permission.
Author's Note: Written for allfireburns who wanted Sark/Sydney with the prompt "state of grace," and I totally forgot about the Billy Joel song and actually took state of grace literally, because I'm awesome like that, so... You may get two fics for this prompt, Aubrey. Or not. AND OH MY GOD, I'M BEING PRODUCTIVE. THIS MADNESS CAN'T GO ON, CAN IT?
There are a lot of things that displease Sydney Bristow. Being handcuffed in a confessional with Sark is three of them. Of course, he would have had to go and shoot that pretentious little mouth of his off- for an operative of considerable skill (or so everyone kept telling her- she was starting to have doubts), he certainly failed at the concept of undercover... And who let him pretend to be a priest anyway? Somewhere the Vatican was pissing itself in sheer abject horror at the mere thought of Sark as a Man of God. He wouldn't know state of grace if it punched him in the face... Which is what she would be doing right now if both her hands weren't cuffed and he wasn't on the other side of the booth.
"That could have gone better," Sark muttered, coupled with the sounds of what was probably his foot scraping up against the back of the confessional as he tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position.
Sydney scoffed bitterly and gave the partition between them a swift kick. The wooden panel wasn't that thick- odds are, Sark would feel it and it would convey precisely how annoyed with him she was right now. "Oh really? I thought it went remarkably well. I really liked the part where you called the most prominent figure in Italian gunrunning an imperialist twit."
"He was a barbarian, Sydney."
"He was a mark, Father Egotist, or did you conveinently forget that this is not some little depraved sociopath pissing contest? We had a mission objective and if you're really as good as you claim to be, you would have stuck to the plan."
"Do you have any respect for Houses of the Lord, Agent Bristow, or does the presence of God just not give your inumberable charms any pause at all?" She didn't dignify that with a response, mostly because anything she wanted to say needed to be punctuated by causing him actual physical pain and a lot of incoherent sputtering about how he had no right to preach at her about religion when Holy Water probably burned his skin on contact. "First of all, I know for a fact you've gone off-book numerous times, so if you're going to chide me for my behavior, don't start there. Second of all, I do recall those mission objectives- retrieve the key to the nuclear warhead that Signor Pazzi recently purchased, which you'll find that I've done."
Sydney balked. "How the hell-?"
"I was an accomplished pickpocket as a child," Sark responded as a means of explanation, as if that was supposed to explain anything at all... And, at this point, Sydney was still too annoyed too ask for anything more. She might have been happier if he had royally fucked up the mission. At least then she could gleefully tell Sloane that he wasn't worth keeping around and hope he shipped him off to Siberia.
"Pazzi's going to notice his key's missing," she pointed out, managing not to sound as petulant as she suspected she might.
"Yes, that did cross my mind. Hopefully, the fact that we've missed our extraction deadline will alert Dixon to our predicament before Signor Pazzi returns and changes his mind about not eliminating us altogether." Sydney's response to that was another scoff, followed by dead silence that might have been pleasant had Sark not decided to ruin it. "Since I gather we're going to be stuck here for awhile longer, I don't suppose there's anything you'd like to confess?"
Sydney glowered at the place where the back of his head would be. "Yeah, I do. I have this insatiable desire to dropkick a priest. That's a sin, right?"