Sark felt like another person, like another being took captive of him
and forced him to help Sydney Bristow escape. He was attracted to her, that
was true, but he had no idea his affections would take him as far as
disobeying his mentor. Secretly, Sark enjoyed it.
"Venir rapidement! Le Prisonnier s'est échappé," Sark yelled at the guards. They took a moment to look at him and clumsily ran into the warehouse. Muttering things Sark understood as, "idiot." Quickly, one by one Sark heard them fall down to the ground with a loud thud.
God, he wanted her so bad.
As he heard the last guard fall, Sydney stepped out of the warehouse with a smile plastered on her face. "Nothing to it," was all she said and all she needed to say. Sark flipped out his cell phone and dialed numbers into it. He brought it up to his ear as he grabbed Sydney's arm with his free hand and began to make his way quickly down the dark back streets.
"Sark here," he spoke into the phone. "I need a favor from you," he paused for a second. Sydney could hear a small voice coming from the phone, "about 20 minutes. thank you," he flipped the phone closed and continued to pull Sydney through the back streets.
Sark bumped up the speed and they began to run down way. Sydney didn't realize it earlier, but it had started to rain. When you have a gun aimed at your head, you tend to forget things
"Sark!" Sydney yelled. "Sark, Stop!" She demanded but her requests were ignored. Primal instinct had kicked in and Sark was focused on one objective. To what the objective was, Sydney still didn't know. Whether she was going to be killed or saved, Sydney was just being pulled, more like dragged, for the ride. She was left with the question, why? Why had Sark gone against Sloane to save her, the enemy? Was it planned, was it spontaneous? These questions began to stew in her head.
They had been running for what seemed like an hour, but it was only 20 minutes, until they reached a small clearing. In the middle of this clearing was a small, black plane. Its engine was ready and prepared to take off. Without stopping, Sark dragged Sydney onto the plane and pushed her into a chair. Without blinking, Sark took out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed Sydney's wrist. Before she could ask what the hell he was going, he slapped the other half of the handcuffs on the chair's arm.
"What the hell is this?" Sydney said in frustration, yanking on the handcuffs a few times.
"Those are to make sure you don't try to kill me when my back is turned," Sark said, taking his sleeve and wiping the sweat off his brow. "Now, calm down for a while. I'll be back," Sark turned and walked out of the compartment into the next, which was the small bathroom. As he closed the door, Sark leaned against it and sank into an exhausted heap. He rested his head in his hands as he let his actions sink in. He had stolen what Sloane referred to as his 'precious jewel.' He had lied to Sloane and betrayed his trust.
He was going to die.
What was he going to do now? The pilot was waiting for his instructions so he could fly to wherever Sark pleased. Whether it would be somewhere exotic like Brazil or . or .
Switzerland.
Sloane won't think to look there. His frame of mind would be somewhere exotic, foreign. Sark already knew of a cottage near the small city of Chur he and Sydney could occupy for a few days. In the few days, Sark would have to figure out what his plans for keeping Sydney out of Sloane's hands were.
Sark opened the door a crack and peered out. Sydney sat in the chair, obviously looking tired and distraught.
This was real; there was no denying it.
Sark sighed as he closed the door once again. He would figure out everything. It was now his duty to keep Sydney Bristow alive. Sark stood up and dusted his suit off; he recomposed himself and walked back into the main compartment. Sydney looked up at him and Sark got a closer look at her. She looked less scared and calmer actually.
"Please answer my question," she said, her voice monotone and drowsy. "Why are you doing this?"
Sark paused for a moment before answering. He couldn't reveal true reasons for saving her, 'I'm saving you Sydney because I'm madly in love with you.' Yes, that'll go down very well. "You will learn my intensions when the time comes. For now, get some sleep. We'll be arriving at our destination in a few hours."
"Are you still working with Sloane?" she asked, seemingly unmoved by the situation. That was a requirement for doing this type of work, being stone faced when your life could generally be over. You had to breathe down Death's neck to overcome the situation.
"Who holds my allegiance for time should be no concern to you," Sark told her but he was hiding behind a façade. He had worked for Sloane but now he was his own free man. Sure, he had had the desire to break free from Sloane for quite a while but not so suddenly. Sark wasn't the 'spur of the moment' type of guy. "You best get some rest Miss Bristow, it will be a long ride."
"Where are we going?" she quickly interjected; she wasn't going to let him escape that quickly. Sark stopped, his back to Sydney, and turned to face her.
"Somewhere safe," and with that Sark strolled out of the compartment and into the pilot's cockpit. "Switzerland," he said and sat down in the co- pilot's chair. Neither of them said a word more to each other, Sark just sat there and gazed out into the blue wonder. The plane sliced through some white clouds at times but nothing more. Sark felt his eyelids become heavy as complete relaxation took over him.
What not many people knew was that Sark's father was a pilot. Not an air force pilot or anything out of the ordinary, just a simple commercial pilot. When Sark was visiting his home from boarding school his father would take him on trips across Ireland to Scotland, England, or France depending on the flight. Sark would always sit in the co-pilot's seat and watch his father at work. One thing Sark remembered his father saying was, "You're always safe in the clouds, nobody can touch you up here." How ironic it was when his plane crashed down. It didn't damper Sark's feelings about flying; he couldn't think of a better way to travel. Maybe that's where Sark inherited his mindless brutality, killing someone without a shred of regret. When his father died, he showed no emotion. To the outside world; he was still a perfectly normal 11-year-old boy. Little did they know that a catalyst had begun to grow. Nothing had seemed to move him anymore. He had been almost machine like in a sense. When his mother had been killed in a drive by shooting when he was 19, only anger built inside.
Suddenly Sark was jolted back into the real world when the plane bounced on the runway; he squinted as looked outside at the white snowy mountains that surrounded him. He shifted his gaze and recognized a small black car parked on the side of the road.
He stretched his arms as he got up, his legs were stiffer then Hell but he continued walking. He opened the door quietly, letting the sun drip into the room slowly. Sydney sat in her chair, her head resting on the back of the chair. Sark regretted waking her up, she looked so peaceful when she wasn't trying to kick the living shit out of you. He took the handcuff keys out of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. As he was removing them from her wrist, she let out a soft moan.
"No. Don't," she said groggily, lifting her arms in protest, only to let them drop heavily once again. She was exhausted from all the recent events but it would be easier for Sark to remove her from the plane. He tossed one of her arms around his shoulder and snaked his arm around her waist to support her. "No, no," she softly protested.
"Shh, don't worry. You're okay," his whispered back to her, he could feel the tension in her back begin to slide away.
"Vaughn?" she asked, not opening her eyes as they walked outside. Sark didn't reply to her last comment but he did wonder. How could she mistake his voice for Agent Vaughn's? He shrugged it off for now, knowing she was half asleep. He placed her in the car and re-attached the handcuffs to her wrist, never could be too careful, and handcuffed her to her seat. He then got into the drivers seat and turned they keys that were already in the ignition. He began his journey to the middle of nowhere while Sydney sat in the back, sleeping soundly
"Venir rapidement! Le Prisonnier s'est échappé," Sark yelled at the guards. They took a moment to look at him and clumsily ran into the warehouse. Muttering things Sark understood as, "idiot." Quickly, one by one Sark heard them fall down to the ground with a loud thud.
God, he wanted her so bad.
As he heard the last guard fall, Sydney stepped out of the warehouse with a smile plastered on her face. "Nothing to it," was all she said and all she needed to say. Sark flipped out his cell phone and dialed numbers into it. He brought it up to his ear as he grabbed Sydney's arm with his free hand and began to make his way quickly down the dark back streets.
"Sark here," he spoke into the phone. "I need a favor from you," he paused for a second. Sydney could hear a small voice coming from the phone, "about 20 minutes. thank you," he flipped the phone closed and continued to pull Sydney through the back streets.
Sark bumped up the speed and they began to run down way. Sydney didn't realize it earlier, but it had started to rain. When you have a gun aimed at your head, you tend to forget things
"Sark!" Sydney yelled. "Sark, Stop!" She demanded but her requests were ignored. Primal instinct had kicked in and Sark was focused on one objective. To what the objective was, Sydney still didn't know. Whether she was going to be killed or saved, Sydney was just being pulled, more like dragged, for the ride. She was left with the question, why? Why had Sark gone against Sloane to save her, the enemy? Was it planned, was it spontaneous? These questions began to stew in her head.
They had been running for what seemed like an hour, but it was only 20 minutes, until they reached a small clearing. In the middle of this clearing was a small, black plane. Its engine was ready and prepared to take off. Without stopping, Sark dragged Sydney onto the plane and pushed her into a chair. Without blinking, Sark took out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed Sydney's wrist. Before she could ask what the hell he was going, he slapped the other half of the handcuffs on the chair's arm.
"What the hell is this?" Sydney said in frustration, yanking on the handcuffs a few times.
"Those are to make sure you don't try to kill me when my back is turned," Sark said, taking his sleeve and wiping the sweat off his brow. "Now, calm down for a while. I'll be back," Sark turned and walked out of the compartment into the next, which was the small bathroom. As he closed the door, Sark leaned against it and sank into an exhausted heap. He rested his head in his hands as he let his actions sink in. He had stolen what Sloane referred to as his 'precious jewel.' He had lied to Sloane and betrayed his trust.
He was going to die.
What was he going to do now? The pilot was waiting for his instructions so he could fly to wherever Sark pleased. Whether it would be somewhere exotic like Brazil or . or .
Switzerland.
Sloane won't think to look there. His frame of mind would be somewhere exotic, foreign. Sark already knew of a cottage near the small city of Chur he and Sydney could occupy for a few days. In the few days, Sark would have to figure out what his plans for keeping Sydney out of Sloane's hands were.
Sark opened the door a crack and peered out. Sydney sat in the chair, obviously looking tired and distraught.
This was real; there was no denying it.
Sark sighed as he closed the door once again. He would figure out everything. It was now his duty to keep Sydney Bristow alive. Sark stood up and dusted his suit off; he recomposed himself and walked back into the main compartment. Sydney looked up at him and Sark got a closer look at her. She looked less scared and calmer actually.
"Please answer my question," she said, her voice monotone and drowsy. "Why are you doing this?"
Sark paused for a moment before answering. He couldn't reveal true reasons for saving her, 'I'm saving you Sydney because I'm madly in love with you.' Yes, that'll go down very well. "You will learn my intensions when the time comes. For now, get some sleep. We'll be arriving at our destination in a few hours."
"Are you still working with Sloane?" she asked, seemingly unmoved by the situation. That was a requirement for doing this type of work, being stone faced when your life could generally be over. You had to breathe down Death's neck to overcome the situation.
"Who holds my allegiance for time should be no concern to you," Sark told her but he was hiding behind a façade. He had worked for Sloane but now he was his own free man. Sure, he had had the desire to break free from Sloane for quite a while but not so suddenly. Sark wasn't the 'spur of the moment' type of guy. "You best get some rest Miss Bristow, it will be a long ride."
"Where are we going?" she quickly interjected; she wasn't going to let him escape that quickly. Sark stopped, his back to Sydney, and turned to face her.
"Somewhere safe," and with that Sark strolled out of the compartment and into the pilot's cockpit. "Switzerland," he said and sat down in the co- pilot's chair. Neither of them said a word more to each other, Sark just sat there and gazed out into the blue wonder. The plane sliced through some white clouds at times but nothing more. Sark felt his eyelids become heavy as complete relaxation took over him.
What not many people knew was that Sark's father was a pilot. Not an air force pilot or anything out of the ordinary, just a simple commercial pilot. When Sark was visiting his home from boarding school his father would take him on trips across Ireland to Scotland, England, or France depending on the flight. Sark would always sit in the co-pilot's seat and watch his father at work. One thing Sark remembered his father saying was, "You're always safe in the clouds, nobody can touch you up here." How ironic it was when his plane crashed down. It didn't damper Sark's feelings about flying; he couldn't think of a better way to travel. Maybe that's where Sark inherited his mindless brutality, killing someone without a shred of regret. When his father died, he showed no emotion. To the outside world; he was still a perfectly normal 11-year-old boy. Little did they know that a catalyst had begun to grow. Nothing had seemed to move him anymore. He had been almost machine like in a sense. When his mother had been killed in a drive by shooting when he was 19, only anger built inside.
Suddenly Sark was jolted back into the real world when the plane bounced on the runway; he squinted as looked outside at the white snowy mountains that surrounded him. He shifted his gaze and recognized a small black car parked on the side of the road.
He stretched his arms as he got up, his legs were stiffer then Hell but he continued walking. He opened the door quietly, letting the sun drip into the room slowly. Sydney sat in her chair, her head resting on the back of the chair. Sark regretted waking her up, she looked so peaceful when she wasn't trying to kick the living shit out of you. He took the handcuff keys out of his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. As he was removing them from her wrist, she let out a soft moan.
"No. Don't," she said groggily, lifting her arms in protest, only to let them drop heavily once again. She was exhausted from all the recent events but it would be easier for Sark to remove her from the plane. He tossed one of her arms around his shoulder and snaked his arm around her waist to support her. "No, no," she softly protested.
"Shh, don't worry. You're okay," his whispered back to her, he could feel the tension in her back begin to slide away.
"Vaughn?" she asked, not opening her eyes as they walked outside. Sark didn't reply to her last comment but he did wonder. How could she mistake his voice for Agent Vaughn's? He shrugged it off for now, knowing she was half asleep. He placed her in the car and re-attached the handcuffs to her wrist, never could be too careful, and handcuffed her to her seat. He then got into the drivers seat and turned they keys that were already in the ignition. He began his journey to the middle of nowhere while Sydney sat in the back, sleeping soundly