Story: Once Upon A Time

Author: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net)

Disclaimer: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

Rating: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

Spoilers/Summary: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

Distribution: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

Thanks To: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!

Note: if you haven't read "Beyond All Limits" yet, you might get confused, so PLEASE go and read that first!

Once upon a time, in a land far away from where she currently found herself imprisoned, there used to be a happy little girl named Sydney Bristow. She had a mommy and a daddy. She even had a sleek gray tomcat named Pepper her daddy had let her bring home from an abandoned cardboard box outside the grocery store. The label 'Free Kittens' was written in permanent marker on one of the flaps and had streaked in the rainstorm earlier that day. She remembered that day so well—her own happy giggling and the satisfying smack of the kiss she'd placed on his cheek, her father's indulgent smile, and her mother's teasing accusation that Jack was spoiling Sydney rotten.

But that had all been before Sydney's childishly perfect world had shattered into a million identical shards when her mother died. It seemed that every time she'd tried to clean up the remains of what had once been the glass bubble she'd lived in, she'd pricked her fingers and bled upon what had once been.

Her life may have started out as "once upon a time," like every fairy tale did, but there was no "happily ever after"—there never would be. She'd just refused to acknowledge or believe it until Danny had died. A murder she couldn't have been more guilty of committing if she'd actually held the gun that had placed the perfectly circular holes in his head. And yet, she'd never lost hope… until now. The now that had her stuck on this isolated island as she'd been for eight days now, alone with Sark and his entourage of three armed men.

However much she disliked the idea, Sydney had to give Sark some credit. He'd managed to make himself scarce in the days since their arrival. Especially given the reason they were here in the first place. She shuddered at the thought. Her mother, who wasn't dead after over twenty years of believing it was so and who had turned out to be the worse kind of spy imaginable, had demanded that Sydney have a child with Sark. It was beyond sick. And very demented, considering that the cause for delivering such an order was based on the scattered rambling 'prophecies' of a, to put it kindly, most likely highly mentally unstable man named Rambaldi. But then again, maybe Sark believed it was just a bunch of hooey too and was putting it off. Either that, she mused, or he was afraid she'd kick his ass if he tried anything.

That thought brought a brief smile to her face. But it didn't stay long. How could it, when one of the guards (she didn't care to know their names) entered the library, the room where Sydney sat in a shadowy corner with a forgotten book sitting across her lap? He seemed to be looking for something. She figured she was what he sought, but wasn't inclined to call to him, knowing he'd spot her when he turned to leave. To her great surprise, he pulled a book out from where it had fallen in between a chair and it's seat cushion, and then turned to leave the room, starting when his eyes met Sydney's.

"Uh…" he stuttered, finally managing to say hello. "Larry," he said by way of introduction, holding out his hand to Sydney once he'd stepped close enough.

She tilted her head sideways, regarding him coolly. Her mind automatically sized him up as her eyes flicked over him, noting the gun strapped to his side. Overall, he was about 6'2", stocky at about 260 lbs., short black hair and pale blue eyes, and extremely wary of her if the nervous swipe of his hands on his shorts was anything to judge by. She found that interesting enough to throw him off balance by smiling and placing her hand in his. He held her hand gently, but his grip was firm as he shook it.

"I'm Sydney, as I'm sure you're more than well aware." She paused, and then changing gears, asked what book it was he was reading as she let go of his hand.

He turned the book so that she could see the cover, and she was mildly surprised to discover it was a book she'd read herself—John Irving's A Widow For One Year.

"Interesting choice," she commented, thinking it was a strange reading choice for a guy who made his living off brawn, not brains.

Larry shrugged, explaining it away as something his little sister had read and enjoyed. She'd sent him a copy for his birthday.

She'd always wanted a little sister. "We're trying, Pumpkin," her father had told her, flashing what she now knew had probably been a meaningful smile at her mother before going back to whatever Sydney's comment had interrupted. "There's plenty of time for that, sweetheart," her mother had told her whenever Sydney pestered her.

She'd never gotten that desperately wanted little sister. And now that she knew who her parents had been then, were now, she was grateful that a second child had been spared the same fate that Sydney now held.

"It's a good book," she told him, returning to the present, and he nodded vigorously before catching himself too late in his enthusiasm. He actually flushed and tried to backpedal, to regain his position as the second tier layer of in-command authority. "I, uh, Mr. Sark wanted to see you," he informed her, telling her that she could find him on the beach waiting for her. And then he disappeared into the long shadows caused by the impending dusky sunset.

Sydney sighed, and debated whether to go meet Sark on the beach as she'd been 'requested' to do. She figured that skipping it would just be a postponement of whatever talking or actions were to go down, so she might as well just go ahead and get it over with. She stood, after having carefully book-marked the page she was on in her book and setting it on a side table, and made her way outside the huge house.

As she wandered down the boardwalk (the house was set up and far away from the beach itself), she wondered for whom the house had been built. She couldn't quite see her mother having ordered the building of something so extravagant, so frivolous—10 bedrooms, half as many baths, a state of the art kitchen that was almost the size of her whole apartment back home, a solar generator that powered the electricity, indoor plumbing (as it went without saying), Jacuzzis, glass windows everywhere that extended from floor to ceiling, hardwood oak flooring and every convenience known to mankind. But then again, she didn't really know her mother at all, did she?

Sydney found him sitting on the beach, just as Larry had said. She stood at the end of the boardwalk silently, just looking at him from behind. And she couldn't help but marvel what a few days away from the espionage world had done for him. The first day, he'd worn the typical wrinkle-free yuppie suit she'd grown used to seeing him wear. But gradually, pieces of it had disappeared as the days went by, replaced by more island appropriate clothing, like what he was wearing now—khakis and a loose short-sleeved button down shirt. As she walked towards him, she was even surprised to note that he was barefoot, just as she'd been since the first day.

She was startled when, at 5 or 6 feet away from him, he patted the spot to his left on the beach towel he sat on, an invitation to sit with him. The sand had muffled her footsteps and she hadn't been aware of him turning to watch her approach in his peripheral vision. The knowledge caught her off-guard, as too many things did these days. So when she hesitated to take the final steps towards him, his head turned slightly, his hair ruffling in the salty breeze. "Come. Sit," he told her, his voice oddly melodic and soothing.

So she did. She settled on the towel, trying to maintain a fair amount of distance between their bodies without seeming to be obviously avoiding proximity, but not far enough away to exude avoidance. Impressions are everything, this she knew. He didn't say anything further, so neither did she. And in what could only usually be described as a companionable silence, a mutual agreement to just observe the sunset and not to spoil the moment sooner than necessary, they watched the sun lower over the distant horizon, a submersion of a fiery glowing ball into the endless ocean.

Sydney turned her head to look at him, intent on observing the profile of the man that was supposed to father her child (to ensure the safety of those she loved), and wondered who was going to broach the topic, spoil the moment, break the sanctity of the peaceful island. He almost seemed unaware of her silent perusal, the piece by piece categorizing she did of each feature, unable to stop herself from wondering whether the child would have blond or brown hair, blue or brown eyes, his or her nose and lips and cheekbones. But she knew better now than to believe he didn't know exactly what she was doing. She forced her gaze towards the water, to listen to the rhythmic pounding of the surf on the sand, to break the silence. "So where exactly are we?" she questioned, her voice sounding loud to her ears, as disruptive and sacrilegious as screaming in a church.

He indulged her by answering, "Somewhere in the South Pacific."

"Meaning you aren't sure where exactly we are, or you're not going to tell me?"

"The latter."

"You're impossible."

"And you talk too much," he informed her, finally looking at her. She could see the smile playing on his face before he could force it away.

She smothered a giggle at this. "I suppose that I do. Sometimes" she admitted.

"Somebody alert the presses. Miss Bristow's confessing to yapping" he said drolly, his face completely straight. But she could see the laughter dancing in his eyes.

She cracked a half smile and ducked her head so that a curtain of brown hair hid her face from his view. She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, propping her chin between her knees. It was strange, this bantering that had her smiling and repressing laughter. She'd been so stressed, so pressured, so singular in her goals for so long that she'd almost forgotten what it was like to let her guard down and relax. And with him of all people! A first-class assassin, her mother's right-hand man… What she knew of him, who he was, what he did—it just didn't mesh with the person sitting next to her. He was the one person she had to be on her guard around. But instead, she found herself letting go, being herself with him.

Would wonders never cease…?

Moments passed by, pregnant with something she couldn't even begin to describe with words. Things had changed. Inevitable, but not inconsequential. Someday soon, she would be sleeping with the enemy, literally, a choice forced by circumstances beyond her control. She'd made the choice willingly, to walk away from it all, to trade what life she had for her mother's vague promise. She'd done it clinging to the hope that as long as she provided her mother with what she asked for, the unnecessary bloodbath would end, and Sydney would be able to sleep at night without nightmares and guilt on her conscience. No more death. It was all that really mattered, she thought. Hoped. Needed it to be true.

Because if it's not, she may not survive the night, the week, the month, or the year.

He (she refused to think of him by the name that carried the implications of what he was, who he was) stood, and even though he hadn't been sitting in the sand, brushed the seat of his pants. And then, there he stood in front of her, holding his hand out to her, offering to help her stand too.

She couldn't help but… wonder… about the connotations of that statement. And she couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, things weren't as they appeared, that words and actions traveled deeper into the human soul.

But, then again, hope, like trust, is a tricky thing.

She took his hand.

AN: and so the saga continues… leave reviews/feedback/criticisms/whatever as always…