Chapter Thirty-three: Allies

Sydney's phone rang precisely an hour after Sark's first call, as he had promised. Michael hadn't returned by the time the call came; Sydney couldn't say she was surprised.

He'd watched her sell her soul to her mother more than a decade ago. He didn't need to be there to see her sell it to Sark.

"Oh, Michael," she whispered to herself as she moved to answer the call. "Why do you even love me?" He'd sold his soul, too, sold it long ago. To her. And she'd let him, because she'd been too weak to go on without him. She was still too weak.

"Sark," she said into the phone. She looked across the room at her children-- Jack, silently reproving, and Emily, blissfully oblivious-- and in that moment, she hated herself for what she was about to do. Unfortunately, she saw no way out.

"Sydney, darling," Sark said conversationally, as if he were simply calling her apartment to ask if she wanted to go out for a movie-- not that the two of them had ever done anything so normal. "I assume you've had time to think about my little proposition."

"Yes," Sydney whispered, gripping the phone. This was so completely sick, the way she was dreading giving him information about an organization she cared nothing about.

Deep down, though, she knew that it wasn't selling out the Organization that was bothering her. It was that she was giving in to Sark, letting herself fall under his spell. Yes, if she did this, she and Michael and the children would be safe. They'd also be living in a home Sark had provided, in a place he'd selected. Completely under his thumb.

Safety had never looked more stifling.

At that moment, Michael entered the room. Though the expression on his face was neutral, his very presence made Sydney's heart soar. He had to have known that she would still be on the phone with Sark when he returned. If he had come back now, it meant that he was ready to support her.

And as she looked at him, she knew it was time for her to do something for him.

"Should I tell you where you should meet me, then?" Sark asked.

Sydney locked eyes with Michael, and, taking a deep breath, she said, "Go to hell, Sark."

Michael's eyes widened, and Sark's sharp intake of breath told her that he was surprised, as well. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious," Sydney assured him. "You want intel on the Organization, wrap your pretty little head around figuring out a way to justify releasing my father into your custody to my mother and get it from her."

There was a long silence before Sark spoke again. "You realize then, Sydney, that I'll have no choice but to send Jack after you."

"Do as you wish," Sydney told him. "I've spent the last ten years under someone's thumb, Sark. I'm not about to let you put me under yours. I'm through making deals."

Another long silence on Sark's end of the line. "Then God help you."

Sydney heard a click on her end of the line as he hung up the phone. She took that as her cue to hang up hers and look at her husband, a question in her eyes.

He opened his arms to her in answer, and she rushed into them. His lips caught hers, and he kissed her over and over, everything in his movements, his body, telling her how full of love and relief he was. "Thank you, Sydney," he whispered, over and over again. "Thank you. We'll make this work. I promise we'll make this work."

"Of course we will." They had to. No CIA, no Organization, no allies.

Except each other.