Title: Seventeen Days
Author: riane
Rating: PG
Improv: #4 - gauche, vapid, reticent, iota
Disclaimer: If I owned Sark, do you really think I'd be writing?? I simply wouldn't have the time. *giggle*
Author's Notes: This is my first Alias fanfic, written for Alias Improv. I demand reviews! Haha ok part of it was inspired by pie's Café Bonaparte (you'll see it when you get there – thanks pie!). I'm obsessed with Sarkney, so I figured I'd try writing something slightly on the funny side. I need a lot more practise before delving into anything angsty.
Spoilers: Set after Counteragent.
*****
It's been exactly seventeen days since his first day at work with the lovely Agent Bristow.
Seventeen days of icy glares, caustic stares, and overall you-arrogant-bastard treatment. Seventeen days of being alternately snapped at, ignored, and occasionally even accused of all sorts of (really) despicable things which he didn't do - honest.
Admittedly, he did enjoy infuriating her. The simplest reason was simply to get a bit of her attention. Also, watching her face transform from glowing serenity into raging fury was reason enough to be treated like something in between dirt and scum.
A smile slowly curled across his lips. Why, just yesterday, she told him to go jump off a cliff in this delicious whisper when he mentioned how much he admired her mother. The way her dark eyes blazed at him, how her perfect lips contorted with fury-
He sighed. What an amazing woman.
Pacing back and forth across the room with smooth hands clasped behind his back, he wondered what exactly made her react so vehemently towards him. Obviously, it had to be along the lines of him being a known assassin and her mother's former right-hand man, not to mention being the one responsible for her best friend's torture, but surely there had to be more…was it his smile maybe? The way he walked, or talked?
Feeling slightly foolish, he scratched that idea. He sounded like a giddy schoolboy in the midst of a passionate crush. At the rate things were going, he was lucky to have even an iota of a chance with her. He knew for a fact that although he was far from being gauche and gangly, it wasn't enough for her. With every other woman, all it took was a languid smile, whispered promises….
But with Sydney, it was different. She didn't seem to care about his car, or his looks. Or even his accent! He was guessing it had to with being…good. Defending the needy, aiding the weak. Strange things like that. There was also this impenetrable remoteness in her eyes…this unreachable sadness that surfaced when she thought he wasn't looking. He had a feeling that even if he were to give up all his naughty ways, she would never let him ease her secret grief.
Sighing again, he half-wished he wasn't so rough on the reporter.
* * *
'How dare you call-'
'Sydney, please, calm yourself, I promise it's not about your mother.'
Silence on the other line.
'Hurry it up then.'
Grateful she couldn't see him, he loosened his tie. 'We should talk.'
'Haven't we done enough of that Sark?' she scoffed.
He shook his head irritably. 'No, I don't think so. Unless you consider sarcastic comments and insults part of civilised conversation?'
'You deserve no better.'
'Sydney,' he replied, genuinely hurt, 'give me a chance to explain myself. May I start with an apology?'
'What did you say?'
'I apologise for what happened to your reporter friend. Truly I do. I understand that he lost his job? I've arranged for a wire transfer of funds into his account as a form of compensation.'
Her sharp intake of breath gave him reason to hope.
'Sark...I...even though I'm not sure Will would accept it...that's very… kind of you but what do you expect in return? What's the catch?'
Coaxing as much sincerity into his voice as he possibly could, he said, 'There is no catch. It would be nice, though, if we could start over from a clean slate. A discussion of some sort to clear the air would be highly beneficial, since we will be working together for quite some time.'
'Fine,' she said grudgingly.
'Excellent. You'll receive a letter in the mail from Porters Health Insurance Company, detailing when and where we'll meet.' He paused for effect. 'I'm looking forward to formally making your acquaintance.'
She hesitated before saying quietly, 'Likewise.'
Sark fell back on his bed, closed his eyes, and smiled.
* * *
10:02 pm
Sark sat at the spotless dining table, staring at his handphone.
When it finally rang with Sydney's number flashing across the blue-lit screen, he had to restrain himself from answering it immediately.
'Hello Sydney,' he said with measured politeness. 'Have you changed your mind or will you carry through?'
'Of course I'll carry through!' she snapped with what had to be reflex by this stage. Interestingly, she immediately sounded contrite when she sighed a tired, 'I'm sorry – things have been difficult lately. Yes the meeting's still on. See you tomorrow.'
She hung up before he could suggest talking about whatever was bothering her so. Still, he had to be glad things were going to plan. He leaned back on the chair and stretched his arms upwards, chuckling quietly.
Besides. He was more convincing in person.
* * *
Sark waited at the table for two in the dimmest corner of the low-key bistro. He had been sorely tempted to pick a favourite French restaurant of his in the middle of Paris as their meeting spot – yes, and pay for her plane ticket and hotel accommodations - but he felt that was a tad ambitious this early on in the game. After brainstorming for quite a while, scouting the area in his sleek Merc, he settled for this. Nothing too pretentious, nor austere. He didn't want to come off looking like he was trying to seduce her with candlelight and soft music, nor - worse! - like he was some cheapskate trying to save as much as possible on the evening's expenses.
His more pressing concern could only be described as ridiculous to an outsider, but he knew the stakes were high...he was mortally afraid that his usual witty banter would shrivel up into vapid one-liners under her intense scrutiny. He shuddered. If there was one woman who could reduce him into uncharacteristic reticence, it was her.
He glanced at his Rolex. Shifting his gaze to the main door, he hid a smile when he saw her there, instinctively looking for him in the most obscure corner of the eatery.
They were so alike.
When her gaze met his, he gave a short nod, and she calmly approached him. She was beautiful, as always, and it certainly was refreshing to see her out of office clothes. Wistfully, he thought that if they led normal lives, this could qualify as a first date.
He was reminded about how far that was from being the case when the first thing she said to him as she sat down was, 'Are you sure we're not being watched?' He bit back a smart comment and nodded. 'Yes, I'm sure.' He didn't feel the need to tell her that the two burly men sitting by the entrance were being paid rather handsomely by the hour. The less she knew about his criminal connections, the better.
'Good. Well how are you Sark?'
He smiled boyishly. 'Much better, now that you're here. A great opportunity for us to get to know each other don't you think?'
She chewed lightly on her bottom lip before replying (making all sorts of thoughts rush through his mind, from the waist up), eyeing him cautiously. 'It's complicated. The very fact that we're here is complicated. Dangerous even. Your past doesn't make it any easier.'
He nodded thoughtfully, making an admirable effort to refrain from shaking her furiously and yelling that if only he had known about how exquisite she was earlier then maybe he would have chosen a different career path!
Instead, he settled for a cool, 'Rest assured that I've take all necessary precautions. My past is far from savoury, I agree, but perhaps one day you might understand.'
To his amusement, her eyes narrowed. 'What is there to understand?'
He chuckled. 'Let's move on to more pleasant topics shall we? What would you like to have tonight?' He couldn't help but watch how she pursed her lips as she scanned the menu, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear…he had to force his gaze away from her. It was one thing to be secretly fascinated with her, but quite another for her to know about it.
They both settled on something light. He noted that she didn't select any of the wines available. I suppose she'd rather be fully aware of what comes out that pretty mouth of hers, he thought, which is a pity. In vino veritas…who knows how much of that truth has to do with me…
'What are you smiling about?'
'Nothing. Just a little daydream.' She looked at him curiously.
'You daydream, Sark?'
He laughed despite himself. 'Why yes, Sydney. I might come off as normal when you get to know me better.'
His heart skipped a beat when the smallest of smiles crept across her lips.
'It's like that isn't it?' she said softly, 'For people like us. The facades we have to put up to get through the day…it's so easy to forget where you start, and where the lies end.'
Momentarily stunned by her use of 'us' (when previously it had only been 'you' followed by heartless monster/cold-blooded bastard) and her confession of the dark similarities in their lives, he had to suppress his look of delight, replacing it with a solemn and thoughtful, 'Indeed.' Seeing that she hadn't shut herself from him yet, he smilingly added, 'That's why we should have dinner more often. To remind each other of those fragile boundaries.'
She smiled, broader this time. 'And I'm assuming that's your only motive behind our many dinners to come?'
'But of course! My intentions are entirely honourable,' he said heartily, grinning openly - something he hadn't done in a very long time.
Their chuckles subsided into something more comfortably sombre, and as they spoke over the quiet tinkling of silverware, realisation slowly inched its way across his mind, warming his hopeful heart.
Her eyes weren't so sad anymore.
End