As You Were V: Revelations

He had used the piece of glass Sydney used to torture him to free himself. It had been tedious and had eaten into his wrist where he cut through the duct tape. Now he crouched hidden in a cul de sac not more than a few yards from Sydney and…Nathaniel.

To her, he was Nathaniel. Not Sark and not the enemy. That title was now awarded to Vaughn along with her disdain and distrust.

He hardly felt the stinging cut on his flesh or acknowledged that his torso was covered in similar injuries. Their pain was insignificant compared to what she had said, with every fiber of her fanatical being. The affection in her voice…it sickened him beyond the telling of it.

I love you, Nathaniel. Because you're real. In this entire world, you are the only thing that is real to me.

He wanted to believe that there was a time when that proclamation belonged to him and him alone. But madness and the unforeseen had taken that away.

As he bled, he felt those words ingrain themselves into his soul; to be repeated each night in the most bitter of his nightmares. And the pain of it all cut sharper than any blade in the world ever could.

The physical torment Sydney inflicted on him was nothing. Listening to her despicable affirmation of love to a man she would have killed had it been three months ago was the truest agony he had ever known. In whatever world she had now enraptured herself in, she had given herself to the enemy, mocking whatever grace of love she had known. Her heart, her soul, her mind, no matter how desecrated they were belonged to another man while she still unfairly held sway over his own.

As he listened to her strangled confession, he wished that he had dug the glass just a little deeper into his wrists.

And he could tell himself that it was the lunatic speaking, but it hurt all the same because in her mind it was real.

Sark loved her ardently, God damn him for it. From his solemn vow, he proved capable of love; a concept which Vaughn believed was a waste on a degenerate like him. But the intensity that caught his voice when he told her that she was the only thing in the world that he loved…it bounced around his head with devastating familiarity.

 It wasn't so long ago that he had said those exact words, with the same hopeless passion in his eyes and fevered ecstasy burning in his spirit. In another life, had he not been so foolish to have let her go in the first place. She was gone and so was the heart that he had so  freely surrendered to her, whose pulse she now detested as a crumbling testament to her lost humanity.

 It was repulsive and wrong and twisted in so many ways…but Vaughn clearly understood the depth of Sark's devotion. It shimmered like water, clean, soft, and flecked with light but the reflection he saw was his broken image. He understood it because he had been there.

They both loved her.

But he had lost her. He had witnessed his love scattered to oblivion where Sydney's sanity was probably waiting.

And from that moment, he hated Sark with a fury he never dreamt himself capable of.

After a few minutes of letting his misery fester, Vaughn could hear voices carrying through the rotunda to where he was hidden.

Sloane was demanding that they leave immediately and that they had wasted enough time. Sark was once again pulling Irina to her feet; Sydney was forcing her father to stand as well. Lovely. Even during a bloody coup, they still managed to make it look like a family outing, military specs and all.

They exited the operations center but a few seconds later, Sark returned and planted what Vaughn assumed to be an incendiary device to the threshold. He matter of factly explained that this would track all their movements and that if any one tried to step out of or into the rotunda, it would set off an explosion with the force of two hundred pounds of C4.

Before completely leaving the operations center, Sydney turned and tauntingly blew the captives a kiss. And then she disappeared behind the corridor.

As soon as they were gone, Vaughn scampered out of his hiding place and approached the captives. At the sound of his footfalls, Weiss turned and saw his friend.

"Mike!" The relief on his face faded in no time when he took in the torn and bloody rag that was once his best oxford shirt. "Jesus, Vaughn. What did Sydney do to you?"

Vaughn shook his head. "Doesn't matter. We have to find them." He quickly cut loose the bonds on his best friend and then went to free Kendall.

Kendall let out a ragged sigh of relief as soon as he was free. "The flower extract is located at a lab that fronts as a water storage facility."

Vaughn nodded. "I know where it's located."

Weiss said "I'll go with." Vaughn opened his mouth to protest but Weiss cut him off. "Listen, when you get there Jack and Irina may not be in any condition to help you out. And with Sydney being turned… you're gonna need all the help you can get." Vaughn was reluctant to agree but nonetheless said "Ok."

Kendall stood up. He caught sight of the bomb and told the two agents "That device Sark planted is pretty much what's keeping us at bay. We can't risk that he may have rigged some of the other exits as well."

"Weiss and I can make it out through the air vents." Weiss gulped at the prospect of crawling through a maze of aluminum. "Uh, Mike is that our only option at this point?"

Vaughn ignored his question. "We'll gear up and I'll call the offices at the CIA headquarters to send someone from bomb squad over to defuse the bomb. Just sit tight until then."

Kendall snorted. "I hear that."

It had been a long drive to the lab. Sydney had gotten restless during the ride; Sark was too distracted to be any fun to talk to. Sloane was never any fun to talk to. Jack and Irina were just sitting in the backseat, very quiet and grave. Every now and then, her mother would stare at Sydney and then let out an insipid sob. It was all very inconvenient and boring.

When the ride was over, she had burst out of the car; a bird rushing from her cage. She twirled around and pleaded with Sark to dance with her. But he shook her off and told her that it wasn't time. She wheedled and pouted but when he continued to refuse she turned away in a huff. You're no fun, she told him, placing just the right amount of venom in her voice, just enough to make him feel bad. She loved it when they were all guilty and shame-faced on her account. They deserved to feel that way, after all the ridiculous grief they had put her through.

It was a beautiful night. The moon hung high and luminous above her head like a gigantic pearl. In the fields of infinite stars, she saw everything that made the world turn on its axis. Fate, hope…destiny. In the stars and in her lunacy, the clouds had lifted and she saw her destiny. Her fate…her hope…none of it mattered because the world was up for grabs and nothing would be as it seemed.

If they suffer, let it be.

Sloane and Sark had brought her parents down a stairwell to the lab; Sark instructed her to stay put while they gained access to the flower. She lifted her arms above her head and nimbly hopped on her tiptoes like a ballet dancer.

As she gazed at the intricate patterns in the diamond-studded sky, she gave a sweet smile of whimsy. In her mind's eyes, she saw a pair of jade-green eyes filled with pain flash against the dark then disappear. It was his heart that beat so undeniably in her chest as though it were her own.

As she traced the sparkling designs above her she whispered "He's coming."

When he emerged from the facility and saw her humming an unknown tune and rocking back and forth as she stared at the night sky.

Sydney shut her eyes and savored the breeze that played across her flesh. Sark approached her and before he could say a word she murmured "Shhh." She raised her arms as though to conjure up an illusion. She stretched her fingers, yearning to grasp the stars that soared just beyond her reach. "Nathaniel, the stars are singing…la lala, la la la. The sea is gleaming and the breeze brings the scent of lemon and orange sprays. And in my soul I feel a lark singing: your voice."

 A shiver ran down his spine. He too shut his eyes and let the bittersweet music in her voice wash over him, raising goose bumps.

She opened her eyes and the light of the moon was reflected in her irises, deep and dazzling. Sometimes with the rage, it was easy to forget how tender she could be.

 She spun around swiftly and wrapped her arms around his neck. He swept her up and whirled her around; laughing like the innocents they were convinced that they were.

Madness ruled her; there was no question of that. But there was a method to her insanity. She saw things that others chose to blind themselves to; this always worked to her own psychotic advantage. An animal-like instinct shone in her eyes, giving her a prescient awareness in the moments she was lucid. He would glimpse a storm gathering behind them, ready to erupt but always at her control.

"Nathaniel," she gasped. He couldn't help laughing at her exuberance. She began to sing, unable to keep her ecstasy contained; the notes of music wafted on the evening air with a grace it would never know again. "La, lalala, la. Starlight, star bright the first star I see tonight. Pretty stars. Pretty, pretty stars." She skipped away from him and did a pirouette, graceful. Eternally beautiful. He reached for her and they began to waltz to the

music that existed only in her head.

The dancing came to a close as the ecstasy slowly melted out of their tempo. Sydney's eyes softened with concern. "Make them shine forever Nathaniel. I never want their radiance to leave me."

Sark smiled lovingly at her. "Anything for you, my darling. Anything else you want? The sun? The moon? The Holy Grail?"

Sydney beamed at him. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear "I want it all. The Heavens aren't near enough." She moved away from him facing the wind. A twilight breeze stirred the wisps of hair at her neck. She stood before him and the moonlight cast a ghostly light on her face. She gave the impression of an unearthly deity, whether goddess or demon, he had no idea. But just the sight of her made him more aware of the cold around him.

He would never admit it to anyone else but himself. He loved her just as much as he feared her.

"Well, Jack Bristow managed to get us access to the preliminary lab but unfortunately the flower extract is under lock and key in a vault." Sark told this to his superior who had seated himself in a back room of the water storage facility. Irina and Jack were being held in an adjoining room. "I've fixed it with a software program that will crack the safe's combination but it will take a while."

Sloane didn't respond to this news. Sark frowned. "Sir?" He turned his head to Sark, questioning. "Are you all right? I would think that you would be a bit more excited. You are about to gain yet another Rambaldi artifact."

He shrugged as though at this point it no longer mattered. Sark groaned inwardly. Sloane was in one of his moods again. Sark seated himself on a nearby chair and waited for his employer to speak his mind.

And so he did. "Who do you think she is?" Sark's brow furrowed.

"Sir?" "Who do you think she is, Sark?" Sark turned to Sloane, puzzled. Sloane was regarding him with a scrutiny that left him unsettled.

"She's Sydney," he replied. "What is there to know?"

Sloane stood up, pondering the answer. "She was Sydney. She was Sydney when we snatched her off the cliff that night. She was Sydney when she was fighting against her captors, to resist the Mnemosyne treatments." Sloan paused for a beat.

"This woman who I have adopted as my very own daughter…is not Sydney. Believe me I know the difference."

Sark narrowed his eyes as his blood grew cold. "What are you implying Arvin?"

 Sloane shook his head. "I imply nothing," he said in placation. HE gave a sigh. Sark heard the fatigue in his voice, which made him seem all the more human.

"Do you remember the days after Sydney finished her treatments?" Without waiting for a reply he went on. "She was like a child: confused, frightened, clingy. I seem to remember that during those times, she clung to you tenaciously and you responded to her façade of vulnerability."

"It was no façade," Sark objected. "She truly was lost. She had no one to go to. She needed someone to console her during her rough phases."

Sloane gave a grim nod. "And somewhere, you forgot you're objectivity; your duty to the cause. The reason we took her in the first place no longer mattered to you because you began to love her." To this quiet accusation, Sark had no reply. He glanced around the room, searching for an out.

He had no idea what Sloane was getting at; more than that he didn't want to know. The doubt he had been harboring for so long was swiftly gaining a voice. And the voice was eerily like Sydney's, laughing and uncontrolled. IT was silent whenever he chose to ignore it, and he chose to ignore it whenever he was with her. In the end, she was all that mattered to him.

Sloane was staring at the ground in contemplation. When he looked up at Sark, he was surprised to see apprehension within them. "Times have changed, haven't they? It's amazing to consider the growth Sydney had undergone under the right tutelage. She is still by all means mentally ill. But now…"

"Sir, about her illness," Sark started. Sloane cut him off.

"I know…Sydney's dying. Her sickness seems to have accelerated during the past weeks. It won't be long."

Sark pressed on. "Are you certain that this flower extract had the right properties to heal her? Rambaldi may be a genius, but doubt lingers that he may have been a lunatic as well."

"Rambaldi knew what he was doing when he created all his artifacts. Each one is capable of serving many purposes…never fear, Sark. She will be healed as soon as we get what we need." Sloane offered him a warm, paternal smile which Sark found himself unable to return.

Faith was a faulty contingency plan, Sark thought to himself. Silently, he observed Sloane. So was trust.

"Sydney is no longer the child I initially thought her to be." Sloane sounded wistful, pride and sadness mingling in his tone. "Even in her psychotic state, she is still one of the sharpest minds I have yet to encounter. And still a danger adversary."

His young protégé stared at him sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Sloane met his challenge with a grim stare. "She's not who you perceive her to be. A puppy that needs to be pampered and protected. And in…changing her, I fear I may have awakened a darkness I could not have anticipated. An evil that had lain dormant within her all this time."

"She's insane," Sark said, terse. "Nothing more." A realization came over him filling him with a fear of what Sloane was possibly considering to do. "Arvin, she's not a threat to you, I swear."

 "Have you heard her speak of a Coming as of late?" Sark thought, his mind clouding with dark thought that spoke treason against that which he loved more than anything. "Yes. She rambles…"

"Sometimes, I see her. We lock eyes and she would say to me 'It's coming' and then smile in anticipation. I would question her and she would simply tell me to wait."

Sark shook his head. "I reiterate; she's insane. I don't see the need in putting up the alarms."

The heavens are not near enough. I want it all. Sark head began to spin as he struggled to hang on to his love as guidance. But doubt had begun to bleed into it, tainting it.

"In Rambaldi's manuscript, he spoke of the Deluge."

"What's that?" Sloane was silent before he continued. "A person. 'She who is born with the blood of deception running strong within her veins…of two allegiances…of she is who is the Destroyer."

What is the purpose of the Deluge?" Sark questioned, even though a dreadful knowledge told him that he didn't want to know.

"The cleansing fire come to purge men of their sin and delivering the world into a flood of darkness." Sark stared at Sloane, stunned. Sloane shrugged. "Rambaldi's words not mine."

"Wait. If I know the manuscript and I think I do the world already has one great Destroyer. Irina Derevko."

"I've considered that Sark. But perhaps Derevko's purpose was not to annihilate the world directly…but to bring into existence the one who would."

Fucking Rambaldi. How difficult could it be to speak in laymen?

 He was so young at that moment. Sydney-she was so good, so fearless. How could she possibly…it couldn't be true. My God, what did we do to her?

"Sydney…she has so much rage within her. And a capacity for cruelty that far surpasses her mother. As she already demonstrated with Michael Vaughn, the man she loved. She wants the world to suffer, the way she feels she suffered. We created this…abomination." Sark flared at the term. "You may think you know…what she is. What she is capable of. But she is as unpredictable as a storm. You think she loves you?" Sloane gave a bitter laugh that felt like sandpaper on Sark's flesh.

 "She doesn't know the word. She may remember what it was like to be…and she may do a wonderful job of mimicking it. But it's all emptiness within her. She has no love; no remorse; no soul. Just an instinct."

You think she loves you…she doesn't know the word. But he loved her, deeply. No lie in the world would ever erase that fact but if it was built on deception on top of pretext…what would she do if she ever felt him to be an inconvenience?

"I'm going to go check on the prisoners," Sark said, flatly. With doubt swirling around his thoughts and a fury at Sloane for planting that doubt, he turned to leave.

"Love is a blindness, Nathaniel. I hope I in time you will begin to see what's right in front of you."

Sark stopped, frozen. His back was turned to Sloane; he could see that his shoulders were rising, up and down, as though his breathing were labored. And then he left.

Sloane was staring after Sark, surmising that he had found a problem in the form of his infatuation with Sydney. I've got to hand it to the girl: her skill to manipulate men is unsurpassed. He allowed himself to feel a swell of pride- hell, even love for the precious traitor. Yes, he did love her just as he would always love her. But he had quickly determined that she could not live beyond sunset the next day.

I desire political anarchy and a new, more omnipotent regime. Sloane smiled at the self-caricature, clearly Jack Bristow's perspective of his character. But his smile faded when his thoughts turned back to Sydney. She wants…what does she want?

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't hear the figure approach.

"Love is weakness, father." Sloane turned. Sydney emerged from an alcove, hands clasped behind her back.

"Sydney, where on earth did you come from?" "I was just having a look around the campus; see if there were any stray dogs wandering." Sloane smiled at her colorful choice of words. "What were you saying about love?"

The expression in her face barely altered itself; it stayed blank yet piercing. "If I learned anything from Jack and Irina, it's that love is a disease. A poison, weakening us for others to conquer."

Said like a true romantic, Sloane thought. "I hoped, dear father that you were free of such delusions." Something about the way she said that, in that curiously haunting voice chilled him. He found her staring at his face, in a searching gaze. Searching for flaws.

Sloane smiled deprecatingly at her. "To each man, his own vice." She gracefully inclined her head.

"Indeed," she said, buoyantly. She smiled one of those bright smiles she usually only shared with Sark. "Men are full of vices. Flaws. Love and hate and so much more." Quietly, she added "And the world is such an awful place."

Sloane patted her shoulder. "Well, that's just the way human nature flows, my dear."

Sydney didn't answer. Instead she came before Sloane and knelt before him. Her eyes were shining. "Father, can I tell you something? A secret."

His interest was piqued. "What is it?"

Sydney's breath began to quicken with excitement and her eyes became bigger. "I see it all so clearly, father. I saw what Rambaldi had envisioned for the world." She spoke zealously, tempered with revelation. "It was amazing."

"What?" Sloane asked, curious despite himself.

She was becoming elated, a fanatic's joy pouring into her. "The deluge! The devastation." Her voice became hushed with exhilaration. "It's coming."

"Deluge," Sloane whispered.  How could she possibly have known about that? Did Sark tell her? No. From her demeanor, it appeared that this intel was the result of divine intervention. Or maybe something not as hallowed.

Sydney nodded, ecstatic, blooming with bliss. "It's going to save us all, father. We are lost, with our love and our deceit. But when it's over…we'll be free. We will find salvation…" Her lovely face shifted into a blank mask, incapable of pity. "In chaos. Among the ruins, a new existence. Another chance."

Sloane stared at her, struck cold at her words. What are you, he thought.

In awe, she took Sloane's hands reverently. "In the coming days, you will be so proud of me. You'll stare down and see an angel come to earth."

"Sydney, what are you talking about?"

She smiled, serene. She could almost be mistaken for a celestial being with a pearly light around her head and an apocalypse on her mind. "Rambaldi said that there would come a flood to bring on the end." She smiled, vicious. "I am the flood. The catalyst to herald the redemption of all people."

"By wiping out the race of man?" It wasn't a question.

"By being its savior." She gave a soft smile. "I understand your fear. I was frightened once too. But it has been ordained." Her grip tightened. "Don't worry. I am going to save you all." Pause. "From yourselves, I will save you."

She bent forward, and gently kissed his cheek. He received it without feeling an ounce of genuine affection. To have affection she would have to have a soul. She embraced him.

"I love you father. And I know what has to be done." Sydney smiled. Grace had descended. Her conscience was silenced, sent to where her reason and humanity lay wasted like corpses. They would trouble her dreams no longer. She was at peace.

TBC

*The line "…the sea is gleaming…your voice.." is from a poem called "A Story For Margarita"