*****A/N – Everyone still awake? Thanks for the reviews guys. All support/feedback is treasured. FYI – This story has probably 4 or 5 more chapters left. Thanks again to pie for the beta.
Chapter 8 –
I'm sorry, Sydney.
Immediately after dropping off the file at her desk, he knew things weren't right with her. Days ago, and mere hours before he received the call from Micah McAllister, he opened an email from one of his many sources. Michael Vaughn confirmed dead, was all that it read. All the while that Vaughn was keeping tabs on Sark, Sark was also keeping tabs on Michael Vaughn.
But his apology was for much more than Michael Vaughn's death. The first words out of her mouth, and the empty bottle on the table, told him that things would probably get ugly. He almost predicted her exact reaction, and tongue-lashing. That was partially why he procrastinated in meeting her at his place. He couldn't blame her for being angry with him, but he also couldn't elaborate just yet. It would all be over soon enough.
That night, Sydney slept against his body as usual. However, her nearly naked body seemed to cling tighter than normal to him as she slept, craving the only contact with him that she could get.
How could he explain to her that she was the only link to him living? His ex-boss more than informed him that there was little left between him and death. How could he tell her what he had planned for the bastard that killed his mother? He had spent the past year trying to overcome her preconceived notions about him. What would she do, or think, about the monstrous act he planned to commit? Then again, given her history with Arvin Sloane, maybe she had thought about doing the same once or twice.
He sighed, a little distressed that it had to be this way. She was right. She had completely opened up to him, and he had been selfish. And now that she had lost her friendship with Will Tippin due to him, he knew that he had to do something.
The next night, Sark waited patiently in the dimly lit parking lot, purposely standing under one of the only lit light fixtures. What he was about to do felt completely awkward, and he was overly nervous. Never in his years of work had he faced a person whose life he had adversely affected, without it centering on further mal intentions.
An hour after closing, just as he had calculated, Sark spied Will and Francie leaving the closed restaurant together. He watched as Will wrapped his arm around Francie's shoulder, pulling her to him, and laughing in her hair. Each step that they took in Sark's direction, the cramp in his stomach worsened. He took one last deep breath, relieving some of the pain, but his exhale was cut short when he noticed Will looking in his direction.
A look of fear contorted Will's face, but as he glanced back at Francie, he hid it. Rather well, Sark observed. Will whispered into Francie's ear, causing her to smile and look in Sark's direction. After smiling at Sark, she kissed Will, and then headed to her car.
Once she was secured in her vehicle, Will wiped the pleasant look from his face. Slowly, he walked over to his vehicle, right where Sark was standing.
"You have a lot of nerve coming here," Will growled, with a look that matched his tone. "Just as you are, I'm sure, I am armed." He pulled back his jacket to reveal a small pistol.
Sark smiled lightly. Although Will was completely right in his behavior, Sark couldn't help but be amused. Sark also pulled out his jacket and completely turned around, showing Will that he wasn't armed. "I had every intention of keeping this meeting civilized."
"The only thing about you that seems civilized is your accent." Will scoffed.
Sark nodded his head once. Touché.
Will stopped within five feet of Sark, challenging him. Sark didn't back down, but he did break the silence. "She's hurting, you know."
Will blinked, almost in disbelief. "And you assume that I'm not?"
"Honestly, I could care less whether you are or not," Sark replied, coolly. "But she didn't do any of this to purposely hurt you."
"She might not have set out to hurt me, but she did," Will retorted, while eyeing him. "How does a man like you live with all that he's done?"
Sark seemed unfazed by his question. "Are you sure you want the answer to that, mate?" Sark watched as Will's eyes narrowed to a glare. "Mr. Tippin, would you feel better about this if you got to take one free shot at me? Make me feel some of the pain that you went through?"
"Actually I'd feel better if you weren't really here to dredge up the memories that I'd nearly forgotten until recently."
"Well, I'm afraid that's not an option." Sark spoke calmly, hoping to put Will at ease. "This past year has been tough on her. Losing her mother all over again, only to gain her as an enemy, the death of Michael Vaughn, and then you. Do you realize what you will be putting her through if you keep with the cold shoulder? And over something that is truly so small in comparison to the depth of your friendship."
Will quietly stared at Sark for nearly a minute, the look on his face indescribable. Although, his words gave somewhat of an explanation, "You really care about her, don't you?"
Sark shifted his eyes from Will, obviously uncomfortable. "This isn't about me." Sark met Will's stare again, keeping any emotion from his face. "She needs good people around her right now. I only hope you can move past whatever it is that you're holding onto, and remember what she means to you." Sark began to walk away, but paused for a moment. "She shouldn't know that I was here. Nobody should." He took one last glance in Will's direction and continued off into the darkness.
At his desk the next day, Sark readied his documents for Sloane's approval. Approval, he scoffed at the thought. He has no idea how little his approval means to me. He couldn't help but feel smug about having the upper hand over this man.
But like all of his previous updates, Sark gathered more of the false intel that he had been continuously offering to Sloane; satellite feed, eyewitness accounts, even forged receipts. The outside help that he received from various people that owed him, was enough to keep this charade going for almost a year and a half. It also was enough to keep the old sap begging for more.
"Mr. Sark," Arvin Sloane's voice came from just outside his office. "I'd like to see you for a few minutes."
After securing his workstation, Sark made his way into Sloane's office. Their monthly private meetings were usually short, only lasting around five minutes. All the same, Sloane wanted all updates on the private research Sark had promised him right before he first joined SD-6.
Sark sat in a chair across from Sloane, placing a set of papers on his desk. Sloane took them and carefully read over the contents before sighing. "He must be pretty resilient. Every time we get close, he eludes us."
"It does seem that way, sir." Sark responded. "I was told that we missed him by less than an hour this time."
Sloane sat back in his chair, covering his mouth with his hand. Sark could tell how anxious he was getting, and secretly, he smiled inside.
"Next time." Sark offered.
He prepared to stand, figuring the meeting was over, until Sloane spoke. "You know, when you first came to me with this, I had serious doubts." Sloane's eyes grew distant as he continued. "The news that you brought was so unbelievable, yet at the same time very believable, given what I've seen."
Sloane sighed again, so Sark spoke. "I hardly believed it myself, until I did some digging. She covered her actions quite well."
"I suppose you're right." Sloane agreed. "Although part of it, I'm sure, was due to my own ignorance." Sark watched the disbelief on Sloane's face. "It all makes sense now. The "break" that she wanted to take early in our marriage, the monthly "business" trips. Never in my wildest dreams, would I have thought my wife would bear my child in secret, and then proceed to keep him from me."
"It is quite astounding, isn't it? I will let you know when I have more intel." Sark proceeded to stand, and walked out of Sloane's office. He couldn't hide the smirk that appeared on his face as he left.
