Sark slowly opened his eyes, squinting at the brightness of the sun
that drifted through the curtains. He attempted to sit up, but his hangover
kept him in his place. He began to remember last night but it was
difficult; most of it was a blur. He remembered eating a very quiet dinner
with Sydney, a very tense quiet that slightly unnerved him as he ate.
Sydney excused herself for bed as soon as she was done and Sark was left
alone. He finished off the bottle of wine he had started earlier, and
opened another one. It became extremely difficult to remember anything
further than that; it all seemed like a blur.
He finally pulled himself out of bed and made his way downstairs, stumbling here and there. He heard a melodic rhythm drifting its way through the house; the source seemed to be the fitness room. Curiosity got the best of Sark as he followed the music. He opened the door a crack and peered in.
Sydney was punching a punching bag furiously to the beat of the music. Sweat dripped from her neck and down the curve of her back. Sark stepped in and Sydney seemed to take no notice of his presence. He watched her for a bit, her muscles built up and contracted with the slightest movement of her arm. Sark was mesmerized. Every punch seemed more furious then the last. Without realizing what he was doing, Sark begin to walk towards Sydney. He reached for the stereo and was just about to switch the stereo off when he felt a blow to his head. Next thing he knew, he was on his back with Sydney on top of him, holding both his arms down.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sark gasped. With Sydney's combined weight and the force of the blow, his breath was knocked out of him.
"I'm sorry, you scared me!" she exclaimed.
He looked up at her; beads of sweat were splattered on Sydney's brow as her hair stuck to her face. Sark felt the urge to tackle her back and kiss her.
He withheld.
"Bloody Hell, woman. I'd hate to see you when you're grouchy," He said. Then something struck him. Sydney Bristow was on top of him. Her lips were just inches from his. He looked into her soft brown eyes and felt the electricity. Sydney looked back into his. Something, certainly not gravity, started pulling her towards him. Sark realized this and heard a voice say, "You're still on top of me." He could feel her hot, ragged breath on his skin. This only turned him on more. Why didn't he just allow Sydney to kiss him? Sark didn't feel it was the right time. He wanted their first kiss anywhere but a gym floor. Though he was not sure why Sydney was going to kiss him, he couldn't let her. Not now.
Wide-eyed, Sydney got off of him and seized a towel on a nearby bench. She wiped the sweat off and said, "I thought you were never going to get up," obviously not wanting to talk about what just happened.
"No, I think you would enjoy that too much," he snapped back at her, standing up.
Back to normal.
He walked out of the room, clutching his side. Being pounced on with a hangover wasn't exactly how he wanted to start of his day. He hobbled towards the kitchen and started to make a pot of coffee. Sydney soon followed in with the towel around her neck.
"So are we going anywhere today?" she asked as she opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. "France, Italy, I heard Russia is nice this time of year."
"No, we're staying here," he told her as he watched his coffee drip slowly into the pot.
"What?" she blurted out as she sat down at the table, facing him. "So we're going to stay here and let Sloane corner us in the middle of nowhere?"
"He doesn't know we're here. I trust Dean; he would never rat us out." he shot back as he pulled a coffee mug from the pantry.
"Trust isn't a word you should toss around," she retorted, taking a swig from the water.
"Miss Bristow, I know who my friends are and who my enemies are. Trust me with my judgment," Sark pleaded as he poured his coffee into his cup.
"Trust you with your judgment? Sark, I don't even know if I can trust you as a person," she told him. Silence feel between them.
Sark stood there, his coffee in hand, letting what she just said sink in. She was right, he was a known enemy to her and she had no right to trust him. He finally turned to her. "I save you from Sloane and this is what I get?" he snapped at her, and walked out of the kitchen before she could reply. She knew she had said the wrong thing. Damn her for her stubbornness. She grabbed the bottle of water, walked out of the kitchen, and followed Sark into the living room.
He now sat on the window ledge, watching the snow fall and sipping his coffee. He didn't acknowledge her presence when she walked up to him.
"I'm sorry I said-" she said, almost under her breath.
Sark interrupted her. "Don't say anything. You're right, you have no reason to trust me," he told her, remaining still and continuing to stare out the window. "But know this: If Sloane finds us, we're both dead," he finally turned to her, his eyes drooped in drowsiness, "I'm not close to letting Sloane win."
Sydney didn't say a word after that. She didn't need to.
Sark turned back to the window and Sydney sat on the couch. She was being completely ungrateful for what this man was doing for her. He was risking his career, not to mention his life, just for her. They both spent a long time in silence, contemplating their relationship.
---
Sark started to feel cabin fever crawl under his skin later that afternoon. He hated being contained to one place for too long. He did try to work out but he continued to feel the words close on him. He pulled on all the winter apparel he could find in the house; it was time for a good breath of fresh air.
Sydney had disappeared after their tiff that morning. He didn't care where she went to hide, after more than 24 hours they both needed some space. So many questions that her brain could create made his head spin. Still, he kept his own desire to kidnap her and whisk her away to a cabin in the mountains a secret.
Though he was busting at the seams to reveal them.
He stepped out into the bitter cold as the winter wind slapped him in the face. He pulled his black snow hat further down and tightened his coat around him. He was going to shovel out the driveway, an attempt to preoccupy his mind from the situation he had created around him.
Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched. Sydney had hid in her room to be alone with her thoughts. To think of why she had almost kissed Sark and offended him, all in 20 minutes time. She even impressed herself of her stubbornness and stupidity sometimes. The question still lingered, why did she almost kiss him? His deep blue eyes seemed to beckon her closer to him. She watched as he shoveled the snow into a small pile. Sydney felt a warm sensation wash over her. A sensation only a few other men had given her: one of the men being Vaughn. Was she attracted to Sark? Sydney got up and began to rummage through the clothes drawer. She needed to explore this feeling.
---
Beads of sweat begin to accumulate underneath Sark's hat. He stopped for a moment and leaned against his shovel, huffing out clouds of frozen air. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and was about to continue shoveling when he felt something cold hit the back of his neck. Jumping around, he spotted Sydney bending over and picking up a handful of snow, smirking to herself.
"So, you think that's funny do you?" he asked, Sydney replied with another snowball to his chest. Sark couldn't help but smile back. He dropped the shovel and took a few steps forward. "You might want to watch your back, Miss Bristow. I've been known to … ATTACK!" he bellowed and began to chase after her. Sydney shrieked and tossing the snowball at him. It landed at his feet, and she ran in the opposite direction. Sark caught up with her and tackled her and they both fell to the ground. He picked up a handful of snow and began to playfully smother it into her hair. Through the shrieks, he could sense laughter coming from her.
She was able to overcome him and shoved a handful of snow into his face. He rolled off of her in defeat. Strange enough, Sark was laughing too, something that was very foreign to him.
Soon the laughter died down and they were left in silence, but this was a comfortable silence. They both stared into the large blue sky as clouds rolled by.
"I'm sorry," Sydney said abruptly; her tone was soft. She turned her head and looked at Sark. His blonde hair was poking through his hat but he made no move to improve it. "About earlier, I should be thanking you for saving me." His blonde hair was poking through his hat but he made no move to approve it, "About earlier, I should be thanking you for saving me." Sark turned his head and looked back at Sydney. Her soft brown eyes seemed so livid against the pearl white snow.
"Sydney, I'm a known enemy to you. You have a right to not trust me. God knows, I've tried to kill you numerous times before and …" Sydney wasn't blinking, nor was Sark. His words seem to dissolve before him. Sark sat up, he didn't know what he was doing, but his eye contact with Sydney didn't break. He scooped her up in his arms, and she didn't protest. In what seemed like slow motion to Sark and Sydney, their lips made contact. First it was tender but slowly became passionate. At that moment they weren't Sydney and Sark, nor were they two spies. They were two human beings looking for warmth and love. He moved his hands from the small of her back to her hair. Tangling his fingers in her long strands. Sloane could shoot him dead in the spot. It didn't matter now. Sark had what he wanted: he had Sydney.
Unwillingly, some force pulled them apart. They were both breathing heavily as they intently looked at each other. They were in so much danger yet none of it mattered. As they looked into each other's eyes, they both understood what each other wanted. What they both needed.
"Do you want this?" Sark asked breathlessly; it was a stupid question. He didn't care, he needed her confirmation. She returned his answer with a smile and pulled him towards her, capturing his lips with hers.
Sark and Sydney didn't know how they did it, but somehow they made it to the master bedroom. With a few tugs and rips: clothes were off. His hands on her skin felt like ecstasy no words could explain. Sark felt her hot breath against his ear and it only made him want her more. She gave herself to him, and felt herself slide out of reality.
---
Hours later, Sydney woke and realized it was now dark outside, but she didn't move. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck as she shifted slightly in the bed. She had had sex with Sark. It was crazy but it was so true. She could have blamed it on the wine that they never had for excuse's sake, but she would always remember. She'd always remember the way he never let her head hit the bed with his hand behind it. The way her name sounded as it rolled off of his tongue in pure want and greed. The way he looked at her when they were finished: the passion still burning in his eyes. The way he held her, his face fitting so perfectly on the crook of her neck, his soft snoring. She tried looking for his arms around her but nothing was there.
There was a loud crash that echoed through the halls of the house. Sydney sat straight up in terror but a mysterious hand restricted her from calling out Sark's name.
They were caught.
He finally pulled himself out of bed and made his way downstairs, stumbling here and there. He heard a melodic rhythm drifting its way through the house; the source seemed to be the fitness room. Curiosity got the best of Sark as he followed the music. He opened the door a crack and peered in.
Sydney was punching a punching bag furiously to the beat of the music. Sweat dripped from her neck and down the curve of her back. Sark stepped in and Sydney seemed to take no notice of his presence. He watched her for a bit, her muscles built up and contracted with the slightest movement of her arm. Sark was mesmerized. Every punch seemed more furious then the last. Without realizing what he was doing, Sark begin to walk towards Sydney. He reached for the stereo and was just about to switch the stereo off when he felt a blow to his head. Next thing he knew, he was on his back with Sydney on top of him, holding both his arms down.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sark gasped. With Sydney's combined weight and the force of the blow, his breath was knocked out of him.
"I'm sorry, you scared me!" she exclaimed.
He looked up at her; beads of sweat were splattered on Sydney's brow as her hair stuck to her face. Sark felt the urge to tackle her back and kiss her.
He withheld.
"Bloody Hell, woman. I'd hate to see you when you're grouchy," He said. Then something struck him. Sydney Bristow was on top of him. Her lips were just inches from his. He looked into her soft brown eyes and felt the electricity. Sydney looked back into his. Something, certainly not gravity, started pulling her towards him. Sark realized this and heard a voice say, "You're still on top of me." He could feel her hot, ragged breath on his skin. This only turned him on more. Why didn't he just allow Sydney to kiss him? Sark didn't feel it was the right time. He wanted their first kiss anywhere but a gym floor. Though he was not sure why Sydney was going to kiss him, he couldn't let her. Not now.
Wide-eyed, Sydney got off of him and seized a towel on a nearby bench. She wiped the sweat off and said, "I thought you were never going to get up," obviously not wanting to talk about what just happened.
"No, I think you would enjoy that too much," he snapped back at her, standing up.
Back to normal.
He walked out of the room, clutching his side. Being pounced on with a hangover wasn't exactly how he wanted to start of his day. He hobbled towards the kitchen and started to make a pot of coffee. Sydney soon followed in with the towel around her neck.
"So are we going anywhere today?" she asked as she opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. "France, Italy, I heard Russia is nice this time of year."
"No, we're staying here," he told her as he watched his coffee drip slowly into the pot.
"What?" she blurted out as she sat down at the table, facing him. "So we're going to stay here and let Sloane corner us in the middle of nowhere?"
"He doesn't know we're here. I trust Dean; he would never rat us out." he shot back as he pulled a coffee mug from the pantry.
"Trust isn't a word you should toss around," she retorted, taking a swig from the water.
"Miss Bristow, I know who my friends are and who my enemies are. Trust me with my judgment," Sark pleaded as he poured his coffee into his cup.
"Trust you with your judgment? Sark, I don't even know if I can trust you as a person," she told him. Silence feel between them.
Sark stood there, his coffee in hand, letting what she just said sink in. She was right, he was a known enemy to her and she had no right to trust him. He finally turned to her. "I save you from Sloane and this is what I get?" he snapped at her, and walked out of the kitchen before she could reply. She knew she had said the wrong thing. Damn her for her stubbornness. She grabbed the bottle of water, walked out of the kitchen, and followed Sark into the living room.
He now sat on the window ledge, watching the snow fall and sipping his coffee. He didn't acknowledge her presence when she walked up to him.
"I'm sorry I said-" she said, almost under her breath.
Sark interrupted her. "Don't say anything. You're right, you have no reason to trust me," he told her, remaining still and continuing to stare out the window. "But know this: If Sloane finds us, we're both dead," he finally turned to her, his eyes drooped in drowsiness, "I'm not close to letting Sloane win."
Sydney didn't say a word after that. She didn't need to.
Sark turned back to the window and Sydney sat on the couch. She was being completely ungrateful for what this man was doing for her. He was risking his career, not to mention his life, just for her. They both spent a long time in silence, contemplating their relationship.
---
Sark started to feel cabin fever crawl under his skin later that afternoon. He hated being contained to one place for too long. He did try to work out but he continued to feel the words close on him. He pulled on all the winter apparel he could find in the house; it was time for a good breath of fresh air.
Sydney had disappeared after their tiff that morning. He didn't care where she went to hide, after more than 24 hours they both needed some space. So many questions that her brain could create made his head spin. Still, he kept his own desire to kidnap her and whisk her away to a cabin in the mountains a secret.
Though he was busting at the seams to reveal them.
He stepped out into the bitter cold as the winter wind slapped him in the face. He pulled his black snow hat further down and tightened his coat around him. He was going to shovel out the driveway, an attempt to preoccupy his mind from the situation he had created around him.
Unbeknownst to him, he was being watched. Sydney had hid in her room to be alone with her thoughts. To think of why she had almost kissed Sark and offended him, all in 20 minutes time. She even impressed herself of her stubbornness and stupidity sometimes. The question still lingered, why did she almost kiss him? His deep blue eyes seemed to beckon her closer to him. She watched as he shoveled the snow into a small pile. Sydney felt a warm sensation wash over her. A sensation only a few other men had given her: one of the men being Vaughn. Was she attracted to Sark? Sydney got up and began to rummage through the clothes drawer. She needed to explore this feeling.
---
Beads of sweat begin to accumulate underneath Sark's hat. He stopped for a moment and leaned against his shovel, huffing out clouds of frozen air. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and was about to continue shoveling when he felt something cold hit the back of his neck. Jumping around, he spotted Sydney bending over and picking up a handful of snow, smirking to herself.
"So, you think that's funny do you?" he asked, Sydney replied with another snowball to his chest. Sark couldn't help but smile back. He dropped the shovel and took a few steps forward. "You might want to watch your back, Miss Bristow. I've been known to … ATTACK!" he bellowed and began to chase after her. Sydney shrieked and tossing the snowball at him. It landed at his feet, and she ran in the opposite direction. Sark caught up with her and tackled her and they both fell to the ground. He picked up a handful of snow and began to playfully smother it into her hair. Through the shrieks, he could sense laughter coming from her.
She was able to overcome him and shoved a handful of snow into his face. He rolled off of her in defeat. Strange enough, Sark was laughing too, something that was very foreign to him.
Soon the laughter died down and they were left in silence, but this was a comfortable silence. They both stared into the large blue sky as clouds rolled by.
"I'm sorry," Sydney said abruptly; her tone was soft. She turned her head and looked at Sark. His blonde hair was poking through his hat but he made no move to improve it. "About earlier, I should be thanking you for saving me." His blonde hair was poking through his hat but he made no move to approve it, "About earlier, I should be thanking you for saving me." Sark turned his head and looked back at Sydney. Her soft brown eyes seemed so livid against the pearl white snow.
"Sydney, I'm a known enemy to you. You have a right to not trust me. God knows, I've tried to kill you numerous times before and …" Sydney wasn't blinking, nor was Sark. His words seem to dissolve before him. Sark sat up, he didn't know what he was doing, but his eye contact with Sydney didn't break. He scooped her up in his arms, and she didn't protest. In what seemed like slow motion to Sark and Sydney, their lips made contact. First it was tender but slowly became passionate. At that moment they weren't Sydney and Sark, nor were they two spies. They were two human beings looking for warmth and love. He moved his hands from the small of her back to her hair. Tangling his fingers in her long strands. Sloane could shoot him dead in the spot. It didn't matter now. Sark had what he wanted: he had Sydney.
Unwillingly, some force pulled them apart. They were both breathing heavily as they intently looked at each other. They were in so much danger yet none of it mattered. As they looked into each other's eyes, they both understood what each other wanted. What they both needed.
"Do you want this?" Sark asked breathlessly; it was a stupid question. He didn't care, he needed her confirmation. She returned his answer with a smile and pulled him towards her, capturing his lips with hers.
Sark and Sydney didn't know how they did it, but somehow they made it to the master bedroom. With a few tugs and rips: clothes were off. His hands on her skin felt like ecstasy no words could explain. Sark felt her hot breath against his ear and it only made him want her more. She gave herself to him, and felt herself slide out of reality.
---
Hours later, Sydney woke and realized it was now dark outside, but she didn't move. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck as she shifted slightly in the bed. She had had sex with Sark. It was crazy but it was so true. She could have blamed it on the wine that they never had for excuse's sake, but she would always remember. She'd always remember the way he never let her head hit the bed with his hand behind it. The way her name sounded as it rolled off of his tongue in pure want and greed. The way he looked at her when they were finished: the passion still burning in his eyes. The way he held her, his face fitting so perfectly on the crook of her neck, his soft snoring. She tried looking for his arms around her but nothing was there.
There was a loud crash that echoed through the halls of the house. Sydney sat straight up in terror but a mysterious hand restricted her from calling out Sark's name.
They were caught.