Summary: To know someone, you have to understand them to some degree. Can Sydney ever understand Sark? "How'd you get here? How'd you end up on the street? Where did it go wrong? Wonder what I'd do if it were me?" {from "Instead"}
Chapters: Stand alone/Complete
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me. The characters are all from the insane mind of the brilliant Abrams and Co., and the song in italics and the title of this fic is "Instead" by Stacie Orrico {awesome song, go listen to it.}. The rest of this is mine.
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"To go into battle without knowing your enemy is to become the victim of your enemy." –Unknown
It was supposed to be a simple grab and go mission, retrieving something the CIA needed in Budapest. Simple enough really, easy for Sydney to handle. Or it should have been.
After quickly breaking into the building and taking the object, Sydney was caught in the alley by security. If she had been alerted to their presence earlier, she could have taken them as soon as they presented themselves, but she hadn't been expecting anyone to interrupt her job. She felt their guns trained on her and heard their angry voices yelling, but she remained calm. It was the only way she stood any chance against them. Their footsteps echoed through the alley as they walked closer to her, and she was ready for them to be close enough for her to attack. She wasn't prepared, however for the gunshots that came suddenly, loudly piercing the night. She watched in shock as the guards fell to the ground, and a man walked around the bodies toward her. Close enough for her to see that Sark had been the one who saved her.
The confusion she felt only strengthened as his deep blue eyes pierced her brown ones. There was something there, willing her to trust his reasoning but she couldn't understand what caused him to be doing what he was. Or even how, recalling their past history. They had always been rivals; she knew nothing else from him. For such a change to take place now simply bewildered her already weary mind.
"Why?" She whispered into the damp air of the alley. "Why are you doing this?"
A small, sad smile crept onto his face. "I'm not entirely without feelings, Sydney. Before you can judge you have to understand enough to know."
"Know what? I don't see—"
"Know the person— who they are and how they came to be that person. Family situations, loneliness, boarding schools, even a person. Just one person could change someone enough, cause him or her to be completely different. For the better, or the worse, but you're changed regardless, and you can never repay them for what they have done." A look of pain contorted his features but he quickly pushed them back and once again he gave Sydney his sad smile. "But I'm trying to," he paused a moment as he gave a fleeting look to the ground and then back up to meet her eyes. "And I intend on doing my best."
Sydney glanced around the dark alley, seeing the destruction that lay around them. Momentarily, her eyes slipped shut, trying to process the enigma that stood before her. As she looked up, she caught sight of his back retreating down the narrow passage.
"Sark!"
He was leaving behind too many questions, too many answers yet to be achieved.
"Julian," he offered softly. "Understanding, Sydney."
The questions were to remain unanswered.
~*~*~*~*~
The plane took off from the Hungarian airport hours later, but Sydney's mind remained in Budapest. Why had Sark saved her? Had someone sent him? The constant flow of questions had kept her awake most of the night and the exhausted woman decided to try and relieve her mind with sleep.
After several moments of searching for a comfortable position, she finally drifted off to her troubled dreams.
~A new point of view. A walk in your shoes. I wish I could get inside your head…~
It was cold. Too cold.
Sydney pulled the blanket around herself tightly. The bland room of the school was never warm enough at night. The thin blanket that had been provided was not enough, and unlike the other girls in her dorm, she did not want to contact home and ask for the things she could do without. Sure, it was uncomfortable, but having those items was not a necessity.
It's not that money was a problem, in fact, the job that her father held kept them in a high position in the city where they lived. It was the thought of her father's harsh words alone kept her from calling. That is, of course, if he would even be at home to pick up the phone. Work kept him away often, but it was better that way then when he was home.
Sydney could feel the sting of his hand across her face just thinking about some of the arguments they had been in. Anger was his typical reaction to her, and she could never understand why he treated her the way he did, seeming to hate her.
The boarding school, as terrible as it was, was her only escape. There was nowhere else she could have gone. Having never known her mother, nor extended family, and very few friends, the strained relationship with her father made loneliness worse. There wasn't a time she could recall when she and her father had been together on good terms. Simply Sydney's presence seemed to set off something in him, and once his eyes flamed, there was no way to put out the fire.
Sydney turned over and caught a quick glimpse of the clock that sat on the table next to her bed. 4:25 A.M. Her first class began at 9; breakfast was at 8:15. Knowing that it was too cold and too early to get out of bed, she laid her head back onto the solitary pillow and welcomed sleep for a few more hours.
~*~*~*~*~
"Sydney! Syd, wake up!"
Sydney was shaken awake by one of her roommates. After the long night with minimal sleep, the last thing she wanted to wake up. The chill that had covered her before was still present.
"Sydney, come on. It's 7:45. You slept through your alarm. If you don't get up now, you're going to be late for breakfast."
With a groan, her eyes slid opened. They seemed to burn. Amy, her roommate, looked down at her with a concerned expression. Normally, Sydney was the first person out of bed and ready to go.
"Syd, are you all right?"
In truth, she felt awful. The light that escaped from the dark curtains caused a sharp stab in her already aching head. And her stomach was not faring any better. "Ames, I think I'm sick."
A cool hand brushed across her forehead. "You feel warm. I'll go get someone, alright? Just…go back to sleep. I'll be back."
The sound of her footsteps echoed in Sydney's ears as her head pounded. Sleep sounded good. Why did it keep running from her? Finally, she caught up and was gently embracing the heavy weights that were pressing on her eyelids when she heard the door creak open. Not wanting to pass the opportunity to sleep, Sydney slipped into unconsciousness as a hand brushed her forehead softly and a voice filled the room in a soothing whisper, "Sydney, its Irina. I'm here to help."
~…To see what you see when you look at me...~
With her imagination running rampant, Sydney was startled awake. The situation her mind had created in her dream seemed unreal. It had to be. Her mother having a role like that in Sark's life? She knew what was happening. Sark's speech was just his play for manipulation.
With a determined sigh, she mumbled to herself, "Well, it's not going to work with me." She closed her eyes and tried once again to get settled.
But she couldn't get comfortable. She could feel someone watching. After several minutes, she gave up on sleep and scanned the cabin of the plane. Across the aisle was a teenage girl. A family with a sleeping toddler occupied the seats in front of her. A look behind her caused contact with a pair of icy blue eyes. Sark.
"Sleep well?" he cordially inquired.
"What are you doing here? Are you following me?"
She turned back around in her seat as a light chuckle filled her ears.
"Hardly. You have questions for me, do you not?" His ever-present cockiness had returned, not wanting to fail in its consistency.
Sydney took a deep breath. She couldn't even process her thoughts any longer. There were the questions from his statements earlier as well as the newest questions provided by her dreams. It was funny how your own mind can betray you and fill itself with things that you see as unnecessary. Indeed, even as a possible threat to some degree.
"What makes you believe you could even begin to answer my questions or that I even have any?"
"Any mind, but especially one with such brilliance such as yours, would be curious after having a conversation such as the one that passed between us, Sydney."
"And who is to say that I haven't forgotten about that conversation?"
He quietly laughed to himself. "You haven't forgotten a thing. You know that as well as I, Sydney. Stop lying to yourself."
Sydney took a deep breath, preparing herself to speak. But before she could collect her thoughts enough to voice them, Sark spoke again. His tone had changed, gone was the confidently arrogant one, and in its place was one of sincerity.
"Sydney, I know that in the past, I have done nothing for you to ever give me what I am about to ask of you now. But I must request it. Would you listen to me for just a few moments?" He waited for her nod before continuing. "When I was at my lowest moment, your mother saved me, Sydney, when I didn't believe it was possible any longer to be saved. She seemed to come from nowhere. It could have been anywhere, and I wouldn't have cared. No one had ever taken care of me before, and there she was, treating me as I had always imagined my mother would have. For the first time, I had the resemblance of a family.
"I never questioned why she was there, how she came to be there, because it simply didn't matter. I just trusted that she was there and that she would take care of me," he gave her a small smile, then continued.
"Irina would always tell me stories, stories of a little girl who lived in America. Full of energy, always helping and thinking of others. The adventures that she would find herself in always captivated me, and by looking into Irina's eyes I could tell that the stories were more than just tales. I can remember one day, I asked about the little girl…who was she? I felt I had to know. When I asked though, I regretted it. Because it was when I did ask that her walls momentarily came down a few tears fell through. It hurt her, and I was determined to help her in any way I could.
"The girl in those stories was you, Sydney. Leaving you when she did gave Irina a lifetime of regrets. She blamed herself, beat herself down for it, never letting you go. There's no way she could have. And in a way, I can't either."
Frozen from shock, Sydney sat still. The questions had stopped. All thoughts had momentarily ceased. Except for one.
"What do you mean?" Slipped out.
"About which part? I thought it was all pretty much self-explanatory."
"The part about you letting me go. What did you mean? Because you certainly never had me in your possession to release."
Sydney sensed movement, and found Sark sitting next to her.
"What if someone's watching?" She hissed.
With a sigh, he replied, "Relax. Do you honestly believe I would let something happen to you?"
"You've never hesitated in the past," Sydney shot back and for the first time since the conversation's start made eye contact.
"Hmm…see, that's where you're wrong. Have I ever willingly harmed you?" After a couple of seconds with no spoken answer to accompany her steely gaze, he continued, "No, I have not. You've been in dangerous situations that have involved me, however you were never in danger from me, it always came from a different source."
"How are you unable to 'let me go'?" She was not willing to let her guard down, to fall victim to his story.
"Sydney," he sighed her name, "do you remember what I said to you in the alley?"
"''Understanding'?" she scoffed. "How is it possible to understand an enigma? Sark—"
"Julian."
"Fine. Julian, I don't know what exactly I'm supposed to be 'understanding' here. There are too many missing pieces."
Sark twisted slightly in his seat to find her eyes were no longer watching him. "Sydney." He waited until he had her attention. "A little boy's fantasy became something real a few years ago when he got to meet the girl from his favorite stories. Do you remember the first mission you had that involved me?"
"I watched you murder the leader of K-Directorate in Moscow," she murmured.
"No, not that one. I was unaware of your presence at that time. I was referring to our duel in Denpassar."
"You knew that was me? How did you…" she shook her head as if clearing her mind.
"Sark, you've confused me enough, what is this about? How are you expecting to walk off this plane in LA without being noticed by the CIA?"
"I wasn't expecting to." His reply was soft, genuine. "You really don't understand do you? Sydney, I grew up with the dream of a fairy tale life with the princess from Irina's stories. I grew out of that fantasy years ago, forgetting about the little girl as I grew out of the tales and moved into different things. Until I met you for the first time. Then they all came back."
A sense of paranoia flooded Sydney's consciousness. "You really have been following me," she whispered.
"I suppose you could term it that way, but Sydney, I—"
She cut off his attempt to justify himself. "You're admitting to stalking me?" Her eyes widened.
Sark raked his hand through his hair, frustrated at how the conversation had turned. "Stalking is not what I'm doing." He held up a hand to halt her protest. "Let me finish. Sydney, I made a promise to your mother many years ago."
"Lovely," she rolled her eyes, exasperated. "What might this promise have been?"
"I was getting to that." He offered a sad smile. "I promised to protect the little girl. And I refuse to fail, because Irina never failed me."
Sydney sat back in her seat as her eyes slipped shut momentarily. After a brief period of silence, her gaze was once again on him. "Sark, what are you going to do when we land?"
He shook his head and stood. "Don't worry about me." He returned back to the seat that he had previously occupied as his thoughts slipped to the past.
He has always done what was needed in order to complete a promise. And this promise was the most important obligation he had ever committed to. After being saved by Irina, he had vowed to save for Irina. Nothing short of death could keep him from doing so.
Everything he would go through was not without reason. Sydney might not understand now, or ever, his plans or intentions. But if she could only see his life and how large the role Irina had played in it, if she could truly get inside her head, she would understand. Despite how much she hated him now, he was determined. And the possibility of defeating a determined man is slim to none.
Who really knows why certain people are given the life they are? And with that question, who is to say that that there was never a chance that Sydney could have lived his life instead?
~…'Cause I could have lived your life Instead. ~
fin.