Sark amazed Sydney sometimes. The way he could talk people into doing
things for him was a true talent. He managed to book a flight for them so
quickly and effortlessly. He invented new aliases for both of them and
created an objective so quickly, it made Sydney's head spin.
They didn't walk into the airport as Sark and Sydney but as Nicole and Taylor Hansen. They weren't flying to London because they needed to flee from an evil mastermind. They were on their honeymoon. Sydney donned a blonde wig and sported large glasses to hide her eyes. Sark slicked his usual unruly hair back and also hid his eyes behind a pair of normal reading glasses. They briskly walked into the large, overcrowded airport with a purpose. Soon, they were checked in and they boarded their flight, sitting in first class.
While in the air, Sark grabbed Sydney's hand. This caused small smiles on both their faces to break out.
"Nicole, dear, you look absolutely stunning. Jet lag and all," Sark told her. Sydney smiled in return, blushing gently, and put her glasses into her purse.
"Thank you sweetheart," she replied in her own British accent. She leaned forward and placed a small kiss on his lips. As she leaned back, a small, fragile, old woman spoke up.
"Let me guess, honeymoon?" she spoke, her voice high pitched and sweet. Sydney looked over and saw a man asleep, his mouth slightly opened. Sydney smiled back at her.
"Just returning, married just last week." She said, squeezing Sark's hand.
"How sweet," she wrinkled her nose as she spoke, "Lloyd and I are just returning from our anniversary trip." She gave a small gesture towards the sleeping man next to her. He grunted but made no other movements. "We met nearly 40 years ago. On our first date, we watched 'The Sound of Music.' That's what led me to pick the Swiss Alps." She informed them; Sydney couldn't help but smile back.
"How romantic," Sydney replied, she looked at Sark who had lost interest in the conversation. He looked intently out the window as Sydney jabbed him in the ribs. "Isn't that sweet Taylor?"
"OW! Yeah, yeah, really romantic," he muttered, rubbing his side.
"Well, I'm ashamed to say, but I was watching you two. You look absolutely adorable together." She grinned. "Excuse me a moment, dear, must go use the little girl's room," She said before scuttling down the aisle. Sydney sat back and gave a satisfied grin. They both did really look like a just married couple. For the meantime, Sydney could pretend it was true.
- - - -
"You were right. They're on their way to London," said the same old women who spoke with Sydney earlier. She now sat in the plane's lavatory, using a cell phone.
"Good," Sloane relied, a smile evident on his face, "Thank you Alice. You and Lloyd shall receive a check in the mail in a few days. Have a nice flight." And with that, Sloane hung the phone up. He sat back in his chair and glanced at Irina.
"What now?" she asked in a cool, sophisticated voice. She did have doubts about the two spies they had placed on the phone. She knew how Sark liked to frequent his home in Ireland but was aware of his flat in London.
"Give them a few days," he replied, his voice calm, "let them have their fun. Organize a surveillance team to watch them." Irina nodded and walked out of the room. Sloane smiled to himself and walked towards the window. As he watched the people pass underneath, he thought to himself. He had Sydney and Sark right where he wanted them, right under his thumb.
- - - -
They arrived in London a few hours later. Sark hailed a cab and they were off towards downtown London. Sydney remained in disguise, as did Sark. Yet, Sydney didn't want to take it off. She enjoyed being able to get close to Sark in public. Not worrying if anybody was watching them. She could grab Sark's hand without a care and no think twice about it. It was one alias she didn't want to leave behind.
They arrive at his flat around one that afternoon; it was in the heart of London. As Sydney stepped in, she marveled at the stylish design of the interior. She didn't know any man who could clash sophistication with class so easily. Then she remembered.
Vaughn could.
Sark slipped his arms around her waist as the thought of Vaughn crept into her mind. He rested his chin on the crook of her neck. "Let me give you the official tour," he said as he moved past her, grabbing her hand. "This is the living room. Over here is the kitchen. There is the lavatory," he said, but Sydney wasn't listening. He said but Sydney wasn't listening. For the first time she grew stiff and uncomfortable at Sark's touch. For the first time, she felt guilty about their relationship. For the first time in a few days, she was thinking about Vaughn.
"And here," he said, delivering a small kiss to her neck, "is the bedroom. Now, it's time for the proper welcoming." He muttered as he continued to kiss her neck but Sydney pulled away. She held herself as she walked into Sark's living room.
"I can't," she muttered as she sat on a plush couch and sinking into it. "I can't," she repeated. Sark looked at her with concern mixed with confusion as he followed her, sitting on an armchair across from her.
"What do you mean?" he asked though he didn't need to. He already knew by the expression on her face. It was him, her Vaughn.
"Sark! Look at us!" she exclaimed, "I'm Sydney Bristow, central intelligence officer. You're Sark, you're the enemy. You're the very person I work against, to take you down." He was hurt by these words but he didn't say a word. "We could never be together intimately. We could never be seen in public together without being killed. It can never work out."
"You're right," he said in a resentful, bitter voice. He didn't want to admit it, but he had to come to terms.
"I have Vaughn, I love him and-"
"Don't I make you forget about Vaughn?" he blurted out, not being able to hold it back anymore." Didn't I make you forget about the CIA, Sloane, reality for those few hours?" Sydney opened her mouth to retort but closed it once again. "Answer me this: has Vaughn ever made that happen for you?" Sark stood for a beat. He watched Sydney watch him, then left the room and entered the kitchen, breathing unevenly. He didn't want to hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
But at the same time, he didn't want to get hurt either.
Sydney sat there, unmoving and staring at the spot where he once stood. She did forget about all those things: her father, Sloane, SD-6, the CIA, just everything.
Sydney directed her attention elsewhere. No, it could never happen. She tried to forget about Sark's question but it turned impossible. She felt Sark as if he was still in the room. She glanced towards the coffee table and saw outdated newspapers. She turned her head again and saw random coffee cups placed here and there. She could smell him, the sweet cinnamon smell. It wasn't strong but strong enough for her to notice and savior it.
Vaughn smelled of dog food and day old coffee.
What if she was falling for the enemy? Could it be better then it seems or could she be falling into danger? Would she follow what her head said or what her heart said?
They didn't walk into the airport as Sark and Sydney but as Nicole and Taylor Hansen. They weren't flying to London because they needed to flee from an evil mastermind. They were on their honeymoon. Sydney donned a blonde wig and sported large glasses to hide her eyes. Sark slicked his usual unruly hair back and also hid his eyes behind a pair of normal reading glasses. They briskly walked into the large, overcrowded airport with a purpose. Soon, they were checked in and they boarded their flight, sitting in first class.
While in the air, Sark grabbed Sydney's hand. This caused small smiles on both their faces to break out.
"Nicole, dear, you look absolutely stunning. Jet lag and all," Sark told her. Sydney smiled in return, blushing gently, and put her glasses into her purse.
"Thank you sweetheart," she replied in her own British accent. She leaned forward and placed a small kiss on his lips. As she leaned back, a small, fragile, old woman spoke up.
"Let me guess, honeymoon?" she spoke, her voice high pitched and sweet. Sydney looked over and saw a man asleep, his mouth slightly opened. Sydney smiled back at her.
"Just returning, married just last week." She said, squeezing Sark's hand.
"How sweet," she wrinkled her nose as she spoke, "Lloyd and I are just returning from our anniversary trip." She gave a small gesture towards the sleeping man next to her. He grunted but made no other movements. "We met nearly 40 years ago. On our first date, we watched 'The Sound of Music.' That's what led me to pick the Swiss Alps." She informed them; Sydney couldn't help but smile back.
"How romantic," Sydney replied, she looked at Sark who had lost interest in the conversation. He looked intently out the window as Sydney jabbed him in the ribs. "Isn't that sweet Taylor?"
"OW! Yeah, yeah, really romantic," he muttered, rubbing his side.
"Well, I'm ashamed to say, but I was watching you two. You look absolutely adorable together." She grinned. "Excuse me a moment, dear, must go use the little girl's room," She said before scuttling down the aisle. Sydney sat back and gave a satisfied grin. They both did really look like a just married couple. For the meantime, Sydney could pretend it was true.
- - - -
"You were right. They're on their way to London," said the same old women who spoke with Sydney earlier. She now sat in the plane's lavatory, using a cell phone.
"Good," Sloane relied, a smile evident on his face, "Thank you Alice. You and Lloyd shall receive a check in the mail in a few days. Have a nice flight." And with that, Sloane hung the phone up. He sat back in his chair and glanced at Irina.
"What now?" she asked in a cool, sophisticated voice. She did have doubts about the two spies they had placed on the phone. She knew how Sark liked to frequent his home in Ireland but was aware of his flat in London.
"Give them a few days," he replied, his voice calm, "let them have their fun. Organize a surveillance team to watch them." Irina nodded and walked out of the room. Sloane smiled to himself and walked towards the window. As he watched the people pass underneath, he thought to himself. He had Sydney and Sark right where he wanted them, right under his thumb.
- - - -
They arrived in London a few hours later. Sark hailed a cab and they were off towards downtown London. Sydney remained in disguise, as did Sark. Yet, Sydney didn't want to take it off. She enjoyed being able to get close to Sark in public. Not worrying if anybody was watching them. She could grab Sark's hand without a care and no think twice about it. It was one alias she didn't want to leave behind.
They arrive at his flat around one that afternoon; it was in the heart of London. As Sydney stepped in, she marveled at the stylish design of the interior. She didn't know any man who could clash sophistication with class so easily. Then she remembered.
Vaughn could.
Sark slipped his arms around her waist as the thought of Vaughn crept into her mind. He rested his chin on the crook of her neck. "Let me give you the official tour," he said as he moved past her, grabbing her hand. "This is the living room. Over here is the kitchen. There is the lavatory," he said, but Sydney wasn't listening. He said but Sydney wasn't listening. For the first time she grew stiff and uncomfortable at Sark's touch. For the first time, she felt guilty about their relationship. For the first time in a few days, she was thinking about Vaughn.
"And here," he said, delivering a small kiss to her neck, "is the bedroom. Now, it's time for the proper welcoming." He muttered as he continued to kiss her neck but Sydney pulled away. She held herself as she walked into Sark's living room.
"I can't," she muttered as she sat on a plush couch and sinking into it. "I can't," she repeated. Sark looked at her with concern mixed with confusion as he followed her, sitting on an armchair across from her.
"What do you mean?" he asked though he didn't need to. He already knew by the expression on her face. It was him, her Vaughn.
"Sark! Look at us!" she exclaimed, "I'm Sydney Bristow, central intelligence officer. You're Sark, you're the enemy. You're the very person I work against, to take you down." He was hurt by these words but he didn't say a word. "We could never be together intimately. We could never be seen in public together without being killed. It can never work out."
"You're right," he said in a resentful, bitter voice. He didn't want to admit it, but he had to come to terms.
"I have Vaughn, I love him and-"
"Don't I make you forget about Vaughn?" he blurted out, not being able to hold it back anymore." Didn't I make you forget about the CIA, Sloane, reality for those few hours?" Sydney opened her mouth to retort but closed it once again. "Answer me this: has Vaughn ever made that happen for you?" Sark stood for a beat. He watched Sydney watch him, then left the room and entered the kitchen, breathing unevenly. He didn't want to hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
But at the same time, he didn't want to get hurt either.
Sydney sat there, unmoving and staring at the spot where he once stood. She did forget about all those things: her father, Sloane, SD-6, the CIA, just everything.
Sydney directed her attention elsewhere. No, it could never happen. She tried to forget about Sark's question but it turned impossible. She felt Sark as if he was still in the room. She glanced towards the coffee table and saw outdated newspapers. She turned her head again and saw random coffee cups placed here and there. She could smell him, the sweet cinnamon smell. It wasn't strong but strong enough for her to notice and savior it.
Vaughn smelled of dog food and day old coffee.
What if she was falling for the enemy? Could it be better then it seems or could she be falling into danger? Would she follow what her head said or what her heart said?