Syd breathed a moment, body still in agony from the pain she had just endured, then looked up at Sark through half-closed eyes. Only this wasn't anything close to the Sark that she normally came across. Instead reclining on the bench, nonchalant and relaxed, as he normally would be, he was thrown haphazardly across it.

A trickling stream of blood was pouring out of a cut just above his eyebrow. The blood trail arced down beside the bridge of his nose, through his eye and down his cheek-giving the illusion that he was crying tears of blood. His voice maintained, calm, cool and collected, but there was a sharp tinge that Sydney just barely picked up; a desperate quiver. He swallowed once after he spoke, as if trying to choke back a shiver.

"You were the one shooting at me." she rasped. About the time that she had lost her passion for the spying world, she had lost her interest for witty comebacks. Give it to me straight. That's the only way she could take it anymore.

"My apologies Miss Bristow-If I had known it was you I would have used tranquilizers instead." voice was high and uneven. The cold is getting to him, thought Sydney. He coughed once, then did not try to speak again.

Though the cabin did a good service for keeping the wind chill down, it was still all too cold inside. It began seeping into her slowly, as she hunched over to maintain body heat, taking no heed of Sark. Thick, icy tendrils, wrapping around her core, until Sydney lost hold over body and began shivering uncontrollably. Syd was surprised to note that Sark was looking at her with an expression of empathy, when she had been expected be ridiculed, and then tossed out the 50 feet to her death.

Syd noticed he had begun shivering too. It is in times of desperation, that man's outer trappings are shed, and his true mettle revealed, thought Sydney, quoting an author she had long forgotten. It didn't matter-what mattered was that she was seeing the true Sark without trappings and shields. A man who was shaking violently from cold, breathing shallow and quick. No cunning remarks anymore. Just wind and cold.

His eyes began to close. That cut on his head might be a concussion, Syd thought, worried.

Why am I worrying? she thought, instinctively frightened of her own feelings. But then, she reasoned, why should I not worry? Because the CIA is telling me that I shouldn't think of him as a human being? She had learned long ago that the CIA, like every other organization of its kind, dealt in lies, and she could definitely see that the man in front of her was all too human.

His eyes were all but closed now. Syd crawled over to him frantically and shook him awake. His eyes popped open, and she grabbed his face, forcing him to steady his eyes and look at her. His cheeks were ice cold.

"Sark. . . . ." eyes closing, "SARK! Wake up-You've gotta stay awake. You may have a concussion." Syd smacked his cheeks lightly, trying to regain his attention. He looked at her.

He laughed softly, breathing hard.

"What do you care?" he whispered cynically.

"Plenty." she said, her breath clouding in front of his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, comforted by the warmth of it.

"Why don't you just get it over with now and toss me out of this thing?" Sark whispered.

Enough of this shit, thought Sydney.

"Look," she said to Sark, taking her gun out of her pocket and throwing it down, "I declare a truce for one night, for survival purposes." For the first time since Sydney had known him, Sark looked surprised.

"I look at it this way," she continued, "It is pointless for us to sit alone on either end of this thing and freeze to death. The only way we're going to survive is to help each other. Agreed?"

In yet another spasm of shivers, Sark managed to nod.

"Good." Syd set to work. She was in luck-Sark's jacket had the same size zipper as hers. Silently, she thanked her lucky stars that Sloane and Kendall has the same clothing preferences. Carefully taking Sark's jacket off of him (accompanied be even larger shivers), and her own, she joined the two jackets together using the zippers, creating a warm, snug, tube blanket. Helping Sark sit up, she zipped herself and Sark inside.

Pressed up against his body, Syd began immediately to relax. Every muscle in Sark's body was tense, twitching sporadically face inches away from her, Syd couldn't help but notice the warmth emanating from his pale, soft, lips. No Sydney, she thought, don't go there.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked finally, in between shivering gasps.

"Because I don't feel the urge to kill a man just because my organization is against him. Just try and Relax, Sark-you may have a concussion, so don't go to sleep."

She could feel the rigid muscles of his stomach start to relax while she spoke, melting into her warmth. Out of instinct, she snuggled up closer, trying to escape the cold. Sark looked down at her once more with his stormy blue eyes. Syd swore she saw colors shift in them.

"So," she said, "What should we talk about to keep you awake?"