Sydney glared daggers in Sark's direction.
"You, Mr. Sark, can take your wine and shove it up your-"
"Testy, testy, Ms. Bristow. . . I think we could try to remain courteous in this exchange. Besides, now that I think about it, I don't believe it would be wise to add more alcohol into your system at this point. You were all but passed out when I picked you up earlier." he said, suppressing a grin. Sydney could see the corners of his mouth twitching, but as usual, he managed to keep a straight face. As if she needed any more reminders of her complete vulnerability last night. This hangover was killing her enough anyways. Syd realized at this point there was absolutely no method of torture that could put her in any more pain than she was already in. Another sharp pang sliced through her thoughts. Not pretending to sleep anymore, Sydney didn't try to hide her pain, and visibly winced. Sark remained apathetic.
"You know, you almost reminded me of a child the way you huddled against me, when I picked you up-semiconscious, mumbling," that made Sydney wince even more, the thought of her huddled against Sark, "Did I really have that much of an effect on you Sydney?"
Yes, Sydney thought to herself. Unfortunately.
"Don't flatter yourself, Sark. I had a fight with Francie." Why was she explaining herself to him?
"Most likely that fight was caused by me though . . . Am I correct?" That hint of a smile was playing on his lips again.
"Why I fight with my friends is really none of your business Sark." Sydney tried to remain uncaring.
"Then it WAS caused by me."
"No, it wasn't," Sydney lied, "It was mainly because I hadn't been there for her lately . . . You had nothing to do with it."
"Two things, Ms. Bristow. First, I think you're lying. Second, that fight further proves my theory that you don't really have any connection to your friends other than using them to boost your confidence that you're a normal person." Sydney tensed. She was ready to scream. In fact, why not?
"AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!"
Sark sat back, obviously pleased with himself.
"Two things Mr. Sark. One, you don't seem to mention, in your tirade to try and display every weakness I possess, the fact that YOU tried to kiss me, and I kicked you in the balls and walked out. How's that for vulnerability? Second, if you're so uncaring about everything, why do you go to such lengths to get a rise out of me?"
Sark got another one of those looks on his face for a split second -so fast Sydney wondered if she had imagined it-, where it looked like he had started to display emotion, but then reverted back to his dispassionate stare once again. Sydney laughed inwardly. He wouldn't trap her in this time. This time she was ready; she wasn't going to fool around and let him toy with her. Her sudden confidence must have shown on her face, because Sark changed the subject immediately.
"Well then, don't you want to know why you're here, Ms. Bristow?" he said simply, shutting out the argument that had just occurred.
"Enlighten me Sark. The quicker you explain things, the quicker I can say NO." Another pain shot through her head, making her wince again.
"You know," Sark said, leaning back in his chair, "I could give you something for that headache of yours if you became a little more cooperative."
Damn. That was a tempting offer.
"What exactly do you want from me this time?" The words were out before she could stop them.
"Simple enough in form. I need to have a chat with Irina Derevko. In simpler terms: I need access to her for one half hour. That's all I ask."
How did he know her mother was in CIA custody? And another thing, he expects me to just waltz into the CIA with him in tow?
Sydney did a double take. "You expect me to be able to grant you access to Irina Derevko? You're more psycho than I thought you were! I wouldn't let you within a 200-yard radius of my mother, not for all Bayer aspirin in the world! Besides, just because I have access to her doesn't mean I can granted access to other people . . . ESPECIALLY not enemies of the state!"
"Honestly, Ms. Bristow-do you think I am that stupid? I know that it would be impossible for me to get into the CIA building. But-I also know for a fact that at the next meeting you have with the CIA, they are going to discuss a mission plan with you that involves you taking Irina along on the mission, using her vast knowledge of the Russian government to help you achieve your goal. All I am asking you to do is to allow me to have her for a half hour right before your mission officially commences, and then you can go on with the original plans."
How does he know about this? Sydney wondered, but knew better than to ask. Most likely he would just use some overly-dramatic, ambiguous phrase like, "I have my ways . . ." On to more important questions. Specifics.
"Will I be present during your discussion?"
"No."
"Then absolutely not."
"May I remind you, Ms. Bristow, that I now have access to all of your friends."
"At least let me set up something in a room with surveillance. There doesn't have to be sound. I just don't want her leaving my custody."
Sark thought for a moment.
"Alright," he said, "By the way, which language do you not speak fluently?"
"Never been too good at Portugeuse." Sydney surprised herself by answering truthfully. By the time she had gotten around to learning that one, her brain was already on overload. All she could really say was hello, and a few random emergency commands. Sark didn't trust her at her word though.
"Eu te amo." he said. She had no idea what it meant, and he seemed relatively convinced by her look of complete lack of understanding.
"Deal?" he said finally.
"Deal . . ." she said reluctantly. Who knows? she thought. Maybe my mother will actually tell me what is said. Though she highly doubted it.
"Now," he said, "would you like some aspirin?" She hesitated a second. He wasn't someone to be trusted. He seemed to sense her fears.
"I have a sealed bottle in the bathroom," he said, "I'll open it right in front of you so you'll know I haven't tampered with it."
It was a weak promise, but she'd take it. She nodded her head, and he went out to get the bottle. True to his word, he opened the bottle right in front of her, and took out two tablets. With surprising gentleness in his touch, he lifted up her chin, and allowed her to take a few sips of water. When he slipped the pills in her mouth, his fingers gently brushed across her lower lip, leaving a tingling sensation where they'd touched. For a moment he stared, just looking at her face, before gently setting her head down one the pillow once more.
"How about you uncuff me too?"
"No, I think I'll leave you like this for awhile," Smirk. "You're not wanted at either offices for at least 12 hours." And with that her got up, and sauntered out the door, closing it behind him. Sydney hadn't expected him to release her, but there was never harm in asking. Stretching her arm to reach her head was considerably painful, but it paid off when she found a bobby pin, left over from last night's revelries, still stuck in her hair. She began deftly picking at the lock to the handcuffs. This would take time.
Sydney glanced at a clock on the wall that she hadn't noticed before when Sark was present. 10:45. She checked the window to see if there was any light peeking out from below the curtains: none. Good, it's night . . . she thought. He'll be asleep.
It's funny, she thought . . . All those complex gadgets that Marshall invents specifically for every mission, and still all a girl really needs in this business is a nice ass and some hairpins.
"You, Mr. Sark, can take your wine and shove it up your-"
"Testy, testy, Ms. Bristow. . . I think we could try to remain courteous in this exchange. Besides, now that I think about it, I don't believe it would be wise to add more alcohol into your system at this point. You were all but passed out when I picked you up earlier." he said, suppressing a grin. Sydney could see the corners of his mouth twitching, but as usual, he managed to keep a straight face. As if she needed any more reminders of her complete vulnerability last night. This hangover was killing her enough anyways. Syd realized at this point there was absolutely no method of torture that could put her in any more pain than she was already in. Another sharp pang sliced through her thoughts. Not pretending to sleep anymore, Sydney didn't try to hide her pain, and visibly winced. Sark remained apathetic.
"You know, you almost reminded me of a child the way you huddled against me, when I picked you up-semiconscious, mumbling," that made Sydney wince even more, the thought of her huddled against Sark, "Did I really have that much of an effect on you Sydney?"
Yes, Sydney thought to herself. Unfortunately.
"Don't flatter yourself, Sark. I had a fight with Francie." Why was she explaining herself to him?
"Most likely that fight was caused by me though . . . Am I correct?" That hint of a smile was playing on his lips again.
"Why I fight with my friends is really none of your business Sark." Sydney tried to remain uncaring.
"Then it WAS caused by me."
"No, it wasn't," Sydney lied, "It was mainly because I hadn't been there for her lately . . . You had nothing to do with it."
"Two things, Ms. Bristow. First, I think you're lying. Second, that fight further proves my theory that you don't really have any connection to your friends other than using them to boost your confidence that you're a normal person." Sydney tensed. She was ready to scream. In fact, why not?
"AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!"
Sark sat back, obviously pleased with himself.
"Two things Mr. Sark. One, you don't seem to mention, in your tirade to try and display every weakness I possess, the fact that YOU tried to kiss me, and I kicked you in the balls and walked out. How's that for vulnerability? Second, if you're so uncaring about everything, why do you go to such lengths to get a rise out of me?"
Sark got another one of those looks on his face for a split second -so fast Sydney wondered if she had imagined it-, where it looked like he had started to display emotion, but then reverted back to his dispassionate stare once again. Sydney laughed inwardly. He wouldn't trap her in this time. This time she was ready; she wasn't going to fool around and let him toy with her. Her sudden confidence must have shown on her face, because Sark changed the subject immediately.
"Well then, don't you want to know why you're here, Ms. Bristow?" he said simply, shutting out the argument that had just occurred.
"Enlighten me Sark. The quicker you explain things, the quicker I can say NO." Another pain shot through her head, making her wince again.
"You know," Sark said, leaning back in his chair, "I could give you something for that headache of yours if you became a little more cooperative."
Damn. That was a tempting offer.
"What exactly do you want from me this time?" The words were out before she could stop them.
"Simple enough in form. I need to have a chat with Irina Derevko. In simpler terms: I need access to her for one half hour. That's all I ask."
How did he know her mother was in CIA custody? And another thing, he expects me to just waltz into the CIA with him in tow?
Sydney did a double take. "You expect me to be able to grant you access to Irina Derevko? You're more psycho than I thought you were! I wouldn't let you within a 200-yard radius of my mother, not for all Bayer aspirin in the world! Besides, just because I have access to her doesn't mean I can granted access to other people . . . ESPECIALLY not enemies of the state!"
"Honestly, Ms. Bristow-do you think I am that stupid? I know that it would be impossible for me to get into the CIA building. But-I also know for a fact that at the next meeting you have with the CIA, they are going to discuss a mission plan with you that involves you taking Irina along on the mission, using her vast knowledge of the Russian government to help you achieve your goal. All I am asking you to do is to allow me to have her for a half hour right before your mission officially commences, and then you can go on with the original plans."
How does he know about this? Sydney wondered, but knew better than to ask. Most likely he would just use some overly-dramatic, ambiguous phrase like, "I have my ways . . ." On to more important questions. Specifics.
"Will I be present during your discussion?"
"No."
"Then absolutely not."
"May I remind you, Ms. Bristow, that I now have access to all of your friends."
"At least let me set up something in a room with surveillance. There doesn't have to be sound. I just don't want her leaving my custody."
Sark thought for a moment.
"Alright," he said, "By the way, which language do you not speak fluently?"
"Never been too good at Portugeuse." Sydney surprised herself by answering truthfully. By the time she had gotten around to learning that one, her brain was already on overload. All she could really say was hello, and a few random emergency commands. Sark didn't trust her at her word though.
"Eu te amo." he said. She had no idea what it meant, and he seemed relatively convinced by her look of complete lack of understanding.
"Deal?" he said finally.
"Deal . . ." she said reluctantly. Who knows? she thought. Maybe my mother will actually tell me what is said. Though she highly doubted it.
"Now," he said, "would you like some aspirin?" She hesitated a second. He wasn't someone to be trusted. He seemed to sense her fears.
"I have a sealed bottle in the bathroom," he said, "I'll open it right in front of you so you'll know I haven't tampered with it."
It was a weak promise, but she'd take it. She nodded her head, and he went out to get the bottle. True to his word, he opened the bottle right in front of her, and took out two tablets. With surprising gentleness in his touch, he lifted up her chin, and allowed her to take a few sips of water. When he slipped the pills in her mouth, his fingers gently brushed across her lower lip, leaving a tingling sensation where they'd touched. For a moment he stared, just looking at her face, before gently setting her head down one the pillow once more.
"How about you uncuff me too?"
"No, I think I'll leave you like this for awhile," Smirk. "You're not wanted at either offices for at least 12 hours." And with that her got up, and sauntered out the door, closing it behind him. Sydney hadn't expected him to release her, but there was never harm in asking. Stretching her arm to reach her head was considerably painful, but it paid off when she found a bobby pin, left over from last night's revelries, still stuck in her hair. She began deftly picking at the lock to the handcuffs. This would take time.
Sydney glanced at a clock on the wall that she hadn't noticed before when Sark was present. 10:45. She checked the window to see if there was any light peeking out from below the curtains: none. Good, it's night . . . she thought. He'll be asleep.
It's funny, she thought . . . All those complex gadgets that Marshall invents specifically for every mission, and still all a girl really needs in this business is a nice ass and some hairpins.