Title: Kith and Kin
Author : wannabe_syd
Feedback: Absolutely. This is my first fic and I'd appreciate any and all feedback! But please be gentle.
Distribution: Please let me know
Disclaimer: Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone, and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. My fic is merely a form of worship of their handiwork.
Summary: What if Sydney had never intercepted the Rambaldi manuscript? Sark Sark Sark. For the CD April challenge.
Rating: G
Classification: A/U
Notes: Big shout-out to Robin, for lots of feedback and encouragement on very short notice! And to Nicole, who first inspired me.
Sark shook off his umbrella as he entered the warm cottage that nestled into the green hills near Galway Bay. "Bloody country and its bloody rain. Remind me again why you live here?"
His mother looked up from her book as he entered. "How was your flight, love?"
He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the coat rack. "The usual. I'm famished." He headed for the kitchen, his voice drifting back to her. "Apparently someone decided that potential hijackers would be easier to subdue if they're malnourished."
She half-smiled. "There's leftover stew in the pot."
A minute later he reappeared, bowl in hand, and joined her on the sofa. "So," he asked between mouthfuls, "any luck with the manuscript?"
She shot a hard look at him. "Honestly, Colin, a little caution wouldn't kill you – though your lack of it might!"
"Come off it, Ma, I – "
"We'll talk about it tomorrow. At the office." She stood, instantly replacing her icy expression with a warm smile. "Your old bed is made up, but if you need an extra blanket they're in the closet. Good night, dear." She walked out with her book, leaving Sark to stare at his slowly thickening stew and remind himself firmly that he was, in fact, still the confident and capable adult that had walked in the door.
* * *
In the morning, Sark found his mother sitting in the kitchen, gazing out the window as she nursed a mug of steaming coffee.
"Jesus, does it ever stop?" He poured himself a cup and stood at the counter, gulping it fast enough to scald.
She didn't respond, so occupied with her thoughts that his comment hadn't registered. Finally she replied absently, "People with secrets love the rain. Everyone has their head down; no one notices anything."
He snorted. "Well, I'd rather live somewhere pleasant and pay people not to notice anything."
She turned her head and considered him thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, Colin, you may think that you can manipulate everyone to your satisfaction, but people aren't always predictable. When you run into that person who isn't, your cockiness will get you into trouble."
"I seem to have survived so far," he answered drily. "I'm hardly stupid – I can take care of any… complications."
"Just be careful." The words sounded hollow to her, probably because she knew they wouldn't be heeded. He was right, after all; he was very capable. But everyone, especially young men, had to learn the hard way that discretion is the better part of valour. She could only repeat the futile words and pray that the lesson wouldn't end up costing her everything. "Be careful."
* * *
"Good morning Mrs. Sark, Mr. Sark." The nervous young woman practically jumped up to greet them.
"Rita, tell Jean that I want to see her right away in my office. And bring me some coffee."
"Yes, ma'am."
Irene Sark strode into the inner office, followed by her son. He closed the door behind him and turned to face her. "So let's hear it."
She nodded and sat at the conference table that occupied one half of the room, gesturing for him to join her. "After you dropped off the manuscript, I had it sent to the lab to be authenticated and then preserved. It appears to be authentic, but there's something odd. One of the pages, Page 47 to be exact, is blank."
Sark's eyebrows shot up. "Wasn't the number 47 significant to Rambaldi for some reason?"
"Exactly. So I've had Jean working on a detailed chemical analysis of that page. I trust she'll have something to show us this morning." She shot a look at the door as if willing the woman to appear.
"And the rest of the manuscript…?"
"It seems to be a sort of instruction manual. Some of the drawings correspond to artifacts in our collection, but there's a huge amount of information about items that we don't even recognize."
"But now we know what we're missing!"
"It would seem so, yes." She permitted a smile small to slip through a crack in her mask. "This document is a great stride forward in our journey."
A timid knock at the door sent the smile scurrying away. "Yes?"
Rita opened the door slowly, balancing a tray. "Jean is here, ma'am."
Her boss nodded impatiently and waved her in. Rita scurried to the table, sloshing coffee onto the tray as she hastened to put it down. Sark rolled his eyes at this display of clumsiness as he grabbed a cup. Rita turned quickly to leave and almost ran into Jean, the lab's head chemist, who had followed her into the room.
"Whoa, careful!" The scientist smiled at the flustered girl before stepping out of her way. Rita flushed and ducked her head, heading for the door. Before she could get there, Mrs. Sark called her back.
"Rita!"
"Yes, ma'am?"
Irene Sark put down her cup. "Could you see that we aren't disturbed?"
"Of course, ma'am." If a door closing could sound relieved, that one did.
Jean sat down and placed the manila envelope she had been carrying on the table. The other two waited for her to begin. She took a deep breath and allowed herself a pleased smile. "You'll be happy to know that I've managed to get an image from Page 47."
Her employer sipped her coffee slowly and didn't react. "How?"
"Well, it's fairly straightforward, really." Jean launched into instructor mode. "I assumed that if there was some sort of ink, it would have to be something that absorbed visible light when bonded with another substance – the thing you would react it with. It would probably be a conjugated or aromatic hydrocarbon base, but too small to absorb in the visible. But that meant it was likely that it would absorb ultraviolet light. Well, unfortunately, so does paper, but I thought that it might fluoresce, that is, re-emit light of a different wavelength."
It was becoming very clear that neither of her listeners were particularly interested in learning about fluorescence, so she tried to wrap it up quickly. "Um, anyhow, after scanning a number of wavelengths, I was able to identify a fluorescence peak that change over the surface of the paper, and therefore was probably coming from the ink. So I scanned the page, and recorded the fluorescence signal. And that gave me a clear image."
She opened the envelope with just the hint of a flourish, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and pushed it towards Mrs. Sark. The older woman picked up the sheet and stared at it, her eyes widening slightly. The other two watched her expectantly, the only sound in the room the rain lashing against the window.
At last she tore her eyes away from the page and looked at the scientist. "Do you have another copy?" Her voice was as composed as always.
"Yes, I kept a backup."
"Could you give one to Declan in linguistics? Tell him I want him to drop everything and work on the text on this page, and let me know as soon as he's decoded it."
"Certainly." Jean stood, recognizing her cue, and headed for the door.
"Good work, by the way."
Jean paused in the doorway and threw her employer a grateful smile. Now, that's a rare thing, she thought as she exited.
Colin Sark leaned forward and picked up the paper that his mother had dropped. His brow furrowed as he studied it, once glancing up at his mother who was staring into the air between her and the door. "Jesus," he breathed, "she could almost be you." He saw her lips move, but the sound of the rain drowned out her soft response. "Pardon me?"
She blinked and looked at him. "Almost," she replied, barely audibly. "She's your sister."