3 Months Later

Sydney's POV

I was halfway through my mission report when Sark stopped off at my desk.

"Miss Bristow, I just returned from a meeting with Sloane. He just received intelligence on a Rambaldi artifact in Russia. It's the key to several Rambaldi artifacts, not all of which Sloane has."

"Who has them?"

"K-Directorate mostly. Your mother had two of them, but I'm not sure what happened to them. And a few other less prominent Rambaldi collectors have the remaining seven."

"Seven! How many artifacts does this key open?"

Sark sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I'm not sure. Sloane seems really desperate to get it, but he hasn't said much more than that. He's insisting that we fly to Kiev tonight. We'll be attending a private party of a collector that owns the key. Apparently they haven't realized the importance of the key, because they still have the key stored in their safe."

Sark grimaced and pinched the area between his eyes. Worry seems to be etched deep into his eyes.

"Sark, what's going on?"

"Rambaldi always had a purpose. If he made a single key for so many artifacts, they would be linked together. The thing is, I don't have access to any of these artifacts. They're all from Sloane's personal collection, and although he is sharing information about them, I don't have physical access to them. And I don't know if Rambaldi used a literal key."

"You don't know what the forgery should look like."

He nods tiredly.

"Normally I could just get the real thing and make a fake later. But Sloane is sending two of his operatives with us on this mission. There's not going to be very much time to switch keys."

"There's more, isn't there?"

Sark sighs again.

"Sit," I insist. "I've never seen you this stressed out. What's going on?"

"Sloane knows I have more than enough operatives to complete this mission. Sending his own operatives is his way of saying that he doesn't trust me."

"Do you think that he's realized the you've been giving him forgeries?"

For an instant a look of guilt flashed across Sark's face, but a second later all that is there is tiredness.

"I doubt it. If he knew he has a warehouse full of forgeries, we would both be in the conversation room right now."

His words are careless, but I can't help but notice the slightly nervous tone to his voice. Sark has been acting a bit stressed these last few weeks, but he hasn't opened up, and improved as our relationship is, he probably won't take to kindly to me prying into his moods. So I content myself with giving him a slightly puzzled look but remaining silent. To my surprise, he continues talking.

"Miss Bristow, would you care to get dinner with me?"

"That's your disguise?" I laugh, ten minutes later, as Sark emerges from his office. He's wearing khakis, a crème turtleneck sweater, and has slung a messenger bag over his shoulder.

His eyes crinkle up as he smiles at me.

"Miss Bristow, the CIA thinks I'm in Europe right now. I'm not disguising myself, I'm merely trying to match your attire."

Well, he certainly looks like a college student. But he still hasn't explained the messenger bag. I comment on this, and he raises his eyebrows, amused.

"Miss Bristow, surely you don't believe I would go into a public place without a backup plan. And these clothes simply do not have the carrying capacity that suits have."

I'm shaking my head, more amused.

"I don't even want to know what you have in there. And why are you calling me Miss Bristow? You've been calling me Sydney for a month."

Sark merely shrugs, and motions toward the parking garage.

"Very well then, Sydney, ready to leave?"

Unable to understand or follow Sark's mood, I follow him out the door toward his car.

"And what would you like to drink with your meals?"

Sark shrugs and gestures to me.

"You choose."

"Some Petruse. '82."

Sark glances quizzically at me as the waiter leaves our table.

"I didn't know you like Petruse."

"And that's all I know about you."

Sark shrugs nonchalantly.

"We're spies, Sydney. Openness is a liability."

I glare at him, rather frustrated.

"We're on the same side, Sark. It's okay to open up once and a while."

He appears thoughtful for a moment, but finally nods.

"Sounds rather fair. What were you wanting to know about me?"

I grin and jump at the chance.

"For starters, your name would be good."

A brief look of surprise covers his features, but he quickly covers it.

"I've just been Sark for quite a while now. Since I don't use my first name, the information would not do you any good."

"That's not how this works, Sark. Why can't you just answer a simple question?"

He sighs and leans back in his chair.

"What happened to my relaxing evening?"

"It would be a lot more relaxing if you would tell me your name."

A soft, somewhat sarcastic laugh emerges from him.

"You're nothing if not persistent. But perhaps my name is the wrong thing to start with. I can tell you I'm from England, and I'm 26."

This draws a laugh from me.

"I know you're from England, Mr. British accent."

He smiles self-deprecatingly.

"Okay, I guess I was asking for that one."

Sark thinks for another minute before speaking again, and his gaze deepens into seriousness.

"I never wanted to be a spy. I always pictured myself as a professor."

"A professor! Of what?"

"History. Or maybe English. Your mother was very persuasive."

"My mother? She wanted you to get out of the business."

Sark shrugs again.

"She was a strange boss. She knew she would eventually get out of the business, and when she saw my unhappiness, she tried to convince me to get out, as well. To be honest, I don't think she enjoyed the intelligence world any better than I did."

He gazes deep into my eyes, as if searching for a response.

"You're getting out when SD-6 goes down, aren't you?"

I try to give Sark a simple answer, but after some prompting, it turns into a full-blown history of the last few years, ever since SD-6 recruited me. I tear up as I remember losing Danny, and Sark reaches across the table to softly brush a tear from my cheek. He doesn't remove his hand, and we both lean in, our lips inches apart. I 'm not sure where this came from, or where it's going. But I feel myself falling into the depths of his eyes, and know only that this feels so right.

"So, I have your orders! Who had the salmon?"

The waitress' cheerful voice interrupts, and we both pull back, the magic of the moment lost.

After dinner, Sark and I go our respective ways to quickly pack and return to the plane. On the plane, I find I am tired, and I lean my head back, close my eyes, and quickly fall asleep.

When I awake several hours later, Sark is asleep next to me, and I am glad to not have to talk to him. The awkwardness following our aborted kiss still seems to hang in the air, and I don't know how to fix it. My mind keeps returning to the fact that I've developed feelings for Sark, but I can't imagine having a real relationship with him. It would be too dangerous. Leave it alone, Sydney, I tell myself. You got over Vaughn; you can get past this a lot easier. Except my eyes keep returning to his sleeping form, and my mind keeps thinking of the gentle concern in Sark's eyes as I told him of my past. Forcing the thoughts from my mind, I close my eyes and drift off into a troubled sleep.

After we land, Sark and I catch a cab to our hotel and quickly prepare for the party to take place in less than an hour. We meet Sloane's operatives outside the building. Sark quietly slips me a pair of earrings, and as we all separate at the party, his voice quietly sounds in my ear.

"Sydney, Sloane's operatives are covering the security system. They aren't going to be in radio contact, so we can talk this way. Simply press on the center diamond to talk."

"Have you figured out what to do about the key?"

"I have several forgeries with me. I can only hope the original looks reasonably like one of them. The guards appear to be on twenty minute perimeter sweeps, so if you can get in right now, you'll have time to crack the safe and get out."

"I'll meet you on the foyer when we can make the switch."

I quickly make my way to the safe, and open it without setting off any alarms. The foyer is only two halls away, and Sark is already waiting there when I arrive. He sighs with relief when he sees the key.

"Perfect, it looks a lot like this one."

Handing me the key, he pockets the original and motions to the door. Once inside, we duck into a hallway to take the back way out of the house. Suddenly an entire contingent of guards round the corner and shouting, start after us. Sark and I turn and run, sprinting down separate corridors and force the guards to split up. I hear Sark's voice crackling in my ear as I run.

"Take a left at the next corridor. From there the next exit is ..eft.wait, guards ar..."

"Sark? Sark?!"

The only response I got was crackling in my earpiece.

"Sark?

I randomly choose a direction and continue running, only to run into eight armed guards and the owner of the key with them. Realizing the futility of fighting right now, I slowly lift my arms in surrender.

"Good," the owner comments. "Now I want my key back!"

The guards quickly search me, and find the forgery. The owner examines it, then angrily throws it back at me, and without thinking I thrust the key into my handbag. In the silence of the room, my earpiece suddenly crackles as Sark's panicked voice comes through.

"Sydney, the guards are heading toward you. Turn back!"

The owner motions to my earring, and I silently hand the earring to him. He stares at it in disgust for a moment before speaking into it.

"I have your partner. If you want her back, you will bring the real key to the far eastern corridor. You have five minutes."

It's less than a minute later when Sark rounds the corner, breathless and slightly flushed. His eyes are wide with concern.

"Sydney, are you all right?"

I nod as the owner angrily requests the key again. Sark passes the real key to him as we are forced rather unceremoniously out of the building. The guards reenter the building as Sark grasps my arm.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

The adrenaline seems to be gone, and I sag tiredly against Sark's arm. He gathers me in his arms and murmurs into my hair, "I know the feeling."

This draws a slight laugh from me, but my expression sobers as I stare up into Sark's eyes. The concern and sympathy in them is real, and I reach up to run a hand along Sark's cheek.

"Really, I'm okay."

He nods and speaks softly.

"I know. I was just afraid I'd. that you were .I knew the guards were coming."

"It's okay," I soothe him, and he relaxes slightly and smiles down at me. I feel the magnetism of his eyes, and he brings his lips down to mine for a tender kiss. After much to short a time he pulls back.

"Sydney, I-"

He cuts off and we jump out of each other's embrace as Sloane's operatives rejoin us.

"Did you get the key? Our system crashed, so we couldn't monitor the security cameras."

Sark and I exchange glances. We know we were caught, but it appears they don't know we don't have the key anymore. Sark throws a sidelong glance at me before quickly speaking.

"Agent Bristow has it in her bag."

I hand them the key and silently hope that Sloane doesn't realize the difference. We turn to leave and I realize that Sark and I are going to have a lot to talk about on the plane ride home.

Sloane's POV

2 Days Later

I sat in my office, thoughtfully staring at the key Sark had returned to me. I had tried it on several artifacts, and found it worked on none of them. Which led me to the conclusion that either Sark had given me a forgery, or he had stolen the wrong key. A loud knock sounded on my door and the head of security section entered.

"The tapes that you requested, Sir."

I quickly insert the security tape into my VCR and fast-forward until I saw Sark and Sydney separate and run from the guards. I gasp as I see Sydney detained by the guards; Sark never mentioned this in his report. The owner retrieves a key from Sydney but quickly throws it back. I surmise it must be the forgery.

Sark next runs on the scene, and he hands a key to the owner and the guards release them. The cameras switch to an outside view, and I see them embrace and kiss, then jump apart as my operatives return. I angrily turn to my head of security section.

"Its obvious Sark is no longer loyal to me, if he ever was. I want you to send security teams to both his home and Sydney's. I want them brought back here as soon as possible. I want them alive, but don't hesitate to use force otherwise."

He nods and exits, as I sit back in my chair, anticipating what this night will bring.

To Be Continued . . .