Title: Sweet Dreams

Author: auroraskyes37

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Alias is not mine.

Feedback: is totally appreciated.

Archive: You want it, ask me first.

Summary: Dreams are more powerful than one would like to think.

Ship: Sydney/Sark

Timeline: Sequel to Eternity, AU, Futurefic

Category: Angst, Action/Adventure, Romance

A/N: Wow! After a few months of planning and writing, I finally got the first part out! This is a sequel, so it's preferable if you read Eternity (storyid=1258717) first. Anyway, I just want to thank everyone that reviewed Eternity and pushed for a sequel. The hugest thanks ever to Mel, a wonderful, amazing, fantastic writer/reviewer/beta/muse/friend extraordinaire, who helped me so much. Without her, this would have been practically impossible. Italics are dreams, flashbacks, and thoughts. Enjoy, and don't forget to review.

Part One

"Where are we going?" Sydney asks curiously, as she gets into the car with Sark.

"I have to take care of something. It won't take long," he promises her, knowing that she wants to get away, to take their vacation already. "I have to meet with one of my old contacts. He called me very urgently this morning, and then the line broke. Something is up."

"Sark…" She looks at him, worried.

"I know, it might be dangerous. But the man who called me was a good friend—as good as friends can be in this kind of life. I think I owe it to him. Stay in the car, okay, Sydney?" His driver stops in front of the house.

"No way. I'm going with you. I don't want anything to happen to you." She exits the car before he can protest and begins walking up to the front door.

Sark gets a bad feeling, but shoves it away. He just needs to make sure his friend is okay. He wants to tell Sydney to stay in the car, but she is stubborn and going to ignore his concern. They walk up the stone path and ring the doorbell. When nobody answers, Sark places a hand on the doorknob and twists. The door opens. "Something's wrong," he whispers to Sydney. "His housekeeper should've answered the door. Stay behind me, and be careful."

As the two of them creep into the house, Sark keeps his hand on his gun, watching carefully for anything out of the ordinary. When they reach the kitchen, Sark suddenly finds himself staring down the barrel of a Glock. "Sloane," he says, cursing himself for not preparing for an ambush.

"Sark. And Sydney, how nice of you to join us." Sloane smiles, fixing his gaze behind Sark, the gun still leveled.

Sark instinctively steps in front of Sydney as if to act as a shield for her.

Sloane sneers, "How touching this is. Hand over the artifacts."

Sark is thoroughly confused. He has no clue why Sloane would be here, and is almost certain that he and Sydney have no artifacts. "I don't have any," he tells Sloane.

"I didn't say you did. But I believe Sydney knows something about it."

As Sark starts to turn to look at Sydney, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of movement. "No!" He yells, as Sloane's gun discharges. The bullet had been aimed for Sydney; she had tried to snatch Sark's gun and take down Sloane.

Sark turns and catches Sydney as she falls to the floor, a single bullet to the head, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"No… Sydney… no." Sark pleads with her not to leave him, knowing that this is all his fault. "It's I who should be sorry."

----

Kaikoura, New Zealand

He stares out the open window, at the huge expanse of beach, ocean, and sky lying in front of him. The waves crash softly and a gentle breeze ruffles his hair. The stars and moon shine brightly in the night sky. He smiles slightly, but nothing can take his mind off the dreams. They've been more frequent ever since he moved here, taking her with him. It may start out differently, but the ending never changes. She ends up being hurt, or worse, dead, all because of him. It doesn't matter if he is the one that actually pulls the trigger, because it ends the same, by his actions. He doesn't know why he has been dreaming of hurting her; in reality, it is something he would never intentionally do. The dreams are starting to worry him, because he knows that dreams are rooted in something, especially dreams that stir such powerful emotions. He fears what the dreams may mean, what they are saying about his subconscious mind.

"Sark?"

He turns and sees her leaning against the doorway of the room, a concerned look on her face.

"What's wrong, love?"

She allows a small smile at his term of endearment to her. The past few weeks have been refreshing, especially after three years of living a complete lie of a life. She almost feels renewed; he has allowed her time to heal, always being concerned for her well-being. Though the time spent with him has been short, she has noticed something a little off about him. At first, she thought it to be the three years since she had last seen him. Three years would not be considered that long, but it was long enough for someone to change, even someone like him. His eyes seemed to hold a bit of sadness in them, something she was surprised to see. He could've very well changed during the past three years, but she knows that there is something else. Something he is afraid to tell her. This isn't the first time he has woken up in the middle of the night. Whenever he leaves the bed at night, she always finds him at the window, staring at the sea.

"Are you okay?" She tilts her head slightly as she walks toward him. She allows herself to melt into his embrace.

"Yes, I'm fine." He smiles softly and kisses the top of her head, as if to prove his point. "Let's go back to bed, shall we?"

----

As the two of them lie on the beach the next day, he allows himself to run his mind through all his thoughts. Aside from the dreams he has and the concern he knows she has after finding him out of bed in the middle of the night, their lives could very well be mistaken for normal. Even as he thinks about it, he laughs at the absurdity. Their lives would never be perfect normal. Spies could not discard their subconscious want for the adrenaline rush, for the excitement that comes from being on a top-secret mission. No matter how bad, how unnerving the spy life could be at times, even he cannot deny that he misses the constant excitement, the quick-paced way they flew through the days. It does not matter now, because they are here, together. He glances over at her, carefully, as she props herself up on her elbows and pulls out a bottle of sunscreen from her bag.

She smiles, feeling his gaze on her. He has always looked at her with an intensity that could be seen in his beautiful blue eyes. His gaze sort of burns through her; it would make some people uneasy, but if she allows herself to feel uneasy about something like that, she wouldn't have survived her life as a spy. She uncaps the sunscreen and is about to pour some into her hand when—

"Here. Let me." He takes the bottle of sunscreen from her and motions for her to lie down on her stomach. He pours the sunscreen on her exposed back, spreading it slowly, while massaging her back gently, at the same time. His fingers move nimbly and even after all this time, she still fells a shiver of excitement go down her spine at his touch. His hands are moving in soothing motions and she sighs as she relaxes.

"Mmm… Feels good." She turns over at his request and giggles at the feel of his fingers tickling her stomach lightly. She allows him to spread the sunscreen over her legs and arms as well as her neck, before she returns the favor to him. She loves the feel of his abs under her fingers.

The day passes surprising fast, and she can't help but remember all the times as a spy when she wondered what was so appealing about this kind of life. Normalcy was something she used to crave, but she always thought that she would be working, rushing in and out with a family, a dog, perhaps. She never expected to spend her days not really doing anything except enjoying life. These few weeks here with him have showed her that although not working and rushing in and out with a family isn't full of excitement, it does have its upsides. With the right person, she will gladly spend the rest of her days like this.

----

Sark feels his body tense as he walks slowly through the empty house. Where is he? He doesn't know, but it isn't important. He knows someone else is here, and he must be ready to defend himself. "Show yourself." He says, a bit forcefully. Nobody appears. Perhaps he should just leave, he thinks. But he continues to walk slowly, looking in every room carefully for any signs of an ambush.

The door to the last room down the hall is closed. He listens carefully, then opens the door slowly, one inch at a time. He is startled by the sound of his name. "Sark?" For some reason, Sydney stands before him. She is wearing a white dress and a smile. "What are you doing?"

"Why are you here?" He ignores her questions and throws her one of his own, feeling extremely on edge.

"This is our house. Why do you have a knife?" She raises an eyebrow at him, and nods toward the object in his hand.

He glances down and notices that, indeed, he is clutching a sharp knife in his right hand. "You're lying." He walks toward her, gradually.

"Why would I lie?" Sydney is feeling just a bit uneasy, and takes a step back for each step he takes toward her. "Will you put the knife down? It's making me nervous."

"I would remember if this was my—our—house." He doesn't let go of his grip on the knife, nor does he stop walking towards her.

She starts to look panicked, her eyes darting around the room. After a few more steps backwards, she backs into the wall. "Sark. Tell me what's wrong. Please put down the knife," she looks into his eyes, pleading with him.

Sark stands about two feet away from her, ignoring everything she says. He smirks at her worried expression. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She gives him a nervous smile and tries to dodge to the side, out of his reach. Before Sark can control his own movements, his right hand shoots up to her neck. His reflexes take over as he swiftly slashes across her throat. A scream escapes Sydney's lips as she slides down against the wall, down to the floor. She crumples to the ground and puts her hand against her wound. "Sark…"

At the sight of the blood pouring from her slashed throat, he drops the knife, horrified. He feels frozen, glued to the spot. He is unable to look away or get down and help her. The dark crimson liquid continues to ooze from the gash on her neck, staining her white dress and getting sticky on her skin. She doesn't speak again, but instead continues to look at him with wide, sorrowful, pained eyes.

A sob escapes him and before he knows it, he is crying and kneeling before her. The blood is forming a puddle on the floor and as he reaches out to touch her, Sark's shaky hands become covered with the warm, thick fluid as well. There is a powerful metallic stench, and though the smell of blood has never bothered him before, this time, it makes him want to vomit. Her eyes eventually close, and he gets up and runs, out of the house, away from his dead love.

----

"Sark. Sark. Wake up." She gently shakes him, trying to take him out of dreams, to get him to stop thrashing.

With a scream, his eyes shoot wide open. His face feels covered in water, but when he licks his lips, he tastes salt. He holds his hand up to his face and feels it, cold and wet with tears. He turns to her; her eyes are wide with worry.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

Upon hearing her concern, he composes himself and shoves the dream from his mind. "I'm fine. Just a dream. That's all. Just a bad dream." He holds out his arms and takes her in his embrace, kissing the top of her forehead. "I'm okay." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more.

"You were shaking and crying and screaming. What happened in the dream?" She looks into his eyes and wipes the tears off his face, letting her hand rest on his shoulder.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." 

She looks at him, knowing there is something more. "Sark…"

"I don't remember, okay?" All of a sudden, he feels exasperated at her questioning. He knows he can't lie to her, she can read him too well, but he prays that she will just accept it. The images from the dreams are still vivid and bright, painfully real in his mind. This time was different. She didn't die instantly, and he was forced to see the consequences of his actions. All that blood. How could he have killed her? What is going on? Are the dreams going to continue to get worse and worse?

She studies his expression carefully, for she knows that he remembers the dream. She knows that something has been going on for a while. After all the times he has gotten up in the middle of the night, she suspects that he has had this dream for a while. She touches his arm gently to get his attention. "Sark… Please tell me. Maybe I could help. That's… that's what I'm here for. You helped me. I want to help you." She looks into his eyes and sees sorrow in them.

"Look, I said it was just a bad dream." He sighs as he sees her hurt expression. "Sydney… I promise. I'm completely fine. I don't want you to get worried over nothing." His eyes plead with her, wanting her to accept it.

She closes her eyes and allows herself to relax in his arms. "Okay. I believe you. I won't bother you about it."

I'll let it go, for now.

He kisses the top of her head once again and closes his eyes. "Sweet dreams, love."

A/N: If you reviewed, I'd love you forever. Thanks for reading and stay tuned.