When Sydney woke up, she didn't open her eyes right away. The shiver
running down her spine told her something wasn't right, so she waited-
observing everything she could without the use of her eyes. A sharp pain
slashed through her head, almost making her wince and moan out loud.
Hangover. Trying hard to forget the disastrous events that had taken place
in the bar, Sydney mentally chided herself for becoming so open and
vulnerable. She had to face the fact that she was a different person out in
the field then who she as at home, with friends. The shy, girl-next-door
Sydney couldn't cope with the realization of what her spy-alter-ego did for
a living, which was why, she reasoned, it screwed me up so much when Sark
entered my house. Next time she would be prepared. Next time, she wouldn't
hesitate to shoot Sark in the head and finish the job. Never again, Sydney
thought . . . I will not be taken advantage of like that again.
Once she was awake enough to comprehend things better, she realized that she could feel the cold metal of handcuffs around each of her wrists, which were positioned above her head. Her head was on a pillow-she was definitely handcuffed to the bed. A few seconds more and she realized that her legs were tied down too-most likely on the other side of the bed. I'm not in the best position to defend myself, Sydney concluded. Talk about stating the obvious . . . But after all, she was experiencing the worst hangover of her life, so her mind was not quite as sharp as it usually was. Another sudden pain stabbed into her head, drowning out her thoughts.
Concentrate, Sydney . . . What else is there?
She forced herself to ignore the pain in her head and continued to absorb her surroundings. She still hadn't moved a muscle. Chenille bedspread, it's warm- and silent. And there's a smell . . . some sort of wine . . .Sydney liked to think she knew at least a little about wine . . . considering how much she liked to consume. Definitely wine, an expensive wine at that, she decided. Red Wine. . . . . Petreuse?
"Ms. Bristow, you needn't feign sleep. I know for a fact you have been awake for at least 15 minutes." the one voice she did not want to hear was suddenly ringing in her ear. Damn it. What was he doing here? And what business did he have watching her sleep?
Sydney didn't answer, just continued to close her eyes and pretend to sleep. She knew this façade wouldn't fool Sark; He was way too smart for that. But at least she might persuade him to leave her alone for a while. From experience, Sydney knew that Sark usually had very little interest in conversation unless he could get a rise out of somebody. Maybe if I refuse to respond, he'll give me time to think.
He didn't speak again, but Sydney could tell he hadn't left either. Just the thought of him being in the room with her when she was this vulnerable made another shiver crawl down her spine. Ever since Sydney had become a double agent, since she had stopped trusting the system, she had an intense fear of closing her eyes when someone else was present. Because who knows what they could be doing that I'm not aware of? Sydney wondered . . . Sark is probably staring at me hard right now, with his icy blue eyes . . . and I can't see him . . . who knows what he could be thinking?
STOP.
Sydney forced her thoughts into focus. She couldn't afford to panic, not when she was I this situation. Think, Syd, think .
Who is in charge of my kidnapping? Is Sark working alone again, or worse, Sydney thought, has my cover been blown and this was Sloane's doing? STUPID, STUPID, STUPID . . . I shouldn't have called Vaughn-I can't afford to be seen with him. What if he's dead already?
Sydney had to stop herself from panicking again. This was definitely not Sloane's style. Sloane would have made her as uncomfortable as possible, not given her Chenille Bedsheets. This was probably Sark having some fun with her again. Damn him, and his stupid cocky grin . . .
He should especially go to Hell for having such clear blue eyes. They just aren't fitting on a sociopathic killer.
What is up with me?, Syd wondered to herself . . . My mind is completely in the gutter-I keep panicking, and I can't seem to focus long enough to come up with anything that will help me.
Oh wait, Syd remembered-I almost forgot the fact that I consumed copious amounts of alcohol last night. Was it even night anymore? What time is it? she wondered.
"Ms. Bristow, you're not fooling anyone." Sark's boyish British accent cut into her brainstorm session. Oh well, Sydney thought, It's not like I was getting anywhere. It had been several minutes since he had spoken.
"It is your choice whether or not you want to acknowledge my presence, but to help sway your decision I think it is only right that you should know that I apprehended your precious handler"-he knows?? Syd was panicking again . . . How did he find out??- "and I am also becoming reacquainted with your friend Mr. Tippin. Exactly how many memories you want Mr. Tippin to relive is up to you, but I promise if you cooperate, or at least TALK to me for God's sake, your friends won't be harmed."
He's bluffing, Sydney told herself-Vaughn left me at the bar and went home. Will's probably working his paper-pusher job at the CIA right now. He's just manipulating you again, just like he did last time . . . using your human relationships against you.
A small voice creeped into the back of Sydney's head.
What if he isn't bluffing?
Sydney opened her eyes, finally. Thank god the room was dark. Sydney wasn't sure she could take any bright light with this headache. Though worse pains would probably hit her before this was over.
Adjusting her eyes to the darkness, Sydney glanced around the room. Small, lightly furnished, but comfortable looking. And there was Sark, reclining in a chair in the corner with his glass of Chateau Petreuse, staring at her intently-just as she'd imagined.
"What have you done with them?" she asked in a hoarse voice. He fixed his gaze directly into her eyes, pulling her in.
"You're friends aren't here Ms. Bristow. Excuse my rudeness in lying to you, but under the circumstances, I'm sure you understand my intent." he took another sip of his wine before continuing.
"You see, Ms. Bristow, that's the problem with creating ties and connections with other human beings . . . It provides a wide range of weaknesses for people to work with."
"What do you want with me?" Sydney asked, ignoring the baiting. Their verbal battles were becoming mundane.
"That is a very interesting question, Sydney Bristow," he said, swirling the wine in his glass.
Sydney rolled over away from Sark as much as her confines allowed her, and tried to go back to sleep. She realized long ago she would never get a straight answer out of him. Inevitably, her paranoia about closing her eyes got the best of her, and she opened them, jumping back.
As he had done in their last conversation, he was staring at her again, inches away from her face when she opened her eyes. But this time, he didn't move closer.
"I could arrange for Mr. Tippin and your handler to join us however . . ." Sark backed up again and began pouring another glass of wine. He looked at Sydney again, knowing she understood his meaning.
"Would you care for some wine, Ms. Bristow?"
Once she was awake enough to comprehend things better, she realized that she could feel the cold metal of handcuffs around each of her wrists, which were positioned above her head. Her head was on a pillow-she was definitely handcuffed to the bed. A few seconds more and she realized that her legs were tied down too-most likely on the other side of the bed. I'm not in the best position to defend myself, Sydney concluded. Talk about stating the obvious . . . But after all, she was experiencing the worst hangover of her life, so her mind was not quite as sharp as it usually was. Another sudden pain stabbed into her head, drowning out her thoughts.
Concentrate, Sydney . . . What else is there?
She forced herself to ignore the pain in her head and continued to absorb her surroundings. She still hadn't moved a muscle. Chenille bedspread, it's warm- and silent. And there's a smell . . . some sort of wine . . .Sydney liked to think she knew at least a little about wine . . . considering how much she liked to consume. Definitely wine, an expensive wine at that, she decided. Red Wine. . . . . Petreuse?
"Ms. Bristow, you needn't feign sleep. I know for a fact you have been awake for at least 15 minutes." the one voice she did not want to hear was suddenly ringing in her ear. Damn it. What was he doing here? And what business did he have watching her sleep?
Sydney didn't answer, just continued to close her eyes and pretend to sleep. She knew this façade wouldn't fool Sark; He was way too smart for that. But at least she might persuade him to leave her alone for a while. From experience, Sydney knew that Sark usually had very little interest in conversation unless he could get a rise out of somebody. Maybe if I refuse to respond, he'll give me time to think.
He didn't speak again, but Sydney could tell he hadn't left either. Just the thought of him being in the room with her when she was this vulnerable made another shiver crawl down her spine. Ever since Sydney had become a double agent, since she had stopped trusting the system, she had an intense fear of closing her eyes when someone else was present. Because who knows what they could be doing that I'm not aware of? Sydney wondered . . . Sark is probably staring at me hard right now, with his icy blue eyes . . . and I can't see him . . . who knows what he could be thinking?
STOP.
Sydney forced her thoughts into focus. She couldn't afford to panic, not when she was I this situation. Think, Syd, think .
Who is in charge of my kidnapping? Is Sark working alone again, or worse, Sydney thought, has my cover been blown and this was Sloane's doing? STUPID, STUPID, STUPID . . . I shouldn't have called Vaughn-I can't afford to be seen with him. What if he's dead already?
Sydney had to stop herself from panicking again. This was definitely not Sloane's style. Sloane would have made her as uncomfortable as possible, not given her Chenille Bedsheets. This was probably Sark having some fun with her again. Damn him, and his stupid cocky grin . . .
He should especially go to Hell for having such clear blue eyes. They just aren't fitting on a sociopathic killer.
What is up with me?, Syd wondered to herself . . . My mind is completely in the gutter-I keep panicking, and I can't seem to focus long enough to come up with anything that will help me.
Oh wait, Syd remembered-I almost forgot the fact that I consumed copious amounts of alcohol last night. Was it even night anymore? What time is it? she wondered.
"Ms. Bristow, you're not fooling anyone." Sark's boyish British accent cut into her brainstorm session. Oh well, Sydney thought, It's not like I was getting anywhere. It had been several minutes since he had spoken.
"It is your choice whether or not you want to acknowledge my presence, but to help sway your decision I think it is only right that you should know that I apprehended your precious handler"-he knows?? Syd was panicking again . . . How did he find out??- "and I am also becoming reacquainted with your friend Mr. Tippin. Exactly how many memories you want Mr. Tippin to relive is up to you, but I promise if you cooperate, or at least TALK to me for God's sake, your friends won't be harmed."
He's bluffing, Sydney told herself-Vaughn left me at the bar and went home. Will's probably working his paper-pusher job at the CIA right now. He's just manipulating you again, just like he did last time . . . using your human relationships against you.
A small voice creeped into the back of Sydney's head.
What if he isn't bluffing?
Sydney opened her eyes, finally. Thank god the room was dark. Sydney wasn't sure she could take any bright light with this headache. Though worse pains would probably hit her before this was over.
Adjusting her eyes to the darkness, Sydney glanced around the room. Small, lightly furnished, but comfortable looking. And there was Sark, reclining in a chair in the corner with his glass of Chateau Petreuse, staring at her intently-just as she'd imagined.
"What have you done with them?" she asked in a hoarse voice. He fixed his gaze directly into her eyes, pulling her in.
"You're friends aren't here Ms. Bristow. Excuse my rudeness in lying to you, but under the circumstances, I'm sure you understand my intent." he took another sip of his wine before continuing.
"You see, Ms. Bristow, that's the problem with creating ties and connections with other human beings . . . It provides a wide range of weaknesses for people to work with."
"What do you want with me?" Sydney asked, ignoring the baiting. Their verbal battles were becoming mundane.
"That is a very interesting question, Sydney Bristow," he said, swirling the wine in his glass.
Sydney rolled over away from Sark as much as her confines allowed her, and tried to go back to sleep. She realized long ago she would never get a straight answer out of him. Inevitably, her paranoia about closing her eyes got the best of her, and she opened them, jumping back.
As he had done in their last conversation, he was staring at her again, inches away from her face when she opened her eyes. But this time, he didn't move closer.
"I could arrange for Mr. Tippin and your handler to join us however . . ." Sark backed up again and began pouring another glass of wine. He looked at Sydney again, knowing she understood his meaning.
"Would you care for some wine, Ms. Bristow?"