Author: Vona
Title: Bitter
Rating: PG
Pairing: S/S undertones
Spoilers: None.
Summary: I wrote this a while ago. It's set during The Two. How I think Sark and Sydney should have encountered each other for the first time in two years. They're both bitter.
Special thanks to Ethereal, she betaed this one too. She rocks!
Bitter
Sydney Bristow was back inside the Operations Center.
Again.
Not that it was the same.
She was being watched by everyone. No one trusted her. Her. One of the most loyal women in the country, and everyone was secretly wondering if she'd betrayed them all.
Including herself.
She tried to ignore the looks and the silence in the usually buzzing Op Tech building. Vaughn was in a cubicle with his disgustingly sweet and perfect wife. Dixon was in Kendall's office, feeling important now that he was in charge. Weiss was eating a doughnut and hitting on some girl Sydney didn't recognize. Her father was in a tiny cell, with a beard and shaggy gray hair, much thinner since her disappearance.
He was a traitor too.
It must be in the Bristow blood.
The only thing normal was Marshall. His bumbling outbursts still existed, his intelligence was still off the chart, and his shy smiles still won her over. Marshall. Sweet boy.
They had given her a little bit of clearance. Not a lot. She had been allowed inside. That pretty much covered it. That is, until they decided she needed to talk to Sark. Why they thought that was beyond her.
What if she'd been working with Sark these last two years and it was all an elaborate plan to break him out?
She'd asked that bitingly to Dixon, who had simply disregarded her. They trusted Arvin Sloane more than they trusted her. Sloane was the one who'd suggested it. Since he was in the good graces of the ever brilliant goons at the Central Intelligence Agency, he thought Sydney might be able to learn something else from Sark. Sark had always had an obvious admiration of Sydney. It was obvious? Sydney hadn't even noticed it and she was a super spy.
So now she was now strolling down the prison hallway to the plexiglass cage that had held Sark for more than two years.
Sark had changed.
His blond curls were gone, replaced with an appropriate prison cut. He wore the blue jumpsuit that would have looked ridiculous on anyone other than him. She missed the impeccable suits he'd always met her with.
The blue jumpsuit intensified the blueness of his eyes, making them look like an ocean during a hurricane.
The officer unlocked the door and let Sydney inside the cage. She pushed her hair away from her face and took a seat on the steel chair inside the box. Sark didn't say anything for a while. He simply stared at her. She wondered if it was possible for the last two years to have been as hard on him as it was on her. The thought vanished the moment Sark opened his mouth, "It's a pleasure to see you again, Agent Bristow."
Polite as always, if not a bit condescending.
"Wish I could say the same."
Her voice was more bitter than she had intended. It wasn't her fault. She couldn't help it. Being back at the CIA did that to her.
"Ah, so angry. I always wondered when you would come visit me."
Was he testing the waters?
Was he trying to make her mad?
Or maybe he had no idea that she'd been gone for two entire years and she only now had a chance to come play the ever-popular mind game that always passed between the two.
Right.
The first choice was probably the correct one.
"Don't patronize me."
A flicker of confusion flashed into his eyes before sudden clarity.
"It did happen."
He said it distractedly, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there.
"What happened?"
He looked at her, his head tilted as if listening to something no one could hear.
Had he gone crazy from being confined in such small quarters with little or no contact with the outside world?
"You have no memory."
Sydney glared at him dourly. Apparently he was as sane as he would ever be.
"None."
"Then why did they send you in here? Maybe a chat between terrorists would loosen me up?"
"I'm not a terrorist."
That detestable smirk appeared on his face.
She almost felt bad for having missed it for two years.
"Of course you're not a terrorist, Sydney."
He was patronizing her again. Stupid Brit.
"I told you not to patronize me."
"I would never dream of doing such a thing. But maybe you should face the truth. It could help you in the long run."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're the prophecy girl. You should know."
"I don't!"
"Why don't you leave the bloody CIA? They don't trust you any more than I trust you, Sydney. Why don't you just disappear again?"
"Because I didn't do it voluntarily. I want my life back!"
"The double life? The personal one where you have friends you don't trust and the espionage one where you work with people you don't trust? Sounds like delightful fun to me."
"You don't know anything about my life, Sark!"
"Don't I though? It's a lot like mine. Don't let yourself get to close to people. Avoid capture. Avoid love. Avoid trust. Avoid dying."
"You really don't know anything about it."
"Ah, it's the avoid dying part that's not true. Because so many times you wonder if maybe the next encounter will be the one where they kill you and set you free of your miserable existence. You silently hope and pray that someone will send you from here because any form of Hell would be better than your life as it is. But then you stop being suicidal and feel guilty because you have 'so much to live for'."
"Stop it."
"You hate everything right now. I know. You hate the CIA because they didn't find you. You hate your father for helping your mother. You hate Will for falling in love with Allison/Francie. You hate Dixon for taking over the CIA and not trusting you enough, even after all that you went through. You hate Sloane for taking you life away. You hate Agent Vaughn for giving up on you and marrying that awfully saccharine woman. And you hate me because I know you so well."
"If you know me so well, why don't you tell me where I have been over the last two years?"
"And why would I know, Sydney? I've been locked up in this miserable little cage since your disappearance."
"That doesn't matter. You know everything, Sark. You're like the writer in a play, you know everything that will happen and how it will happen and you don't want to share it all with the audience."
"Astute observation."
"So why don't you tell me?"
"Because I want you to boil in that hate. I want it to simmer inside of you until it boils over and you lash out. There's nothing more I'd like to see than you lashing out at all of your 'wonderful' friends from the CIA."
Sydney slumped back against her chair.
Sark's bitter words washed over her like a waterfall. His eyes were cobalt and cold, freezing every inch of skin he looked at. He had changed. Before he had been cold, but not nearly as calculating.
He'd become bitter over his stay in this cell, bitter about everything bad that had happened to him and he wanted someone to share it with.
Sydney was the perfect candidate.
Because she was bitter, bitter about everything bad that had happened to her and bitter about commiserating with Sark. That he knew exactly what she feeling made her want to burst and that he knew where she'd been did nothing to quell her bubbling anger. He wouldn't tell her just to spite her and she hated him for it. She hated him so much. She glared up at him, her eyes like frozen chocolate.
Their eyes met and understanding passed through them.
They had the same outlook now. They were complete opposites who had evolved into something the same. It'd been two years since they'd seen each other last and it'd probably be two more before they saw each other again. But this understanding was almost like an ointment on a wound, it stung at first and slowly started to soothe it.
The realization hit both of them at almost the same time.
Sydney reached out and punched him in the gut and pushed him against the wall.
"Don't you ever talk to me like this again."
"I know how you despise truths, Sydney. You prefer sugar-coated lies because it makes your world happier. Well, I don't care much for your comfort right now."
Sydney slammed his head against the wall one more time. Then, her head held high she exited the prison cell and back into the operations center. A small crowd of old friends, Will, Marshall, Weiss, Vaughn, Dixon, and even Mrs. Vaughn stood watching the exchange between Sydney and Sark. She glared at each one and left the CIA.
Maybe she'd come back.
Maybe she wouldn't.
Maybe one day Sark's meticulous planning and boiling anger would pay off.
Maybe one day, Sydney and Sark would both be free of the CIA.
Then, the new Sydney and the new Sark would meet again. They would have an understanding. They would have passion and fire and insanity and bitterness to keep them going until then.
And when they did meet again, the world would have to look out, because with the two teamed up, it didn't stand a chance.
No chance at all.