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.