Title: I Spy
Author: Katana96
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias, or any of the characters as much as I wish I
did. I am borrowing some of the dialogue for this fic. Please don't sue me!
Rating: Probably PG-13, but I'm not quite sure how this will end up yet. Sorry,
no smut, I don't want to write it.
Spoilers: Season 3, starting with Succession, but I'm really trying to work
with Alias canon, trying to incorporate the developments of Season 3 into my
story (including actual dialogue), but I'm eventually going to go to an AU so
don't be surprised when everything doesn't match up with Season 3.
Distribution: SD-1 and Fanfiction.net. Anyone else, please ask.
A/N: Italics are thoughts. This is my first try at writing fanfic after
spending a good amount of time just enjoying the stuff the rest of you write.
Please leave me feedback on what you think of the story. I'm also open to
suggestions for what you'd like to see since I don't have the entire story
mapped out yet. And if anyone wants to beta this, let me know. I'm looking for
another.
Chapter 1 – An Agent, An Adversary, Alive Again*
"I Spy" had been his sister's favorite game and they had played it often. Sark
remembered his sister fondly, the curly blond hair, blue-eyes and sweet smile,
her carefree and adventurous spirit. His heart tightened as he remembered how
frail she had been in the hospital moments before she died. The leukemia and
chemotherapy had taken its toll on her tiny 8-year old body. Choosing to
remember happier days, Sark sometimes played the "I Spy" game in his head in
remembrance of her. Sark glanced around his glass and brick cell. I spy with
my little eye, he thought as he spotted the video camera in the corner, a
video camera capturing my every move… and he was transported back to the
happier days of his childhood, days spent with his sister running through the
green hills near their home in Galway, Ireland. The video camera had been ever present throughout Sark's
early years, his father's way of attempting to be part of his children's lives
while he was away in Dublin working as the Russian Ambassador to Ireland. Sark wondered if his dad had ever watched the tapes of their
birthday parties and school plays. He'd never asked.
Lying on his cot, Sark was about to start a set of sit-ups when he heard the
sound of footsteps heading towards his cell. High heels, he decided, whoever
is approaching is wearing high heels. High heels would mean a female visitor,
Sark mused, but in two years, the only woman they've sent
down here to "talk" is that patronizing shrink Barnett who's always trying to
get into my head. These footsteps sounded different though, light, like someone
used to moving stealthily. But if it's not Barnett, then who is it I hear
approaching? Perhaps it's Irina, finally coming to spring me out of custody.
Sark mulled over that possibility and concluded, no,
definitely not Irina, she would have gotten me out by now if she had planned on
springing me. If only Sydney hadn't died shortly after my capture, then I probably
wouldn't be here right now. I'm Irina's right-hand man; surely she wouldn't
have left me in CIA custody if she hadn't been distracted by other things. Sark sighed. But even I'm not foolish enough to think that
Irina would choose freeing me over searching for clues to her daughter's death
and exacting her revenge on those who did it. I may be her second-in-command
but her daughter has always come first. That's one more reason I don't like
Sydney Bristow.
A maelstrom of thoughts and memories swirling through his head, Sark
plastered a bored look on his face as he sat up on his cot and waited for his
visitor to arrive.
When he saw her, he almost blurted out "Irina?" So she has come
for me at last he thought. The woman before him with the chestnut hair and
hazel eyes was the spitting image of Irina Derevko. If Sark had
been thinking clearly, he would have noticed that his visitor was clearly too
young to be Irina Derevko. When she spoke, the illusion was shattered.
"I wanted a word with you before you got traded."
The look on Sark's face changed quickly from boredom to shock as he
realized that his visitor was Sydney Bristow, not Irina Derevko. He mentally
berated himself for thinking even for a moment that Irina was standing before
him. Still in shock, Sark stood up and walked across his cell to find himself
staring through the glass at a very much alive Sydney Bristow. "Dear God, it
can't possibly be you..." he muttered. His mind was racing, I can't believe
Sydney Bristow is still alive! How did she survive her fight with Allie? The
CIA found her body and the DNA matched! So if that wasn't Sydney's body, whose body was it? Hopefully it wasn't Allie's.
I wonder if she survived the fight. No one ever told me what had happened to
her. Hopefully she's still alive somewhere. But if she is, why hasn't she tried
to free me?
Oblivious to the thoughts racing through Sark's
head, Sydney glared at him and sneered, "Don't start this
conversation by acting surprised that I'm alive."
Sark was inwardly amused. So she thinks I had something to
do with her "death," does she? I wonder what role she thinks I've played in
that given I've been stuck in this damn hellhole for the past two years! He
replied coyly, "Sydney...you know how highly I regard your abilities as an
operative, but...even I didn't think you were capable of cheating death
once your remains had been identified...which begs the question...if it wasn't
your body they removed from the ashes...whose was it?" Dammit, it's probably
Allie's body. Sydney killed Allie. It
took all of Sark's training to keep the grief from showing on his face. I'm
gonna kill her for this. I don't care if she's Irina's daughter.
Sydney ignored Sark's inquiry, replying, "I read the transcripts of your
confessions...including the fact that you and a woman named Allison Doren killed
my friend...Francie."
"If you've read my transcript, you know how cooperative I've been" he replied
smoothly. "I'll be glad to pay you the same courtesy if you simply tell me what
you're getting at." Not likely that's ever gonna happen though…
"That explosion in my apartment was a cover up...to make the CIA believe I was
dead. What I believe is that Sloane abducted me, I think you know why...but you
failed to mention that in your confession."
Suddenly it dawned on Sark that Sydney was
really clueless about what she'd been up to the past two years and she was
fishing for information. This is going to be fun. Grinning, he
responded, "If I'm to understand what you're saying, you have no idea where
you've been for the last two years." And you think I'm responsible. Too bad
I wasn't.
Sydney continued to glare at him through the glass.
His signature smirk in place he asked again, "None?" Is glaring at me the
best you can do?
Sark was rewarded with Sydney shooting him a dirty look. He chuckled and continued to
smirk at her. "Unbelievable!" he blurted out before bursting out laughing. Sydney
Bristow at a loss for words! I never thought I'd see the day! "I'm sorry, I
don't mean to laugh, it's just...I'm speechless. Sydney, if Sloane had intended to abduct you, I wasn't privy to
it." But knowing Sloane, he probably is responsible. That damned Rambaldi
obsession of his…
"What if I said I still don't believe you?"
"I'd say it'd make no difference" he smirked at her again, enjoying baiting
her. "In 24 hours I'll be free, and ... you'll remain in the dark." I
wouldn't tell you even if I did know, although I intend to find out what
happened to you as soon as I get out of here.
After staring each other down, Sydney finally gave up trying to get information out of Sark.
"See you in Mexico" she said as she turned and walked away.
Staring after Sydney's retreating form, Sark
began to ponder the situation. Sydney's alive. That changes things quite a bit. After Sydney's "death," Irina probably found intel indicating Sydney was alive and has spent the past two years looking for
her he concluded. Now that Sydney has returned, I wonder if Irina'll finally attempt to
rescue me. Maybe that's what this whole Mexico trade operation is about. Even if it's not, I should
definitely be looking for any opportunity to escape. I don't fancy continuing
to inhabit this cell if I don't have to. It definitely never hurts to be
prepared.
Sark lay back down on his cot and started the set of sit-ups
he had been about to start when Sydney arrived. As his eyes glanced at the video camera, his
mind wandered back to the happy days of his childhood with his sister and the
game "I Spy" that had been her favorite. Sark hadn't enjoyed the game as much
the past two years as there were a very limited number of things in his cell to
look at, but today's events had changed that. Moving on to a set of pushups, he
smiled and thought I spy with my little eye, an agent, an adversary, alive
again, as he began to mentally replay what had just happened.
*Dialogue from "Succession" but the rest is mine.
