Title: What He Never Had
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Endgame
Disclaimer: Sark and Caplan are not mine. If I owned Sark I would be busy doing other things
than writing this. *wink*
Summery: One take on the Sark/Caplan scene
Notes: Thanks to Jen who helped out with betaing. Also thanks to Kaew who helped me pick a
book for Sark to read. The idea for this fic came together after a few convos I had on SD-1
and even one on AU. Thanks to everyone who influenced this fic with their comments and ideas.
~
It was a rare occasion when Sark was left with some free time on his hands. Though this
currently could not actually be called free time, it was free as his time got. He was stuck
baby-sitting the worn-out injured Caplan, who was chained to his seat and working for Sloane
in a last attempt of ever seeing his family again. Simple enough task and it allowed Sark to
read, something he missed enormously, with little more distraction than the sound of Caplan's
tapping on the keyboard.
His hands gripped onto a copy of Machiavelli's The Prince. Philosophy would not be light
reading by most people's standards but it keep his intellect engaged unlike most of the mind
numbing dribble others read. Sark's eyes ran over the list of qualities, which Machiavelli
alleged made an imposing leader. He reflected on how many of those he truly possessed and
whether he was really searching for power over the many.
"Who are you anyway?" Sark gazed up; his concentration was broken by the sound of Caplan's
voice. "What are you? 22? 23?" Caplan gave a slight shake of the head and exhaled in
frustration. "What are you doing working for a guy like Sloane? What do you expect to get out
of all of this?"
He appeared to be in sheer disbelief that anyone could ever spend their life doing this and
even more so how someone could be so jaded as to be enticed into it at his age. He did not
understand how easy it was to fall into a life like this if circumstances allowed it. Caplan
was trying to understand. Not only Sark but also his fate. Old memories from long ago drew a
pang of sympathy out from Sark. He was unable to reveal too much to the man but if it soothed
the anxiety it could not hurt too much. Besides like anyone he felt the need to confide. The
man would most likely be dead by an order by Sloane or Irina soon anyway, taking his secrets
with him.
"I was sent to school in England at a very young age. Out of necessity one becomes...
self-reliant and then perhaps prematurely ambitious. Like anyone Mr. Caplan, what I want is
that which I never had."
Boarding school was a polite name for what he went to. Sark was not about to tell him the
complete reality of his existence but the lonely unwanted life of a kid sent away to school
was well known and it was close enough. In reality, he was a product of the Russians attempt
at producing better spies.
Sark later discovered information about the operations set up by the KGB to steal priceless
information from the CIA on what was christened Project Christmas. It began with the
corrupting and altering the standardized tests first graders took to weed out those with the
most potential but the Soviets took it a step further. Well actually many steps further. At
six years old, he was just doing what the adults around him said. He had been innocent of the
meaning behind those studies and games. The Soviets were determined to out beat the Americans
whatever the cost. The Cold War was in full swing and they would do anything to make sure they
came out ahead. Risks they took were well worth the gain.
They also hid another filthy secret. At times, he did not know what he hated them for more.
Being deprived a childhood, the desperation and pain he felt when he thought his family had
abandoned him or the true fate of his parents. Sark had barely any memory of them but he knew
they were innocent victims for the 'greater good'. Slaughtered for having a loving heart and
wanting their child back. For signing their only son up for something they did not truly
comprehend. It had not been the opportunity for their son they were lead to believe but any
were excepted in a time so few surfaced.
He was sent to their special school in England. Children came and went. They were only
required for a short time but he was one of the few they keep longer and trained harder. It
was the 'privilege' of being at the top of the class. His teacher, Irina Derevko is, as close
to a mother he had known. She had left her child behind and took him under her wings but still
for her it was part of the job. Still affection for him was there. He was prized and trusted
her most talented, especially loyal and accomplish student.
So it was, his life's work would be for the only one he could remotely trust or call family.
His own must have been very foolish, he thought in moments of isolated anger. How could they
have trusted those people with him like he was just some replaceable object?
What he wanted and what he never had? Power over others so he could have power over his own
fate. For once he would make the choices of how his life turned out and he would use the
skills they had taught him to get it.
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" Caplan came to a comprehension of the situation.
Sark looked at Caplan's face as realization of what he thought was about to happen appeared.
He would have never gotten that information about Sark if there wasn't plans for killing him.
"You wouldn't share any of that stuff with me if you expected me to live," he continued.
"I suggest you keep working," is all Sark could say.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Endgame
Disclaimer: Sark and Caplan are not mine. If I owned Sark I would be busy doing other things
than writing this. *wink*
Summery: One take on the Sark/Caplan scene
Notes: Thanks to Jen who helped out with betaing. Also thanks to Kaew who helped me pick a
book for Sark to read. The idea for this fic came together after a few convos I had on SD-1
and even one on AU. Thanks to everyone who influenced this fic with their comments and ideas.
~
It was a rare occasion when Sark was left with some free time on his hands. Though this
currently could not actually be called free time, it was free as his time got. He was stuck
baby-sitting the worn-out injured Caplan, who was chained to his seat and working for Sloane
in a last attempt of ever seeing his family again. Simple enough task and it allowed Sark to
read, something he missed enormously, with little more distraction than the sound of Caplan's
tapping on the keyboard.
His hands gripped onto a copy of Machiavelli's The Prince. Philosophy would not be light
reading by most people's standards but it keep his intellect engaged unlike most of the mind
numbing dribble others read. Sark's eyes ran over the list of qualities, which Machiavelli
alleged made an imposing leader. He reflected on how many of those he truly possessed and
whether he was really searching for power over the many.
"Who are you anyway?" Sark gazed up; his concentration was broken by the sound of Caplan's
voice. "What are you? 22? 23?" Caplan gave a slight shake of the head and exhaled in
frustration. "What are you doing working for a guy like Sloane? What do you expect to get out
of all of this?"
He appeared to be in sheer disbelief that anyone could ever spend their life doing this and
even more so how someone could be so jaded as to be enticed into it at his age. He did not
understand how easy it was to fall into a life like this if circumstances allowed it. Caplan
was trying to understand. Not only Sark but also his fate. Old memories from long ago drew a
pang of sympathy out from Sark. He was unable to reveal too much to the man but if it soothed
the anxiety it could not hurt too much. Besides like anyone he felt the need to confide. The
man would most likely be dead by an order by Sloane or Irina soon anyway, taking his secrets
with him.
"I was sent to school in England at a very young age. Out of necessity one becomes...
self-reliant and then perhaps prematurely ambitious. Like anyone Mr. Caplan, what I want is
that which I never had."
Boarding school was a polite name for what he went to. Sark was not about to tell him the
complete reality of his existence but the lonely unwanted life of a kid sent away to school
was well known and it was close enough. In reality, he was a product of the Russians attempt
at producing better spies.
Sark later discovered information about the operations set up by the KGB to steal priceless
information from the CIA on what was christened Project Christmas. It began with the
corrupting and altering the standardized tests first graders took to weed out those with the
most potential but the Soviets took it a step further. Well actually many steps further. At
six years old, he was just doing what the adults around him said. He had been innocent of the
meaning behind those studies and games. The Soviets were determined to out beat the Americans
whatever the cost. The Cold War was in full swing and they would do anything to make sure they
came out ahead. Risks they took were well worth the gain.
They also hid another filthy secret. At times, he did not know what he hated them for more.
Being deprived a childhood, the desperation and pain he felt when he thought his family had
abandoned him or the true fate of his parents. Sark had barely any memory of them but he knew
they were innocent victims for the 'greater good'. Slaughtered for having a loving heart and
wanting their child back. For signing their only son up for something they did not truly
comprehend. It had not been the opportunity for their son they were lead to believe but any
were excepted in a time so few surfaced.
He was sent to their special school in England. Children came and went. They were only
required for a short time but he was one of the few they keep longer and trained harder. It
was the 'privilege' of being at the top of the class. His teacher, Irina Derevko is, as close
to a mother he had known. She had left her child behind and took him under her wings but still
for her it was part of the job. Still affection for him was there. He was prized and trusted
her most talented, especially loyal and accomplish student.
So it was, his life's work would be for the only one he could remotely trust or call family.
His own must have been very foolish, he thought in moments of isolated anger. How could they
have trusted those people with him like he was just some replaceable object?
What he wanted and what he never had? Power over others so he could have power over his own
fate. For once he would make the choices of how his life turned out and he would use the
skills they had taught him to get it.
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" Caplan came to a comprehension of the situation.
Sark looked at Caplan's face as realization of what he thought was about to happen appeared.
He would have never gotten that information about Sark if there wasn't plans for killing him.
"You wouldn't share any of that stuff with me if you expected me to live," he continued.
"I suggest you keep working," is all Sark could say.