Story: Once Upon A Time

Author: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net)

Disclaimer: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc

Rating: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such

Spoilers/Summary: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill

Distribution: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first

Thanks To: Glenna, Jennifer, CG and Riane for the betas!

Author's Note: Meant to have this posted yesterday, since it was my birthday and I wanted some birthday reviews… But alas, being that it's finals week, that plan was shot down. At any rate, the chapter has finally arrived… R&R!

This

Chapter

Is

Rated

R

Chapter Nine: Wasting Time

Sydney had left to change into her bathing suit and spend some "quality time" down on the beach, so Ethan had unearthed his cell phone from its hiding spot to make his random check-in call to Irina.

She'd skipped pleasantries, as usual, and immediately got to the point of the conversation as far as she was concerned.

"Well?" she asked impatiently, and in his mind's eye he could picture her in her office, her legs crossed with a foot tapping a pattern on the rug under her heavy oak desk. It didn't matter what office in any of her numerous homes—there was an oak desk in all of them; her attempt at regulating some aspect of her life, Ethan supposed. "Is she pregnant yet or not?"

Calmly he replied, "It's simply too soon to tell yet. If she suspects anything, she has yet to inform me. And the situation is too precarious to demand proof one way or another."

A heavy sigh traveled over the line, and then her voice issued an order. "You will find out something by the next you call me, Mr. Sark. The operation suffers without you."

It was as close as she'd ever come to telling him she needed his services and depended on him personally.

"Yes, of course, Irina," he'd dutifully answered, half listening to the majority of the conversation that followed. He'd stood at his balcony door, feet curling into the plush carpet, waiting to catch sight of Sydney on her way to the beach, as much to assure himself that she wasn't eavesdropping as to watch her unobserved. He knew she was likely headed towards the hammock. She finally appeared, her hair tucked into the ridiculous floppy beach hat she'd recently become attached to, and he was barely able to distinguish the strap of her top that indicated she wore the red halter bikini he loved. The sway of her hips covered in an indecent pair of khaki shorts distracted him until she disappeared from sight. The last words she'd suggestively whispered to him as she'd climbed out of his bed, "Don't make me wait down there all alone for long," echoed in his mind.

He finally became aware of Irina trying to catch his attention as she barked, "Mr. Sark!" He grunted in acknowledgement as he turned and walked away from the balcony into his sitting room to sprawl on the couch.

She released an aggravated sigh in his ear. "Don't go and become too attached to her. The development of attachment to people is detrimental to a person in this business." Her voice had softened, but after a pause she resumed speaking in her normal brisk tone. "I expect to hear from you before another month of this 'charade' you're putting on has gone by." The line clicked as she disconnected. He flipped the phone shut and carefully returned the phone to the hidden safe before leaving his room. There was a beautiful girl sitting on the beach waiting for him to join her, and he intended to make sure she wasn't disappointed.

**********

Today, it was three weeks exactly since she'd appeared at his door; sixty-nine total days on this island, and Sydney only found twenty-one of them as worthy of being counted. He had that effect on her. Being with him—well, she had a hard time thinking of another time in her life which had brought her this level of contentment and happiness, and certainly not for quite this length of time. She was willing to concede that all the credit was due to the change in her relationship with Ethan.

Sydney sighed, grateful for the rush of cool air a sudden breeze sent past her. Between the constantly hot temperatures, equal hours of day and night, and what she vaguely remembered from an astronomy class she'd taken as an undergrad, Sydney had been able to approximate the island's location to be near the equator and closer to Australia than South America.

Not that she cared anymore. In the beginning, she'd contemplated waiting by the helipad and trying to make her escape after the weekly delivery of food. But she'd been carefully watched, and even then she hadn't found the experience so unpleasant as to risk her life. The past three weeks had passed quietly, and so she had no reason to wish to leave. She had to concentrate and flip through her memories to find recollections of a time when things with Ethan had been anything but what they currently were. She had to search even harder to find a time, any time for any length at all, that she had been nearly as content and at peace as she was now.

There was one tiny imperfection to this picture—the Prophecy. For the past twenty-one days, it had weighed particularly heavily on her mind. If her mother and Rambaldi were to be believed, there was going to be a baby soon. By her own calculations, it would be very soon indeed.

She'd been due for her birth control shot the day after her capture. Sydney was certain that her mother had somehow known that.

Reality was a hard pill to swallow, because she knew that the sooner she knew she was pregnant, the sooner Ethan would have to leave. In fact, the sooner he left, the sooner Ethan would again fade into the background, superseded by the illustrious persona Mr. Sark. She'd seen what Sark was capable of. The thought that frightened her was that no matter how much she loved Ethan, she couldn't stop what was probably the inevitable. She couldn't save him from his dark side any more than she could save herself from loving him.

The foot she had planted in the sand served to push the hammock into motion. It was strung between two palm trees at the base of a small peninsula of land that jutted into the ocean. More trees and foliage hid all reminders of civilization from view. She loved that about this spot—that as far as she could look in all directions, all she saw was unmarred beauty. It lent to the serenity of the spot. And at times, when she needed a place to go and sort her thoughts, this was where she came.

Tentatively, as the hammock settled into a rhythm, her right hand settled over her lower stomach, her fingers dancing lightly over the skin. She wondered if her body housed a miracle yet. One thing Sydney knew about her body was that, regardless of the birth control her job required she take as a precaution, as well as to insure her continued presence in the field, her periods had always been regular. After Danny's death the year before, she hadn't kept up with her scheduled birth control shots, and so she knew when to expect her periods to begin again. Her body had settled immediately back into it's old rhythm, then, and she had expected no different this time around. It had come before, a few weeks into their stay.

She'd expected it again seven days ago. It hadn't come.

She shifted restlessly, drawing her right leg up and propping both her feet on the edge of the hammock. She tried to let the serenity of the scenery sooth the uneasy and knotted feeling weighing her stomach down.

Soon enough, she'd know either way.

The palm trees shading the hammock ruffled as another gust of wind blew by. Her hand settled under the waistband of her shorts, and her thumb softly stroked back and forth over the skin. If there wasn't a baby yet, there would be soon—such was the nature of their situation.

Fleetingly, Sydney wished—despite her current happiness with Ethan—that she'd never come to this island. She wished, for all his well meant intentions, that Will hadn't investigated Danny's death. Wished desperately that Rambaldi had not chosen to prophesize about her family, that Taipei had never happened, that she hadn't told Vaughn she loved him.

She'd begun calling Michael Vaughn by his last name as a professional courtesy. Now, she knew it had been a protective measure to keep him at arm's length from her. She didn't know why she hadn't realized this before, that by calling him Vaughn instead of Michael, she had cemented his place as a co-worker and confidant, nothing more. She did love him, in a way—as a person, as a friend, as the handler that looked after her best interests when she was too preoccupied with other distractions to think straight. She knew now, and had known since she'd voiced those little words heavy with meaning, that she could never fall in love with him, couldn't love him the way he loved her.

Her hand dropped to her side, and Sydney stared at the waves as they capped and crashed to shore. She thought how wonderfully strange her life was at times, and how utterly surreal it seemed, happy and sad alike.

**********

Ethan stood down the beach, leaning against a palm tree with his hands in the pockets of his khakis and watching the sway of the hammock. The expanse of white, hot sand between him and where his gaze landed glared in a reflection of the beating mid-afternoon sun.

Sydney had been acting distant and withdrawn the past few days. His conversation with Irina weighing heavy and recent in his mind, Ethan was fairly certain he knew the reason behind Sydney's behavior.

This morning, he'd even gone so far as to open his mouth and almost ask her outright. In an uncharacteristic move, he'd asked her if she was happy instead of the intended questioning about what was bothering her. Her eyes still heavy with sleep, she'd smiled sweetly up at him as she'd answered, "Of course I'm happy, Ethan. You're here. With me. In bed." A distraction named Sydney Bristow had then taken precedence over analyzing his abrupt change in intentions or pursuing his original question. He had a feeling she wouldn't have told him anyways.

Of their own accord, his feet began to lead him across the sandy expanse towards Sydney. His fingers caught hold of the hammock and stilled its motion. "Sydney."

She tilted her head back to look up at him, her brown velvet eyes peeking out at him from beneath the brim of her distractingly large, white, floppy beach hat. He laughed at how ridiculous and amazingly child-like she looked, and then moved around to join her on the hammock. "Christ, you look bloody ridiculous in that thing," he commented.

A smile tugged the corners of her mouth upwards. "I could say the same about some of the things you wear, Mr. If-it's-haute-couture-it's-worth-wearing."

"Point taken," he grinned. "Although, I do believe nothing surpasses the things you've worn for your missions." He grunted when she slapped his chest playfully.

"Not my choice to wear that stuff, and you very well know that," she countered, wrinkling her nose at him. She shifted, careful to keep her skin from touching his as much as possible. It was a sweet attempt at courtesy, given the temperature. She'd been outside long enough that her skin glowed with a fine sheen of sweat.

Not surprisingly, Sydney could even make sweating seem like a carefully planned seduction. Planned or not, he willfully succumbed to the power she held over him and proceeded to stare unabashedly.

He started from his intent observation when her gaze met his at the same time that he became aware of her fingers threading through his hair. She laughed—a light, tinkling, sweetly Sydney laugh—and her beautiful eyes lit up in a way that told him she was enjoying her laugh at his expense.

"What?" he asked. Sydney and her mother were the only people in the world that held the power to make him feel self-conscious.

Her smile grew—she knew exactly what she'd done. "Nothing much," she answered. She giggled when he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "I was just observing how much you need a haircut is all. It finally occurred to me how much younger you look when you're all unkempt." Her fingers slipped free of the particular subject at hand, settling above her head.

"Mmm…" he mumbled his agreement, trailing off as his fingers moved to dance over the tempting expanse of her skin to capture her hand. "I think what I really need at the moment," he teased, catching her by surprise when he stood and pulled her up with him, "is you out of that cute little outfit."

Her laughter bubbled forth again, and she only gave a half-hearted protest when her hat was tossed carelessly into the sand as he pulled her close for an unobstructed kiss. It instantly became deep as she tilted her head to provide him with the best angle to delve possessively into her mouth. The temperature felt like it had shot up to unbearable levels as impatient hands pulled and tugged clothing off, leaving shorts, a bathing suit and a shirt lying forgotten on the sand. His skin burned where her touch passed, and their sweat caused flesh to slide over flesh.

Sydney nudged him backwards, following as he took the hint and moved towards the ocean. The water was cool against his skin, replacing the salty sweat of the sun with the salt of the sea as he stopped when the water was waist deep. He braced them against the waves at her back, her kiss distracting him from noticing that she was wrapping her legs around his waist until the thrust of her hips encouraged his entry inside her. The natural buoyancy of the water helped to keep her afloat, because he wasn't sure he would have been able to on his own. She gasped in pleasure as he filled her, her teeth biting into the skin of his collarbone and almost inhaling a mouthful of the wave that forced her even closer to him.

He could have come then, to see her arching her back in pleasure, her nails digging half moons into his shoulders as she slowly and torturously lifted and lowered herself. His hands found purchase on her hips and encouraged her pace to quicken, moaning in pleasure with her and desperately trying to keep them from crashing to shore with the waves.

Stars began to sparkle beneath his eyelids when he closed his eyes and caused his vision to sharpen and blur at the same time when his eyes were open. And then, finally, she was crying out, her vaginal muscles contracting around him and sending him crashing over the edge, crying her name and holding her tight until he could see clearly once more.

Somehow, his knees held out long enough to get them to shore. She laughed as they tumbled into the wet sand, the incoming waves crashing over them.

"You're going to kill me, you know," he gasped, unable to keep the grin off his face.

Sydney propped herself on her elbow and leaned over to place a kiss on his mouth. "Well, I admit that I've tried to once or twice." She grinned down at him, her hand reaching up to his hair. Clumps of sand raked against his skin as she fingered the pieces over his forehead. "Regardless, you still need a haircut."

"You," he growled, reaching for her hips and pulling her to straddle him. She was laughing again, and the sand bit into his skin painfully when she circled her hips suggestively. "You," he began again, barely retaining his thoughts, "are a minx."

Her hands slid up his chest as she sank closer to him. The mischievous look in her eyes lent to the seduction as her lips pulled his earlobe into her mouth, her tongue teasing the skin. She let go, pulling back enough that he could look her in the eye again. "Yes, I suppose I'd better be a minx to be involved with the likes of you." He narrowed his eyes, playing along with her, letting her think he was deciding if he should be insulted or not. "But," her voice dropped to a throaty whisper in his ear, "I have to be insatiable as well."

Thought became a forgone process as Ethan gave himself to her again.

**********

Hidden in the abundant foliage, Sasha had passively watched the scene unfold on the beach. He wasn't there out of voyeuristic intentions. Since, in his opinion, Sark had lost his edge where Miss Bristow was concerned, Sasha had made a point of keeping tabs on her in the past few weeks. Irina had told him to be watching for any changes, and he knew that if anything were to change, Irina's emotional daughter would be the one to let it be known. She was predictable, if nothing else.

Besides, the sooner whatever this Prophecy entailed actually happened, the sooner this god-forsaken assignment would be over. Ten weeks already spent doing nothing but honing his skills of appearing to be a non-threatening presence. It was starting to rankle Sasha.

Eyes narrowing one last time at the subjects of his discontent, he turned and made his way towards the house. He'd found working out to be a great outlet for his enclosed frustration.

**********

She could see the apprehension in his eyes as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. The sun had set on the day, and a cool night breeze drifted in the open windows. He sat in a chair he'd moved into an area big enough for her to move around as she cut his hair. She was armed with a towel, scissors, a comb, and soft music playing from the CD player she'd deposited on the counter.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Ethan, how hard could it be?" She gestured to the sink. "Wet your hair, please."

She smiled when he emerged from under the faucet with water running in rivulets off his face.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to the chair she stood behind. When he did, she wrapped the towel around his bare shoulders after she'd dried his face. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. "What are you so worried about?"

"You. With scissors. Enough said."

She laughed. "Sweetheart, it is just hair. If I bungle this up, you'll have plenty of time to grow it out before you face civilization again."

"Not funny, Sydney," he grumbled.

"I was kidding, Ethan. Even if it's true," she admonished. "Relax," she smiled, and moved behind him, comb in hand and the scissors tucked into the pocket of her shorts.

She combed through his hair, smiling in self-satisfaction as the tension in his shoulders ebbed away until he was practically slumped in the chair asleep.

Sydney stood in the bathroom, being extremely careful to stand still as her mother had asked. Through the mirror, Sydney was able to watch her mother lift the comb and gently pull it though Sydney's long, wet hair. Her mother smiled when she caught Sydney's gaze in the mirror, before returning her gaze to the task at hand.

"You have beautiful hair, Sydney. A lot like mine was when I was your age."

"How old were you when you cut it?"

Her mother quirked a half smile and turned Sydney around before handing her the hairbrush. "Much older than you are now. About fifteen, I think. Now, go to my bedroom and ask your father to dry your hair for you." Her mother pressed a kiss to Sydney's cheek, and pulled back to whisper, "I love you, Sydney. Never forget that."

"I love you, too, Mommy!" she'd replied. Her mother's fingers had tucked Sydney's hair behind her ear, a serious look on her face that was gone when her father appeared in the doorway.

"Ready to get your hair dried, pumpkin?" he'd asked, winking at Sydney.

"Yep!" she'd answered, squealing when her father had picked her up and tossed her in the air.

She'd been six years old. Her mother had "died" the following day. Her father had never dried her hair for her again.

Sydney pulled the scissors from her pocket, smiling in satisfaction at the sharp sound of the scissors cutting off the curls she loved so much at the nape of his neck. Gradually and methodically, she worked her up the back of his head. She couldn't help but smile when he shifted in the chair when she moved to his right side and cut the hair directly above his ear.

"Hold still," she warned. "I don't want your moving around to accidentally take off the top of your ear."

"I doubt nothing when you're armed with scissors aimed at my head," he grumbled good-naturedly, but stilled his movement.

"Considering the vast skills I've acquired as a double agent superspy, I should hope not. But I'd never harm your ears intentionally—they're too cute to be damaged." He snorted his disbelief but refrained from comment, allowing the sharp sound of the scissors to once again fill the silence between them.

Five minutes later, she was satisfied with that side and moved to the left. She settled into a rhythm, quickly working her way up, hair sticking uncomfortably to her fingers in clumps. She quickly brushed what she could off onto the towel.

"Lean your head forward," she ordered, moving to straddle his knees. His eyes lit mischievously before doing as she'd requested. As she worked her way from back to front, he progressively lifted his head to provide her with the best angle. Catching sight of a clump of hair that had fallen on top of his left ear, she bent forward and blew it off, grinning when he began to squirm. She met his gaze, her breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat to see that his eyes were a blue darkened by what she'd come to recognize as desire. It was a look she'd become accustomed to the past three weeks.

"Sydney—" His voice sounded strangled in that one word, warning that he was nearing the point of saying 'to hell with it' and taking her on the kitchen table behind her.

And still, she innocently asked, "Yes?"

"Hurry. Please."

"Almost done," she reassuringly whispered. She finished the last of it quickly, laying aside the scissors and combing her fingers through his hair to shake free any loose hair.

"There. Finished. I just hope I got it the way you like it."

"At this point, who gives a damn what it looks like?" he growled, balling up the towel and flinging it across the room. His hands reached for her hips and pulled her down to straddle his lap.

"Now who's the insatiable one?" she managed before his lips claimed hers.

"I'll always be insatiable when it comes to you, Sydney," he promised as he pulled back from the kiss, a crooked smile on his face.

"Glad to hear it," she smiled, sliding off his lap when he stood. She raised her eyebrows when he walked her backwards until she hit the counter. "What if someone comes in?"

"Then they'll get a helluva lot more than they bargained for when they decided on a late night snack." His eyes were glowing bright as he leaned in for a kiss, then proceeded to make good on his words.

She couldn't help but to love this man, even if he proved to be her undoing.

Shameless Self-Promotion: I wrote a little Sydney self-introspective piece, Full Circle, that I would love you guys to read and review… Just go to my author profile and you'll find it listed under my works.

Recommendations:
 "Innocence," (Story ID 1326937) by evonness (ID 361092), with Sark and an OC; amazing read

"Fire and Ice," (Story ID 1326964) by Riane (ID 345580), a Sarkney fic

"Southern Cross," (Story ID 1325311) by CG (ID 259212), an amazing Syd/Lennox fic