Disclaimer: Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone, is the creation of JJ Abrams
and Bad Robot Productions.
This is my first Alias fic. I'd love to get feedback! Please review the story or e-mail me at jeff_langdon@hotmail.com!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Guardian Angel - Chapter 4
Immediately, Sydney ceased her protests and listened. The sound of at least two guards could be heard. Sark pulled Sydney into a corner of the room behind the door. The sounds were getting louder.
Very soon, the door creaked open and one guard entered the room slowly. Both Sark and Sydney held their breaths. Even though they knew these guards were no match for them, they had no idea how many guards were in the building.
The smell of Sark's cologne filled Sydney's senses. "This is a different cologne than the one he wore last time," she observed. "And what am I doing in the arms of this guy?"
The momentary lapse of concentration caused Sydney to sneeze. Even though she tried to stifle it at the last second, it was not entirely successful. The guard turned to where they were hiding and almost immediately, a shot was fired, causing the guard to crash to the floor. Sydney was so confused by everything that was happening that she didn't even realize Sark had released her from his hold.
"That was fun, but I think staying here any longer wouldn't be very wise," Sark remarked calmly, as though nothing extraordinary had just happened.
"Okay, am I supposed to say thank you or what?" Sydney asked herself. "It'll be ridiculous to say thank you to someone like Sark," she finally concluded. Having made up her mind, she merely nodded, grabbed the document that she came for, and walked out the door, but not before hearing a soft chuckle from Sark.
As they rushed down the corridor, two more guards gave chase. Being unarmed (since Sark somehow took all her previously-loaded ammunition), all Sydney could do was run for her life. She felt a bullet fly by before turning to see Sark gun down the two pursuers with deadly accuracy. As they headed towards the stairs, the building was suddenly rocked by what seemed like an explosion. The impact caused Sydney and Sark to be thrown against the wall.
"What the hell was that?" Sydney wondered aloud as she tried to get up from the floor.
"I don't think I really need to find out," Sark answered as he struggled to his feet, only to find out that his impact against the wall had resulted in a sprained ankle. "Fuck!" he hissed in pain, the first time that Sydney had seen her adversary in an emotional state other than cockiness or calmness.
In normal circumstances, Sydney would have burst out laughing and wouldn't care less about her foe's well-being. Actually, she didn't really care even now. But still, Sark did save her life, sort of. Sighing, she extended her hand in an offer of assistance. Part of her could not believe that she was actually doing what she was doing.
Sark glanced up at Sydney, a faint trace of a smirk on his face even under these circumstances. "I'll be fine, Miss Bristow," was all he said before he motioned Sydney to the fire escape exit. Once in the stairwell, they could hear hotel guests evacuating in the floors below them. It was then that Sydney realized they were on the top floor of the hotel, meaning that they would have to trudge down forty floors on foot. To make matters even more complicated, there were still an unknown number of guards on their tail.
Sark grimaced with every step that he had to take. Despite the pain, he kept up a strong, cool appearance that would fool almost anyone. They were down to the thirty-second floor when another explosion-like impact rocked the hotel. This time, the sprinkler system began to drench the building with water. Smoke began to fill the corridors and the stairwell. Sydney briefly turned around to see if Sark was still there, only to see him fire two more shots with his gun, followed by the sight of two more falling bodies.
Since it was low tourist season, the hotel was only sparsely occupied at this time. Most of the upper floors were unoccupied, leaving the stairwell quite empty for Sydney and Sark to make their escape. As they headed towards the lower levels, the smoke became thicker and fire could be seen on several floors. The two agents continued to make their way towards the ground as quickly as they could. By the time they reached the fifth floor, the smoke was so thick that they could barely see what was in front of them and their progress slowed dramatically. They could hear the sound of fire engines but otherwise, there was an eerie silence in the building itself.
"Sark, you doing okay?" Sydney finally asked, still not believing that she was actually asking about his well-being, of all people. No answer. "Sark?" Still no answer.
Sydney contemplated going back up to find Sark, but finally decided against it. "I better get this document to Sloane before anything else goes wrong," she reasoned. With that, she moved down the stairs as fast as she could until she finally reached the ground floor.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sark's eyes were beginning to sting from all the smoke. He could hardly breathe and his ankle was sending sharp pains through his body. Such was the life of a top international assassin. Despite his young age, Sark had already forgotten the number of times that his body had taken hits resulting from his choice of career. One day, it would be a broken bone, another day it would be a concussion. Sometimes, it would be a bullet wound to his shoulder or maybe even some unspeakable physical torture. Throughout all of this, Sark had never complained. He had never contemplated quitting or taking the easy way out. He was a professional, after all. This was his career; this was his life.
"Only several more flights of stairs to go," he told himself as his steps became more laboured. Suddenly he stopped. He knew that Sydney was in front of him somewhere, but he wasn't quite sure. "What the hell was that sound?" he wondered. He moved away from the stairs and pushed the door into one of the hotel corridors. The entire floor was filled with smoke and flames. His eyes were burning and he was almost gasping for air. Then he saw it. A brief look of surprise flashed across his face before he got down on his hands and knees and slowly made his way down the corridor, oblivious to the fact that the ceiling was caving in behind him.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Once outside, the street was a picture of utter chaos. There were fire department personnel and cops everywhere. Hotel guests were lining up the sidewalks, gazing up at the fire that was consuming the hotel.
Sydney looked around for her contact, the person that was supposed to pick her up and take her to safety, but found it difficult amidst the confusion. She also found herself looking towards the hotel exit that she came out of only minutes ago, wondering if Sark was okay. She had a very uneasy feeling every time she looked towards that door. "Why do I even care if Sark is okay or not?" she wondered. "He is the enemy here. My mission is to destroy him and those who employ him," she tried to convince herself.
She was about to walk away when the hotel exit door opened. Sydney didn't even notice that she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Sark limping out of the door. She didn't notice partly because she was too surprised. Gone was the usual impeccably dressed Sark with the neatly styled hair and the cocky demeanour. What she saw instead was a young man in obvious physical pain, wearing a suit completely destroyed by smoke and water, his hair messy, his face dirty, carrying a boy in his arms. The boy could not have been more than ten or eleven, and he was holding on to Sark for dear life. Sydney watched from afar as Sark carried the boy to a woman who was undoubtedly the mother. She observed as the mother, who had been crying distraughtly, wrapped her arms around her son and hugged him affectionately. She watched with even more amazement as she saw Sark smile - not smirk - but a semi-genuine smile. The boy hugged Sark and even more amazingly, Sark hugged back - well, sort of.
Sydney missed the next few minutes of action because her mind was too busy processing this puzzling information. She was more confused than ever. Who was Sark anyway? Was he really the top-rated, heartless assassin that all the classified information claimed he was? Why would he risk his life to rescue a boy that he didn't know? Or did he know this boy or the mother? She remembered how Sark coldly shot the guards back in the hotel. "He didn't even flinch as he shot them," she thought. Then, of course, there was the 'incident' with the hunting game. Oh, and how could she forget the way he demeaned and humiliated her when she was tied up in the cell? But all of the information that she had seemed to contradict each other.
She looked back towards the hotel and noticed that the boy was standing with his mother, but Sark was nowhere to be found. She shook her head and began to walk away in search of her contact. "I have to talk to Vaughn about this," she whispered.
~ to be continued ~
This is my first Alias fic. I'd love to get feedback! Please review the story or e-mail me at jeff_langdon@hotmail.com!
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Guardian Angel - Chapter 4
Immediately, Sydney ceased her protests and listened. The sound of at least two guards could be heard. Sark pulled Sydney into a corner of the room behind the door. The sounds were getting louder.
Very soon, the door creaked open and one guard entered the room slowly. Both Sark and Sydney held their breaths. Even though they knew these guards were no match for them, they had no idea how many guards were in the building.
The smell of Sark's cologne filled Sydney's senses. "This is a different cologne than the one he wore last time," she observed. "And what am I doing in the arms of this guy?"
The momentary lapse of concentration caused Sydney to sneeze. Even though she tried to stifle it at the last second, it was not entirely successful. The guard turned to where they were hiding and almost immediately, a shot was fired, causing the guard to crash to the floor. Sydney was so confused by everything that was happening that she didn't even realize Sark had released her from his hold.
"That was fun, but I think staying here any longer wouldn't be very wise," Sark remarked calmly, as though nothing extraordinary had just happened.
"Okay, am I supposed to say thank you or what?" Sydney asked herself. "It'll be ridiculous to say thank you to someone like Sark," she finally concluded. Having made up her mind, she merely nodded, grabbed the document that she came for, and walked out the door, but not before hearing a soft chuckle from Sark.
As they rushed down the corridor, two more guards gave chase. Being unarmed (since Sark somehow took all her previously-loaded ammunition), all Sydney could do was run for her life. She felt a bullet fly by before turning to see Sark gun down the two pursuers with deadly accuracy. As they headed towards the stairs, the building was suddenly rocked by what seemed like an explosion. The impact caused Sydney and Sark to be thrown against the wall.
"What the hell was that?" Sydney wondered aloud as she tried to get up from the floor.
"I don't think I really need to find out," Sark answered as he struggled to his feet, only to find out that his impact against the wall had resulted in a sprained ankle. "Fuck!" he hissed in pain, the first time that Sydney had seen her adversary in an emotional state other than cockiness or calmness.
In normal circumstances, Sydney would have burst out laughing and wouldn't care less about her foe's well-being. Actually, she didn't really care even now. But still, Sark did save her life, sort of. Sighing, she extended her hand in an offer of assistance. Part of her could not believe that she was actually doing what she was doing.
Sark glanced up at Sydney, a faint trace of a smirk on his face even under these circumstances. "I'll be fine, Miss Bristow," was all he said before he motioned Sydney to the fire escape exit. Once in the stairwell, they could hear hotel guests evacuating in the floors below them. It was then that Sydney realized they were on the top floor of the hotel, meaning that they would have to trudge down forty floors on foot. To make matters even more complicated, there were still an unknown number of guards on their tail.
Sark grimaced with every step that he had to take. Despite the pain, he kept up a strong, cool appearance that would fool almost anyone. They were down to the thirty-second floor when another explosion-like impact rocked the hotel. This time, the sprinkler system began to drench the building with water. Smoke began to fill the corridors and the stairwell. Sydney briefly turned around to see if Sark was still there, only to see him fire two more shots with his gun, followed by the sight of two more falling bodies.
Since it was low tourist season, the hotel was only sparsely occupied at this time. Most of the upper floors were unoccupied, leaving the stairwell quite empty for Sydney and Sark to make their escape. As they headed towards the lower levels, the smoke became thicker and fire could be seen on several floors. The two agents continued to make their way towards the ground as quickly as they could. By the time they reached the fifth floor, the smoke was so thick that they could barely see what was in front of them and their progress slowed dramatically. They could hear the sound of fire engines but otherwise, there was an eerie silence in the building itself.
"Sark, you doing okay?" Sydney finally asked, still not believing that she was actually asking about his well-being, of all people. No answer. "Sark?" Still no answer.
Sydney contemplated going back up to find Sark, but finally decided against it. "I better get this document to Sloane before anything else goes wrong," she reasoned. With that, she moved down the stairs as fast as she could until she finally reached the ground floor.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sark's eyes were beginning to sting from all the smoke. He could hardly breathe and his ankle was sending sharp pains through his body. Such was the life of a top international assassin. Despite his young age, Sark had already forgotten the number of times that his body had taken hits resulting from his choice of career. One day, it would be a broken bone, another day it would be a concussion. Sometimes, it would be a bullet wound to his shoulder or maybe even some unspeakable physical torture. Throughout all of this, Sark had never complained. He had never contemplated quitting or taking the easy way out. He was a professional, after all. This was his career; this was his life.
"Only several more flights of stairs to go," he told himself as his steps became more laboured. Suddenly he stopped. He knew that Sydney was in front of him somewhere, but he wasn't quite sure. "What the hell was that sound?" he wondered. He moved away from the stairs and pushed the door into one of the hotel corridors. The entire floor was filled with smoke and flames. His eyes were burning and he was almost gasping for air. Then he saw it. A brief look of surprise flashed across his face before he got down on his hands and knees and slowly made his way down the corridor, oblivious to the fact that the ceiling was caving in behind him.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Once outside, the street was a picture of utter chaos. There were fire department personnel and cops everywhere. Hotel guests were lining up the sidewalks, gazing up at the fire that was consuming the hotel.
Sydney looked around for her contact, the person that was supposed to pick her up and take her to safety, but found it difficult amidst the confusion. She also found herself looking towards the hotel exit that she came out of only minutes ago, wondering if Sark was okay. She had a very uneasy feeling every time she looked towards that door. "Why do I even care if Sark is okay or not?" she wondered. "He is the enemy here. My mission is to destroy him and those who employ him," she tried to convince herself.
She was about to walk away when the hotel exit door opened. Sydney didn't even notice that she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Sark limping out of the door. She didn't notice partly because she was too surprised. Gone was the usual impeccably dressed Sark with the neatly styled hair and the cocky demeanour. What she saw instead was a young man in obvious physical pain, wearing a suit completely destroyed by smoke and water, his hair messy, his face dirty, carrying a boy in his arms. The boy could not have been more than ten or eleven, and he was holding on to Sark for dear life. Sydney watched from afar as Sark carried the boy to a woman who was undoubtedly the mother. She observed as the mother, who had been crying distraughtly, wrapped her arms around her son and hugged him affectionately. She watched with even more amazement as she saw Sark smile - not smirk - but a semi-genuine smile. The boy hugged Sark and even more amazingly, Sark hugged back - well, sort of.
Sydney missed the next few minutes of action because her mind was too busy processing this puzzling information. She was more confused than ever. Who was Sark anyway? Was he really the top-rated, heartless assassin that all the classified information claimed he was? Why would he risk his life to rescue a boy that he didn't know? Or did he know this boy or the mother? She remembered how Sark coldly shot the guards back in the hotel. "He didn't even flinch as he shot them," she thought. Then, of course, there was the 'incident' with the hunting game. Oh, and how could she forget the way he demeaned and humiliated her when she was tied up in the cell? But all of the information that she had seemed to contradict each other.
She looked back towards the hotel and noticed that the boy was standing with his mother, but Sark was nowhere to be found. She shook her head and began to walk away in search of her contact. "I have to talk to Vaughn about this," she whispered.
~ to be continued ~
