Coming to Grips
Sydney and Sark arrived at the safehouse on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Sydney wiped her eyes and got out.
she asked, folding her arms over her chest and walking to the door.
Sark dug into his pocket and pulled out the key to the safehouse. He walked to the front door and unlocked it. Instinctively, he stepped back and gestured for Sydney to enter first. She nodded her thanks and went inside. She flipped on a light and looked around.
Why aren't they here? Sydney asked, peeking into the kitchen and other rooms in the safehouse.
Maybe they're being held somewhere else, Sark suggested, walking into the kitchen and picking up the manila folder on the kitchen counter.
Or maybe they're dead, Sydney snapped, coming into the kitchen and snatching the folder from Sark.
You need to stop, Sark told her. We're never going to get through this if you don't relax a little. He held up a hand when Sydney started to protest. Just a little. I know this is hard for you. But if you can't control your emotions and think rationally, we're both going to end up—
Sydney cut him off. Okay, I'll do what I can. But you have to understand that these are my friends, my best friends. And with Vaughn—
Her breath caught in her throat and she raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. It had finally hit her that she would never see Vaughn again. Her lower lip trembled and she dropped the folder and steadied herself by gripping the edge of the tiled counter. Sobs racked her body until she was practically convulsing. She felt herself slide to the floor and she huddled against the wall, her face in her hands as she continued to cry.
Sark wanted to comfort her but was afraid that it would make things worse, that she'd only shove him away. He absently picked up the folder and its contents which were spread about on the linoleum and set everything on the table.
He watched Sydney cry for a few moments before stepping around the table and kneeling down next to her. He squeezed her shoulder and she looked up at him for a moment. Sark studied her eyes, trying to gauge her emotions. When she didn't turn away, Sark reached a hand to her cheek and wiped away a few tears.
Suddenly, Sydney shoved his hand away. Leave me alone, she hissed.
Sark's expression turned cold. I was trying to help.
Sydney narrowed her eyes. I don't need nor do I want your help.
Sark stood up and walked over to the table. He took out his copy of the instructions then picked up the folder. He frowned at it then turned to Sydney who was still huddled against the wall. He all but flung the folder at her feet.
Instructions. Read them. We leave tomorrow.
Sydney reached for the folder as Sark left the room, then hugged her knees to her chest after dropping the folder in her lap. She rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes.
A few hours later, Sark woke Sydney up by charging into the kitchen and making as much noise as seemingly possible. He slammed the papers on the table with a loud thwack, then made his way to the refrigerator, pulled out a soda and kicked the door shut, causing the whole refrigerator to rock back and forth slightly on the floor. He then brought the can to the countertop, producing a loud crack.
Sydney snapped her head up and blinked a few times to focus her eyes. Sark, what the fuck are you doing? she asked, clearly annoyed that he had disturbed her nap.
Sark leaned over the counter to peer down at her. He grabbed the can and dangled it over the edge. Getting a soda, he said, his tone harsh.
I can see that, Sydney snapped, but did you have to break the sound barrier in the process? She pulled herself to her feet and brushed herself off.
Do you have to be a bitch to me every time we converse? Sark demanded as he took a sip of his drink.
You think I'm being a bitch? Sydney asked in utter disbelief. My whole life is turned upside-down like that— she snapped her fingers, —and you expect me to be what? Kind and sweet towards you of all people? I think not. She turned and started to walk out of the kitchen to one of the small bedrooms.
It's not just about right now, Sark called after her, you've always been like this towards me.
Go to Hell, Sydney muttered.
Sark scoffed. I'll see you there.
Sydney slammed the door to the bedroom. She sat down on the bed and made herself comfortable. She opened the folder and looked at the contents inside. One sheet of paper. With a small paragraph.
You will leave tomorrow morning as soon as possible then drive to the safehouse in Las Vegas. There will be a CIA agent posing as a hitchhiker on your way there. He'll tell you the exact location of the safehouse and give you more details of the plan.
Sydney sighed heavily and crumpled up the paper. She got up off the bed and opened the door. She made her way to the bathroom to flush the paper, in case an SD-6 team either stormed the safehouse or caught her and Sark on their way to their rendezvous.
She lifted the lid and dropped the crumpled ball into the bowl. She flushed the toilet and watched the water swirl around, making sure it actually made it down.
She left the bathroom and went to the small area of the safehouse that served as the living room. She spied Sark on the couch snoozing. A feeling of relief washed over her and she hugged herself. She wasn't alone in what was happening. She had someone to help her through. She smiled a little and walked over to the couch. She sat on one of the arms and silently watched Sark sleep. She was about to gently nudge Sark awake when he surprised her by sitting up.
Listen, I wanted to apologize for earlier, she began.
Sark stood up and began to slowly pace the living room. Interesting, I didn't think the word apologize' was in your vocabulary.
Sydney smirked. That's funny, because it would appear that the same comment applies to you as well.
They were silent for a few moments. Sydney stood up and walked over to him.
Look, if we're going to get through this, we need to move past our immature feeling of— she paused, looking for the right word, —hatred, or whatever this is that's preventing us from getting along.
Sark sighed. You're right, he admitted. So let's— he shook his head and shrugged, —shake hands and start over, somewhat. He extended his hand and Sydney grasped it.
Are we okay now? At least on this level? she asked.
Yeah, I think we're fine, Sark answered.
Sydney shoved her hands in the pockets of her slacks. So what do you want to do? I think I saw a deck of cards floating around. I mean, it's only three. She shrugged and chewed on her lip for a moment.
Sark looked around the living room and walked over to a small table by the couch where the cards, nestled in their box, were residing. He took them out of the box and shuffled them in mid-air. He flashed her a grin.
What do you want to play?