Loose Lips
Title: Loose Lips
Author: vyduan
Rating: MA-17
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot.
Ship: Sark/Julia
Warnings: Implied sex and overt violence. Character death. WIP.
Quick Summary: Set at the beginning of S3.
Word Count: 1109
A/N: Originally posted at Copy That. Inspired by the fountain pen pic for March Fic Possible. Set during the missing two years. The only change is Sark was not in CIA custody at that time. He now works for the Covenant and is paired up with Julia. Thanks to redbookie for beta-ing. =)
Photo Credit: Stock.Xchng Photographer: fraglesi
Royalty-free and no restrictions
Loose Lips
Chapter 1
*BERLIN*
"Tell us what we want to know," he sighed, inspecting his manicured hands, "and your death will be quick." He glanced up and saw his partner loosen the garrote.
"I don't have what you want," the man grunted. "Just kill me and be done with it."
"Very well." He resumed his examination of his cuticles. "Take your time, love. You know how I enjoy watching you work."
His partner, long, lean, and poured into leather, tightened the cord and purred a low menace into the man's ear. "I'm sorry it's come to this. I'm sure the CIA will tell your family that you died a hero and keep them safe. But don't worry. I'll take care of them."
He strained to catch her last whispers, but bloody froth on dying lips gurgled them to the grave.
"I told you to take your time. We needed the identity of the Covenant mole."
She discarded the dead agent onto the floor with a shove and retrieved her weapon. "I'm not your pet. If you'd prefer something tame, put in the request when we get back to London."
Ah, there it was. Glints of her prior incarnation. Usually, her fury manifested itself in nothing more than an arctic version of her de facto silence. She was so clear and so cold where she used to be all fire. He hated that about this stranger. He delighted in antagonizing her until the rare moments she spat venom. It reminded him of the woman he had admired. It gave him hope. Once, he had called her by her previous name and she had slapped his face with the force of a bullet train.
"Don't ever call me another woman's name in bed again."
And so, he didn't.
He yearned to call her by her true name. But the Change - he couldn't bear to acknowledge what it really was: The Breaking of Sydney Bristow - was more than on the surface (although he despised those alterations with equal vengeance). They could be siblings now. Blonde, beautiful, and impeccably dressed. She'd even stolen his accent.
This interloper was ruthless in every way Sydney used to show restraint. And as much as he prized such relentless ferocity in himself, it seemed to fit her all wrong. It was a quality that better suited a Derevko.
He could still taste the savagery of their first meeting.
Cole accompanied him down the upholstered hallway and stopped at a closed door. Undeterred by the obvious sounds inside, Cole burst into the room. A familiar silhouette straddled a man against a heavy-stained desk with an old-fashioned stationery set and fountain pen pushed to the side.
"Julia, when you're finished with Simon, I'd like you to meet Julian Sark. You two will be working together in the future."
In one blurred motion, she plunged the fountain pen into Simon's left eye then slammed it into his brain with the flat of her hand. He died while he was still inside her.
"Next time you want me to get rid of a mole, McKenas, I suggest you let me finish the job first. Don't deny me the pleasure again."
He swallowed at the memory. She certainly had style.
"Let's go, Sark." Her voice cut through his reverie and hurtled past him towards the exit. "The plane's waiting."
*LONDON*
His lips feathered over the landmarks of her skin. Left at the freckle, right at the scar, and deeper til morning. Without fail, she had sought him out after the mission. And though he preferred her previous person, he wasn't foolish enough to pass on such an opportunity. He didn't know how long this arrangement would last; he decided not to care.
He sucked on the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent and nuzzling her ear and stopped suddenly. Something wasn't right. But the woman beneath him moaned in protest and he filed away the thought for later.
***Later that evening***
Sark, draped loosely in a white bathrobe, glass of Petrus '82 in hand, reclined on the balcony of his flat and contemplated the botched mission.
What did she say to that man and why did she dispatch of him with such speed? He replayed the scene frame by frame in his mind.
"I'm sorry it's come to this. I'm sure the CIA will tell your family that you died a hero and keep them safe. But don't worry. I'll take care of them."
He focused on the movement of her lips, only half-hidden by her hair as she mouthed malevolence into the agent's ear. He squinted and increased his internal resolution, pixel by mental pixel. Ah... there it was.
"Forgive me."
He remained rooted for another few moments, savoring the precious information. Like all valuable intel, it raised more questions than answers. Was she acting as Julia or Sydney? If she were Julia, when did she turn? And for what reason?
If she were Sydney, how could she slaughter a man just to protect her secret? Isn't that what SD-6 did to her dead fiance? And how could she work for an organization that so easily sacrificed their own? It's not as if killing the man was their only alternative. They could've extracted him. Faked his death. Framed another Covenant operative. Endless possibilities. Not that it mattered to him; he wasn't Sydney.
"I wondered how long it would take you to piece it together."
That was twice today her voice had snuck up on him. He drew himself up to his full height and faced his partner. Whoever she was now, it didn't affect his need for self-defense. "Have you come to eliminate me, then? I apologize, but there are no fountain pens on the premises. Perhaps another time?"
"Don't worry. I brought my own."
"Ah, glad to see you're always prepared." He drained his wineglass. "Tell me, Sydney. How does it feel to be me?"
"What did I tell you about calling me another woman's name?"
"We're not in bed now, are we? But I suppose that could be readily arranged. After all, it is your preferred delivery of death."
"I know who you want me to be, Julian. But she's dead now. She's been dead for two years."
"Although I appreciate the non sequitur, I'm concerned with something of more import at the very moment. So if you don't mind..."
"Stop being obtuse. You've been consumed by this every day for the last nine months. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You've slipped. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I have not slipped. What do you want with me?"
"I have a proposal for you."
***TBC***
Author: vyduan
Rating: MA-17
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot.
Ship: Sark/Julia
Warnings: Implied sex and overt violence. Character death. WIP.
Quick Summary: Set at the beginning of S3.
Word Count: 1109
A/N: Originally posted at Copy That. Inspired by the fountain pen pic for March Fic Possible. Set during the missing two years. The only change is Sark was not in CIA custody at that time. He now works for the Covenant and is paired up with Julia. Thanks to redbookie for beta-ing. =)
Photo Credit: Stock.Xchng Photographer: fraglesi
Royalty-free and no restrictions
Loose Lips
Chapter 1
*BERLIN*
"Tell us what we want to know," he sighed, inspecting his manicured hands, "and your death will be quick." He glanced up and saw his partner loosen the garrote.
"I don't have what you want," the man grunted. "Just kill me and be done with it."
"Very well." He resumed his examination of his cuticles. "Take your time, love. You know how I enjoy watching you work."
His partner, long, lean, and poured into leather, tightened the cord and purred a low menace into the man's ear. "I'm sorry it's come to this. I'm sure the CIA will tell your family that you died a hero and keep them safe. But don't worry. I'll take care of them."
He strained to catch her last whispers, but bloody froth on dying lips gurgled them to the grave.
"I told you to take your time. We needed the identity of the Covenant mole."
She discarded the dead agent onto the floor with a shove and retrieved her weapon. "I'm not your pet. If you'd prefer something tame, put in the request when we get back to London."
Ah, there it was. Glints of her prior incarnation. Usually, her fury manifested itself in nothing more than an arctic version of her de facto silence. She was so clear and so cold where she used to be all fire. He hated that about this stranger. He delighted in antagonizing her until the rare moments she spat venom. It reminded him of the woman he had admired. It gave him hope. Once, he had called her by her previous name and she had slapped his face with the force of a bullet train.
"Don't ever call me another woman's name in bed again."
And so, he didn't.
He yearned to call her by her true name. But the Change - he couldn't bear to acknowledge what it really was: The Breaking of Sydney Bristow - was more than on the surface (although he despised those alterations with equal vengeance). They could be siblings now. Blonde, beautiful, and impeccably dressed. She'd even stolen his accent.
This interloper was ruthless in every way Sydney used to show restraint. And as much as he prized such relentless ferocity in himself, it seemed to fit her all wrong. It was a quality that better suited a Derevko.
He could still taste the savagery of their first meeting.
Cole accompanied him down the upholstered hallway and stopped at a closed door. Undeterred by the obvious sounds inside, Cole burst into the room. A familiar silhouette straddled a man against a heavy-stained desk with an old-fashioned stationery set and fountain pen pushed to the side.
"Julia, when you're finished with Simon, I'd like you to meet Julian Sark. You two will be working together in the future."
In one blurred motion, she plunged the fountain pen into Simon's left eye then slammed it into his brain with the flat of her hand. He died while he was still inside her.
"Next time you want me to get rid of a mole, McKenas, I suggest you let me finish the job first. Don't deny me the pleasure again."
He swallowed at the memory. She certainly had style.
"Let's go, Sark." Her voice cut through his reverie and hurtled past him towards the exit. "The plane's waiting."
*LONDON*
His lips feathered over the landmarks of her skin. Left at the freckle, right at the scar, and deeper til morning. Without fail, she had sought him out after the mission. And though he preferred her previous person, he wasn't foolish enough to pass on such an opportunity. He didn't know how long this arrangement would last; he decided not to care.
He sucked on the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent and nuzzling her ear and stopped suddenly. Something wasn't right. But the woman beneath him moaned in protest and he filed away the thought for later.
***Later that evening***
Sark, draped loosely in a white bathrobe, glass of Petrus '82 in hand, reclined on the balcony of his flat and contemplated the botched mission.
What did she say to that man and why did she dispatch of him with such speed? He replayed the scene frame by frame in his mind.
"I'm sorry it's come to this. I'm sure the CIA will tell your family that you died a hero and keep them safe. But don't worry. I'll take care of them."
He focused on the movement of her lips, only half-hidden by her hair as she mouthed malevolence into the agent's ear. He squinted and increased his internal resolution, pixel by mental pixel. Ah... there it was.
"Forgive me."
He remained rooted for another few moments, savoring the precious information. Like all valuable intel, it raised more questions than answers. Was she acting as Julia or Sydney? If she were Julia, when did she turn? And for what reason?
If she were Sydney, how could she slaughter a man just to protect her secret? Isn't that what SD-6 did to her dead fiance? And how could she work for an organization that so easily sacrificed their own? It's not as if killing the man was their only alternative. They could've extracted him. Faked his death. Framed another Covenant operative. Endless possibilities. Not that it mattered to him; he wasn't Sydney.
"I wondered how long it would take you to piece it together."
That was twice today her voice had snuck up on him. He drew himself up to his full height and faced his partner. Whoever she was now, it didn't affect his need for self-defense. "Have you come to eliminate me, then? I apologize, but there are no fountain pens on the premises. Perhaps another time?"
"Don't worry. I brought my own."
"Ah, glad to see you're always prepared." He drained his wineglass. "Tell me, Sydney. How does it feel to be me?"
"What did I tell you about calling me another woman's name?"
"We're not in bed now, are we? But I suppose that could be readily arranged. After all, it is your preferred delivery of death."
"I know who you want me to be, Julian. But she's dead now. She's been dead for two years."
"Although I appreciate the non sequitur, I'm concerned with something of more import at the very moment. So if you don't mind..."
"Stop being obtuse. You've been consumed by this every day for the last nine months. If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You've slipped. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I have not slipped. What do you want with me?"
"I have a proposal for you."
***TBC***