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! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed the story so far.
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The Guardian Angel - Chapter 10
"Sir, I think we might be getting close to Agent Bristow's trail."
"Excellent."
"Should we contact Agent Vaughn?"
"No, I think it's best if we contact him once we've actually rescued Agent Bristow."
"Are you sure, sir? Agent Vaughn seems to be very concerned about this rescue operation."
"Yes I'm sure, Agent Wesley. Let's just get Agent Bristow back as soon as possible. We can't risk having her reveal national security secrets to anyone."
"Yes sir."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sark woke up with a massive headache. His entire body ached and the pounding in his head seemed almost unbearable. After sitting up in bed for about a minute, his mind cleared enough for him to begin to think. First thing he noticed was that Sydney was not in the room. Her bed was already made and there were no signs of her in the bathroom. He glanced at the clock and realized that it was not yet 8 o'clock. He quickly got out of bed, only to find that there was no strength is his legs. They gave way under the weight of his body and he ended up on his knees. He was about to curse when he saw Sydney walk into the room. Sark couldn't tell if it was a smile or smirk on her face, but the next thing he knew, she was helping him up off of the floor and back onto the bed.
"Thank you," Sark answered softly, somewhat embarrassed at showing his weakness in front of Sydney.
Sydney smiled in response. "Here, drink this."
Sark was handed a glass of translucent liquid. "What is this?" he asked as he made a disgusted expression.
"Don't ask. Just drink it. You can thank me later."
"I don't have much of a choice, do I," he mumbled as he drank the liquid in one gulp.
Sydney could not help but laugh at the expression on Sark's face. For a moment, he looked like a kid being forced to eat his vegetables. Once again, she was reminded of just how young Sark really was. "That was gross," he finally managed to say.
Sydney was surprised at hearing Sark use "unrefined" language for the first time in her memory. "It'll be good for you. Trust me," she finally answered.
Sark laughed at the comment. It wasn't his usual sarcastic or bitter laugh; it was a normal, genuine laugh, for once. "If you say so." He slowly got up from the bed and started to pack his bags. His movements were slow but he was determined to fight the pain.
"Maybe you should just rest in bed today. You really shouldn't be up and moving about in your condition."
"I wish I could, but that's probably the last thing I should do right now. We have to get moving."
"You cannot possibly think of getting behind the wheel like this, Sark."
"Fine. You'll drive. I'll give you the directions."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Another few hours of driving brought the two agents to a small town. This time, there was no five-star luxury hotel and they checked in to a modest- looking motel. Sark looked drained, and Sydney began to truly feel sorry for him. She knew that he was not to be trusted. In fact, she knew she had to be extra careful around him. Yet something told her that there was more to Sark than he had chosen to reveal thus far.
Night soon set in and Sydney was exhausted from the day's activities. She took a quick glance at Sark to find him sleeping on the bed. Even in his sleep, however, a look of alertness and nervousness could be seen on his face.
Sydney was awoken by the sound of Sark thrashing about on his bed. She rubbed her eyes and turned on the lamp, only to see Sark breaking out in a cold sweat, his fists clenched, his hair damp. He was mumbling incoherently, but Sydney could make out that he was calling out to someone. Her feelings of curiosity peaked as she wondered who the subject of his nightmare was.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt silence in the room. She looked over to find Sark settle back into a fitful sleep. "How does a person move from nightmare to sleep so seamlessly?" she wondered. She reluctantly admitted that Sark fascinated her. She felt a desire to know more about him, yet at the same time, she felt the need to stay away from him. This conflict of wants created an ever-increasing tension within her.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"So how long have you been an, uh," Sydney paused as she searched for the right word to use, "an operative?"
Sark glanced over at her curiously before quickly turning his attention back to the road. "Why do you ask?"
Sydney shrugged. "Just curious," she answered simply as she watched the scenery pass by. "Plus there's not much else to do being stuck in this car."
"With me," Sark added.
This time, it was Sydney who glanced at Sark with a confused expression. "Being stuck in the car with me, I meant," Sark clarified. "I'm sure you'd have no complaints if you were in a car with perhaps an Agent Vaughan," he smirked as he said those last words.
Sydney could feel her face turn red with embarrassment from Sark's comments. She was at a loss for words, so she decided to change the subject. "You still haven't answered my question."
"Too long," Sark answered softly. His eyes seemed to darken as he thought about Sydney's question.
Sydney knew she was pushing her luck, but she decided the need to satisfy her curiosity was far too great. "You don't seem to enthusiastic about your career," she quipped with a hint of sarcasm.
"Not any more enthusiastic than you are about yours, Ms. Bristow," Sark shot back, putting Sydney in her place.
If Sydney hadn't been so miffed by Sark's comment, she might have noticed him gripping tightly onto the steering wheel as he answered her questions. She might have noticed the weary expression on his face, or the slight tremble in his usually calm and confident voice. Instead, all Sydney could think of was how she had such a hard time reading Sark's mind. She still had no idea what Sark wanted with her, or whether she could really trust him.
She was snapped out of her thoughts as the car swerved violently. "What are you doing?" she yelled as the car sped down the narrow streets of an unfamiliar city.
"We're being followed," Sark answered as he looked in the rearview mirror once more.
~ 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! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed the story so far.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The Guardian Angel - Chapter 10
"Sir, I think we might be getting close to Agent Bristow's trail."
"Excellent."
"Should we contact Agent Vaughn?"
"No, I think it's best if we contact him once we've actually rescued Agent Bristow."
"Are you sure, sir? Agent Vaughn seems to be very concerned about this rescue operation."
"Yes I'm sure, Agent Wesley. Let's just get Agent Bristow back as soon as possible. We can't risk having her reveal national security secrets to anyone."
"Yes sir."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sark woke up with a massive headache. His entire body ached and the pounding in his head seemed almost unbearable. After sitting up in bed for about a minute, his mind cleared enough for him to begin to think. First thing he noticed was that Sydney was not in the room. Her bed was already made and there were no signs of her in the bathroom. He glanced at the clock and realized that it was not yet 8 o'clock. He quickly got out of bed, only to find that there was no strength is his legs. They gave way under the weight of his body and he ended up on his knees. He was about to curse when he saw Sydney walk into the room. Sark couldn't tell if it was a smile or smirk on her face, but the next thing he knew, she was helping him up off of the floor and back onto the bed.
"Thank you," Sark answered softly, somewhat embarrassed at showing his weakness in front of Sydney.
Sydney smiled in response. "Here, drink this."
Sark was handed a glass of translucent liquid. "What is this?" he asked as he made a disgusted expression.
"Don't ask. Just drink it. You can thank me later."
"I don't have much of a choice, do I," he mumbled as he drank the liquid in one gulp.
Sydney could not help but laugh at the expression on Sark's face. For a moment, he looked like a kid being forced to eat his vegetables. Once again, she was reminded of just how young Sark really was. "That was gross," he finally managed to say.
Sydney was surprised at hearing Sark use "unrefined" language for the first time in her memory. "It'll be good for you. Trust me," she finally answered.
Sark laughed at the comment. It wasn't his usual sarcastic or bitter laugh; it was a normal, genuine laugh, for once. "If you say so." He slowly got up from the bed and started to pack his bags. His movements were slow but he was determined to fight the pain.
"Maybe you should just rest in bed today. You really shouldn't be up and moving about in your condition."
"I wish I could, but that's probably the last thing I should do right now. We have to get moving."
"You cannot possibly think of getting behind the wheel like this, Sark."
"Fine. You'll drive. I'll give you the directions."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Another few hours of driving brought the two agents to a small town. This time, there was no five-star luxury hotel and they checked in to a modest- looking motel. Sark looked drained, and Sydney began to truly feel sorry for him. She knew that he was not to be trusted. In fact, she knew she had to be extra careful around him. Yet something told her that there was more to Sark than he had chosen to reveal thus far.
Night soon set in and Sydney was exhausted from the day's activities. She took a quick glance at Sark to find him sleeping on the bed. Even in his sleep, however, a look of alertness and nervousness could be seen on his face.
Sydney was awoken by the sound of Sark thrashing about on his bed. She rubbed her eyes and turned on the lamp, only to see Sark breaking out in a cold sweat, his fists clenched, his hair damp. He was mumbling incoherently, but Sydney could make out that he was calling out to someone. Her feelings of curiosity peaked as she wondered who the subject of his nightmare was.
Her thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt silence in the room. She looked over to find Sark settle back into a fitful sleep. "How does a person move from nightmare to sleep so seamlessly?" she wondered. She reluctantly admitted that Sark fascinated her. She felt a desire to know more about him, yet at the same time, she felt the need to stay away from him. This conflict of wants created an ever-increasing tension within her.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
"So how long have you been an, uh," Sydney paused as she searched for the right word to use, "an operative?"
Sark glanced over at her curiously before quickly turning his attention back to the road. "Why do you ask?"
Sydney shrugged. "Just curious," she answered simply as she watched the scenery pass by. "Plus there's not much else to do being stuck in this car."
"With me," Sark added.
This time, it was Sydney who glanced at Sark with a confused expression. "Being stuck in the car with me, I meant," Sark clarified. "I'm sure you'd have no complaints if you were in a car with perhaps an Agent Vaughan," he smirked as he said those last words.
Sydney could feel her face turn red with embarrassment from Sark's comments. She was at a loss for words, so she decided to change the subject. "You still haven't answered my question."
"Too long," Sark answered softly. His eyes seemed to darken as he thought about Sydney's question.
Sydney knew she was pushing her luck, but she decided the need to satisfy her curiosity was far too great. "You don't seem to enthusiastic about your career," she quipped with a hint of sarcasm.
"Not any more enthusiastic than you are about yours, Ms. Bristow," Sark shot back, putting Sydney in her place.
If Sydney hadn't been so miffed by Sark's comment, she might have noticed him gripping tightly onto the steering wheel as he answered her questions. She might have noticed the weary expression on his face, or the slight tremble in his usually calm and confident voice. Instead, all Sydney could think of was how she had such a hard time reading Sark's mind. She still had no idea what Sark wanted with her, or whether she could really trust him.
She was snapped out of her thoughts as the car swerved violently. "What are you doing?" she yelled as the car sped down the narrow streets of an unfamiliar city.
"We're being followed," Sark answered as he looked in the rearview mirror once more.
~ to be continued ~
