Losing my resistance
Summary: Sark returns to the CIA with a something they want. It results to him spending valuable time with Sydney. They are both left with limitations they are both struggling with. SS
Rating: T, to be safe.
Note: This chapter is a mess, I feel it. But I'll continue it :o) because I love sarkney.
o-o
The Los Angeles sun streaked across the paths of morning goers. Sydney Bristow was no exception. The sprinklers went off in synchronization, filling the air with the smell of wet grass. Ah, the smell of morning. Running by the cold sprinkles of water, Sydney got herself all wet, and content. This was all she needed, not some ops, nor aliases, nor dead lovers and friends, not even a cocky British nemesis. Son of a bitch. All she needed was to be Sydney Bristow.
But like waking up from a dream by an alarm clock, Sydney was snapped back up to reality by her beeper. Shit! She thought.
Urgent. Get to headquarters.
Her day just turned far more interesting.
o-o
Sydney rushed past the doors in her full seat-gear, with mud and wet grass in her shoe soles. "Dad, what's so urgent?"
"Sark's back, and he's got intel"
"What? So where was he all along?"
"He won't tell, but he's currently being interrogated by Sloane along with the rest" Jack paused and turned himself to Sydney
Sydney crossed her arms in thought. She's trying to digest that Sark is attempting to contribute to their operation, "He's becoming an asset"
"We can't take chances that big, Sydney. It's too risky"
o-o-o
Sydney and her father entered the room strangely similar to Irina Derevko's containment cell during her stay with the CIA. Julian Lazarey, or Sark and they conveniently call him, sat in lonesome. Sark stood out of the white walls with his orange jumpsuit. He slumped in his chair, staring straight into the glass separating him from his captors.
Sydney surfaced from behind the mob of his interrogators led by Marcus Dixon. She intimidated Sark with the look in her face. She was furious, she was to blame for his escape in their last mission. Sark took notice of her strong presence by sitting straight up and crossing his arms.
That Cocky British bastard.
Sark held his gaze up to hers, keeping their line of sight undisturbed. He kept his condescending smirk plastered upon his face.
"Why did you come back, Sark?"
"Was that a question, Agent Bristow? Because it did not sound like one--"
Dixon interrupted, "Just answer the question"
Sark pursed his lips and continued, "I told you I'm a man of my word, Sydney," He continued, "I fled from Venice to get a new tip on the active bomb trading in the black market. I returned, because I got a good one"
"Elaborate"
"It would take place in just a matter of hours. It could be intercepted"
Sark stood from his position and divulged the details of the supposed exchange. The main players of the trade are: Fidelio Ruzo and Mischa Ivanovsky. The location is at a Villa in Tuscany with maximum security on surveillance and weapons of guests. The gathering is mainly for high black market dealers. That is why he got invited.
"So how the hell do you expect us to get in, we are not on the guest list" Sydney asked.
"I got an invitation for two" he paused. "The other invite is for Lauren Reed"
Sydney shut her eyes in frustration. Not again
Sloane motioned the rest of the team to move to the briefing room. Sydney remained motionless as the viewing area emptied, leaving her alone with Sark.
Sark just stared back at her, smirking. He came to the realization that he was staring at someone as equally capable as his abilities, but was in no line to use it against him. He inched closer to the glass, increasing Sydney's frustration. Oh, how she wanted to grab him and personally rip the arrogance out of him.
"You just ruined my good morning, you son of a bitch"
Before Sydney left the room Sark reminded her that he is really a son of a bitch, and she is just calling him by the truth. She realized that he does have a point, he definitely is a dog, and he knows it. She turned to look at him crossing his arms, victorious.
Bastard
o-o-o
In the briefing room, Sloane smoothed out any cracks in the plan. Sydney would be going as Lauren Reed. Sark's surveillance bug would automatically turn off as the enter Tuscany. The car's surveillance would then be activated. Their extraction would be in a matter of 24 hours from their arrival in the gathering.
o-o-o
Sydney broke out Lauren Reed's file footages and studied her actions, reactions, accent, and movements. Michael Vaughn cringed at the thought of his deceitful dead wife. He placed his hand on Sydney's shoulder, reassuring her nerves. It was visual that Sydney was nervous for this mission. She never went to one without any gadgets.
"Syd, he may hurt you, you know we can't monitor you in this mission"
She looked up to Vaughn looking down at her, face filled with concern "I can protect myself, Vaughn"
"I know you can, but this is Sark"
"So what? I can handle him"
"You have had some close calls, Sydney. We can't be sure"
Sydney kept her eyes on Vaughn. How could he doubt her abilities?
She insisted to have learned from her mistakes, and did study Sark's points. Their conversation ended with a sour note. Sydney was then eager to get to the field.
o-o-o
Tuscany
Their arrival was smooth, and everything seemed to be in perfect order, they were assisted until they reached Toscana. Sydney took over the wheel of Sark's car. She heard a faint beep under the car, and assumed it was the car's surveillance being activated.
"You are now bug free, Sark"
"Finally, I can breathe. It was getting horrible for me to move"
"Get used to it"
Sydney stopped by a road shoulder, along a very picturesque view. A patch of Italian Cyprus trees concentrated in the middle of a vast stretch of greens. She scrambled from bag to bag for her camera.
"What are you looking for?"
"My camera. Nadia wanted me to take a picture of Tuscany. She's been fascinated by this place ever since. And that looks like a good spot"
"Si, Toscana. Bella!" said Sark with the usual upbeat Italian accent.
Surprised by his impromptu accent-play, Sydney abruptly stopped scrambling and looked at him with a face that spells out confusion. "Well, that was highly unlike you"
Sark sighed and put on his sunglasses and snapped back to his polished self, not rattling his usual persona. "Tuscany does wonders to me"
"Oh yeah? What possible wonders could be done to cold-hearted murderers? Make them trigger-happy?" She said, focusing her camera on both her and the view.
"That's a need-to-know, Agent Bristow" He said, looking at her ridiculous attempt to fit the entire view and herself by her arm's length, "And let me do that for you"
He reached for Sydney's camera, and she instructed him with the buttons. Sydney tied her hair up in a high ponytail to shield from the wind, and Sark clicked away. Sydney gave him a quick 'thank-you' nod, and previewed her picture.
Sark walked over to the railing and leaned over, as if he was soaking in the mood. Sydney was quick to notice the picture-opportunity Sark made. He was in all black against the vibrant colors of the Tuscan plane. For a man with a nefarious reputation, he makes a very beautiful view.
"Sark"
"Yes, Sydney?"
She held her camera up "C'mon, for novelty's sake. It's not all the time I am stuck in Tuscany with you"
Sark smiled as he reached his hand out to assist Sydney to the field, just off the road. It just took three pictures of them with the assistance from a local Italian biker who did not count to three when taking their pictures.
They cut their tourist moment off and headed to their temporary location, their version of the headquarters. They decided on a small bed and breakfast foliaged by tall Cyprus trees.
o-o-o
They stopped short of the inn's door as Sydney scanned the information provided for her. She saw the creases on the edge of the papers and remembered Vaughn's habit of fiddling with paper edges whenever he was thinking intently. She smiled at the imagery she got of him. She flipped the pages. Looking for something that was not there, their aliases.
Damnit!
"Is there a problem, Agent Bristow?"
"We are supposed to pose a newlyweds, stop smiling" she continued, "but they did not provide us with any names that we could use"
"How hard could naming possibly be, Sydney?"
"Any name could be a possible guest in this place"
"I have something in mind, let me do the talking with the reception"
Sydney hesitated but eventually agreed, what harm could he do with names? Sark held the door open, and Sydney smoothed in. As he slid his arm around her waist, they put on a 'happy' face, such as of a newlywed couple.
"Buon giorno, may I help you?"
Sark forced himself to put on an American accent, "Ah, yes. We are in here, in Toscana, for our honeymoon. And we are wondering if your place offers any vacancy"
The receptionist tapped on his keyboard, negatively shaking his head. But with a nod, he looked up and smiled. "There is one more room left, in Sansovino 1, would you like to take that?"
Sark looked at Sydney for confirmation, and she nodded. "Yes, we would" He moved his hand up to her shoulder. Sydney felt her stomach curl at the slightest touch of his hand to the material of her shirt.
"Okay, may I have your names please"?
"Woodstock and Sanaa Wilson" he said looking at Sydney, who clearly was amused by their aliases.
The proceedings were done, and Sark suggested a 'strong finish'.
"We don't have to, Sark. So dream on" hissed Sydney
"We are newlyweds, Sydney. And your precious boyfriend is not watching us now, you have no reason to by shy"
Sydney stared at him, and decided to leave him then and there. She grabbed the keys from his hand, her luggage, and went to their 'honeymoon room'.
o-o-o
Nighttime fell, and the mission objective time was approaching. Sydney was in the balcony walking back and forth with her dress zipper undone. She was mimicking Lauren Reed's accent and copying her facial expressions with a mirror. Her frustration was, instead, amusing Sark.
Sydney leaned in the balcony and realized that the place was more beautiful at night. She felt a hand on her shoulder as the air around her was filled with the scent of Sark's perfume. He slowly glided the zipper of her sleek, flowing dress that complimented her every curve.
"Thanks, but I could have handled that, Sark."
He leaned beside her, and shifted his body to her direction, "Sydney, if we are going to work together, you'd have to learn to ask for my help"
Sydney glared at him "I don't like asking help from someone who wants to kill me"
"You know I can't kill you, Sydney"
"And why can't you?"
Sark stayed silent as looked away from her. He ran his hand over his newly buzzed-cut hair, straightened his suit and walked back in the room, "Because, Sydney, you are like Tuscany to me"
o-o-o
--To be continued…soon--