Notes: Sorry I haven't updated here for a while. I have a few chapters done so as I get them formated for ff.net I'll update here. Big thank you to: Jade Symphony, scifichick774 and Fanatic482 for reviewing. Means alot. :) This chapter was betaed by Mel, who I can never thank enough for the help she gives me.
~
There really was no sound more aggravating than that of an alarm ringing in ones ears, insisting you awaken, or so Syd had thought before this moment. She was currently protesting the sound of Aleksandra, beckoning her out of bed by hiding her face in the soft comforter. Yes, after another restless night, this had just stolen that grand prize for `the most aggravating' away.
"Mr. Sark requires you downstairs within a half hour."
She sighed and decided to not let things get to her. Everything was grating her nerves more nowadays but turning that on everyone else was worsening things, not improving them. "What time is it?" Syd drowsily drawled.
"6:30."
"Didn't know he wrecked havoc during this time of day too," she laughed. For perhaps the first time since she had arrived, Syd was being playful. She had anticipated at least a polite laugh back, but the woman remained stone-faced.
"I've laid out the suitable attire for you, ma'am. I'll leave you to get ready."
"Alright."
Syd gave a puzzled expression at her maid's change in attitude but didn't attempt to read a meaning behind it. Aleksandra was being all business today so she'd be the same. She leapt out of the big bed and strode over to see what she was presented with. A plain black outfit, which reminded her more of her old work clothing along with `the unmentionables`. Syd had a feeling what this was all about.
A few minutes later, Syd escaped her confines and headed down the hall. She didn't know where she was going in this place and really didn't care. She could tell the house was huge, and she had barely seen any of it. She had the time so she thought looking around wouldn't hurt a bit.
"Sydney. Ma'am."
Guess not. Syd sighed yet again as her constant lackey came running up behind her.
"So where are we headed this bright and lovely morning?" Syd mocked as Aleksandra reached her.
"Mr. Sark wants to see you a few minutes and then to the office, I believe."
"Just as I thought."
~
Aleksandra brought Syd down to the same dinning room from the night before. Sark was busy eating his own meal of eggs, toast and tea and reading a newspaper, as if he was just an ordinary business man starting out his day.
"Have a good morning so far?" Sark asked, folding the newspaper neatly and putting it down.
"Can't say there has been much to it, but besides having Miss Catherine Barkley in my hair every ten seconds, it's been fine."
Sark looked over to Aleksandra, whose eyes had narrowed and were steadily focused on Syd, who intently stared back. The servant seemed less than pleased at being compared to the annoying nurse's aide from `A Farewell To Arms,' known for happily submitting to a life of the domestic kind. She was clearly insulted, but Syd didn't back down from either the statement or the staring match they were in.
It was Aleksandra who did, fidgeting with collar of her uniform with lips trembling. "Excuse me, I need to. take care of some things," she said, rushing away.
As the maid made her exit, Syd turned back to Sark, who was less than pleased himself.
"You're such a child. Aleksandra informed me of what a spoiled brat you were being last night."
"I'm spoiled for not wanting her fretting over me every moment?"
"You're spoiled for treating someone who is only there to help you, poorly."
Syd huffed. She knew he was right but she was used to treating others as she liked. People depended on her skills at the CIA, so she was also used to getting away with it. She gave into instinct, sank into one of the chairs and flashed Sark a sad puppy dogged expression. She expected him to crumble just like Kendall, her father or Vaughn would. He didn't. This time she was not needed. It was her who needed him. them. Sark didn't have some form of emotional attachment to her either. Maybe that is part of the reason she never liked him. Setting aside all else, he was just one of the few who wouldn't give into her, and her way when she demanded it. Well, the terrorist thing added to it.
"Sorry," she apologized, begrudgingly.
"I'm not the one to say it to, and I suggest saying it like you actually mean it."
She sighed and mumbled, "You're right. I'm just making it tougher on myself and it won't help me get home any faster." As distaste washed over Sark's face, she added, "What?"
"Nothing," he exhaled exasperatingly. "Just eat something and we`ll go. I have better things to do today than give you etiquette lessons."
Sydney glared indignantly, topping any look Sark or Aleksandra had just given her.
"What?" Sark mimicked her question of seconds earlier.
Ignoring him, she asked the butler for coffee, which she was instantly served along with a meal identical to Sark's.
"Where's my mother?"
"Office. We'll join her later."
"Do you live here?" In the last two days, he had been around her non-stop. She hoped this would not be a trend.
"Full of questions again, I see. Yes and no. I have my own place but stay here more often out of convenience."
A realization hit Sydney. "Where's here?" When Sark gave her a confused look she went on, "Country, city, town, whatever. Where is here?"
His eyebrow rose and he sipped his tea. "St. Petersburg. I'm dumbfounded, really. A spy should have been able to determine where they were by now."
"I've been occupied," Syd said.
"Hasn't it occurred to you that excluding ourselves, every person we've come into contact with since yesterday has had a Russian accent?"
Sydney blushed. It was true and incredibly embarrassing. Everyone, aside from her and the Brit before her, did have Russian accents. Even her mother had been speaking with one, finding no need to disguise her descent or her former loyalties. Syd rubbed her temples, astonished by her utter lack of awareness. It couldn't have been more clear if they were speaking Russian to her. She could excuse her behavior with the trauma of the past days but for people in their line of work, excuses ended in shallowly dug graves. She wondered how noticeable this was to those around her.
"After we're done here--which I hope is soon so stop gaping like a fish please, and eat--I'm having someone come here to look you over. Examine you. Take a few blood tests. Make sure everything is in order."
It didn't take much for Syd to see what he was really saying. "You said you trusted my story! That I was really who I claimed."
"Ah, well you're sharp enough to see that at least. I do trust you, but I need insurance if anything goes wrong. `Her story sounded credible' won`t be enough with Irina, particularly when that story wouldn't be believed by most sensible individuals out there."
His words of trust did not ease her. She didn't know why, but his doubt wounded her. Maybe it was cause he was the only one she had to rely on at the moment. She couldn't blame him though. Sark was doing what she would do herself. His shrewd conduct and attention to all details, were exactly what made him such an admired agent and what would make him, she believed, a good field partner.
~
The tests hadn't been that bad, and Sark had been grateful she submitted to them so easily. The FBI had been far more trouble after Page 47 had shown up and it was determined she was the woman in the prophecy. She was left wondering if that page had even been found in this universe or if it even existed. There was no telling the extent of differences between the two universes so she made it her objective to find out.
After they were finished, she found Sark nearby, casually stretched out on a couch and flipping through some documents. Not acknowledging her presence, she silently loomed over him, causing him and the object of his focus, the documents, to fall into shadow. Now, his blue expressionless eyes finally made their way to her.
"When my father." she paused considering how she would word this, "traded Will with you."
"Yes?"
".what was his form of persuasion?"
Sark swung his legs around to look her straight on. "I believe you know that."
"So my mother knows what I am?"
"Well as far of the prophecy goes, of course. She knew before the page was even reveled."
"And how's that?"
Sark gestured for her to take a seat, which she did. "She's never said. Are you going to tell her today?"
"I don't know."
"You mean you don't want to." His forehead wrinkled with concern. "It will just get harder as time goes on, and it will hurt you both more. She'll find out, Sydney. She always does."
"You're the one that kept my death from her to begin with," Syd laughed, astonished he'd lecture her about something he had done himself.
"I agree. I have my faults. Doesn't make you replicating them any less ill-advised."
"I'll tell her when I'm ready," she pouted.
Sark looked at his gold Rolex, and sighed. "We're going to be late if we discuss this any further."
~
Syd found herself back in the now familiar sight of Irina's office, waiting to be briefed by her mother, who was on the phone. Irina was not the crabby yet loyal Kendall or Sloane, who Sydney constantly plotted against. Sydney now worked for "The Man" and that thought tickled her nausea. She was about to face up to what she had become, a traitor.
At the click of the receiver being put down, Syd's eyes went to her mother, who began to speak.
"There's word that one of Sloane's associates will be meeting at the hotel in Paris with agents of SD-6 about the exchange of intel involving the location of rare and important documents, perhaps, we hope, a Rambaldi manuscript. You'll meet with the individual instead." Irina pushed a photo of a balding middle aged man across her desk. "No need to pose as anything but what you are. The man sells to the highest bidder and has no loyalty to any division. That is not to say you shouldn't take precautions."
Irina's eyes were on Syd and Syd alone, indicating those last words were for her. It was obvious what Irina thought of her versus the man next to her.
"What about the other agents?" Syd questioned, both out of curiosity and to break the tension.
"Try to leave them temporarily indisposed."
"And if that fails?"
"You find a way to leave when permanently indisposed," Sark answered for Irina.
Irina nodded while Syd looked at him with horror and shrieked, "They're innocent. They don't know who they work for."
"All you have to consider is the fact they don't work for me. That should be cause enough."
Sark turned to her and with complete sincerity reasoned, "If they succeed those they work for, and whom you hate, will have the documents. Not us."
Syd squeezed her eyes shut, hating his words. Both for their truth and his unfeeling in saying them. He'd never know what it was like to give oneself to something you believed in nor what it was like to be deceived while doing so.
"Sydney," Irina's voice beckoned, making Syd open her eyes. "If you're questioning your loyalties-"
"I'm not. It's just difficult."
She also would not admit that the idea of once again helping `the enemy," this time without noble cause or in ignorance, distressed her. She knew she'd related to those agents she was supposed to stop, more than the man who was now her partner.
"I know," Irina comforted, as Sloane would in one of his 'fatherly' talks and just like him the end focus was on the mission. "You'll leave tomorrow."
"So soon?"
"I don't believe the contact or the agents will wait 'til you're ready to arrive, so yes. You'll be back in two days, and this will be a good test on how well you and Sark will be as partners."
Sark and Irina stood up. Sydney followed their example comprehending they were through. Irina grabbed her by the shoulder on the way out though and stared at her with cold, hard eyes.
"Never again question my orders. You being my daughter doesn't give you the right. In fact, less so." When Sydney said nothing, Irina continued, "Understand?"
"Yes." She understood but a stubborn part of her resisted. She'd never fully except Irina's bidding. She was only doing this cause she had to.
"Good, I know you'll make me proud."
Yet there was a part of Sydney that wanted that too.
Thanks for reading. I hoped you liked it. If so a review would always be nice, lol. Sometimes I tend to think people on ff.net don't like my writing I admit.
~
There really was no sound more aggravating than that of an alarm ringing in ones ears, insisting you awaken, or so Syd had thought before this moment. She was currently protesting the sound of Aleksandra, beckoning her out of bed by hiding her face in the soft comforter. Yes, after another restless night, this had just stolen that grand prize for `the most aggravating' away.
"Mr. Sark requires you downstairs within a half hour."
She sighed and decided to not let things get to her. Everything was grating her nerves more nowadays but turning that on everyone else was worsening things, not improving them. "What time is it?" Syd drowsily drawled.
"6:30."
"Didn't know he wrecked havoc during this time of day too," she laughed. For perhaps the first time since she had arrived, Syd was being playful. She had anticipated at least a polite laugh back, but the woman remained stone-faced.
"I've laid out the suitable attire for you, ma'am. I'll leave you to get ready."
"Alright."
Syd gave a puzzled expression at her maid's change in attitude but didn't attempt to read a meaning behind it. Aleksandra was being all business today so she'd be the same. She leapt out of the big bed and strode over to see what she was presented with. A plain black outfit, which reminded her more of her old work clothing along with `the unmentionables`. Syd had a feeling what this was all about.
A few minutes later, Syd escaped her confines and headed down the hall. She didn't know where she was going in this place and really didn't care. She could tell the house was huge, and she had barely seen any of it. She had the time so she thought looking around wouldn't hurt a bit.
"Sydney. Ma'am."
Guess not. Syd sighed yet again as her constant lackey came running up behind her.
"So where are we headed this bright and lovely morning?" Syd mocked as Aleksandra reached her.
"Mr. Sark wants to see you a few minutes and then to the office, I believe."
"Just as I thought."
~
Aleksandra brought Syd down to the same dinning room from the night before. Sark was busy eating his own meal of eggs, toast and tea and reading a newspaper, as if he was just an ordinary business man starting out his day.
"Have a good morning so far?" Sark asked, folding the newspaper neatly and putting it down.
"Can't say there has been much to it, but besides having Miss Catherine Barkley in my hair every ten seconds, it's been fine."
Sark looked over to Aleksandra, whose eyes had narrowed and were steadily focused on Syd, who intently stared back. The servant seemed less than pleased at being compared to the annoying nurse's aide from `A Farewell To Arms,' known for happily submitting to a life of the domestic kind. She was clearly insulted, but Syd didn't back down from either the statement or the staring match they were in.
It was Aleksandra who did, fidgeting with collar of her uniform with lips trembling. "Excuse me, I need to. take care of some things," she said, rushing away.
As the maid made her exit, Syd turned back to Sark, who was less than pleased himself.
"You're such a child. Aleksandra informed me of what a spoiled brat you were being last night."
"I'm spoiled for not wanting her fretting over me every moment?"
"You're spoiled for treating someone who is only there to help you, poorly."
Syd huffed. She knew he was right but she was used to treating others as she liked. People depended on her skills at the CIA, so she was also used to getting away with it. She gave into instinct, sank into one of the chairs and flashed Sark a sad puppy dogged expression. She expected him to crumble just like Kendall, her father or Vaughn would. He didn't. This time she was not needed. It was her who needed him. them. Sark didn't have some form of emotional attachment to her either. Maybe that is part of the reason she never liked him. Setting aside all else, he was just one of the few who wouldn't give into her, and her way when she demanded it. Well, the terrorist thing added to it.
"Sorry," she apologized, begrudgingly.
"I'm not the one to say it to, and I suggest saying it like you actually mean it."
She sighed and mumbled, "You're right. I'm just making it tougher on myself and it won't help me get home any faster." As distaste washed over Sark's face, she added, "What?"
"Nothing," he exhaled exasperatingly. "Just eat something and we`ll go. I have better things to do today than give you etiquette lessons."
Sydney glared indignantly, topping any look Sark or Aleksandra had just given her.
"What?" Sark mimicked her question of seconds earlier.
Ignoring him, she asked the butler for coffee, which she was instantly served along with a meal identical to Sark's.
"Where's my mother?"
"Office. We'll join her later."
"Do you live here?" In the last two days, he had been around her non-stop. She hoped this would not be a trend.
"Full of questions again, I see. Yes and no. I have my own place but stay here more often out of convenience."
A realization hit Sydney. "Where's here?" When Sark gave her a confused look she went on, "Country, city, town, whatever. Where is here?"
His eyebrow rose and he sipped his tea. "St. Petersburg. I'm dumbfounded, really. A spy should have been able to determine where they were by now."
"I've been occupied," Syd said.
"Hasn't it occurred to you that excluding ourselves, every person we've come into contact with since yesterday has had a Russian accent?"
Sydney blushed. It was true and incredibly embarrassing. Everyone, aside from her and the Brit before her, did have Russian accents. Even her mother had been speaking with one, finding no need to disguise her descent or her former loyalties. Syd rubbed her temples, astonished by her utter lack of awareness. It couldn't have been more clear if they were speaking Russian to her. She could excuse her behavior with the trauma of the past days but for people in their line of work, excuses ended in shallowly dug graves. She wondered how noticeable this was to those around her.
"After we're done here--which I hope is soon so stop gaping like a fish please, and eat--I'm having someone come here to look you over. Examine you. Take a few blood tests. Make sure everything is in order."
It didn't take much for Syd to see what he was really saying. "You said you trusted my story! That I was really who I claimed."
"Ah, well you're sharp enough to see that at least. I do trust you, but I need insurance if anything goes wrong. `Her story sounded credible' won`t be enough with Irina, particularly when that story wouldn't be believed by most sensible individuals out there."
His words of trust did not ease her. She didn't know why, but his doubt wounded her. Maybe it was cause he was the only one she had to rely on at the moment. She couldn't blame him though. Sark was doing what she would do herself. His shrewd conduct and attention to all details, were exactly what made him such an admired agent and what would make him, she believed, a good field partner.
~
The tests hadn't been that bad, and Sark had been grateful she submitted to them so easily. The FBI had been far more trouble after Page 47 had shown up and it was determined she was the woman in the prophecy. She was left wondering if that page had even been found in this universe or if it even existed. There was no telling the extent of differences between the two universes so she made it her objective to find out.
After they were finished, she found Sark nearby, casually stretched out on a couch and flipping through some documents. Not acknowledging her presence, she silently loomed over him, causing him and the object of his focus, the documents, to fall into shadow. Now, his blue expressionless eyes finally made their way to her.
"When my father." she paused considering how she would word this, "traded Will with you."
"Yes?"
".what was his form of persuasion?"
Sark swung his legs around to look her straight on. "I believe you know that."
"So my mother knows what I am?"
"Well as far of the prophecy goes, of course. She knew before the page was even reveled."
"And how's that?"
Sark gestured for her to take a seat, which she did. "She's never said. Are you going to tell her today?"
"I don't know."
"You mean you don't want to." His forehead wrinkled with concern. "It will just get harder as time goes on, and it will hurt you both more. She'll find out, Sydney. She always does."
"You're the one that kept my death from her to begin with," Syd laughed, astonished he'd lecture her about something he had done himself.
"I agree. I have my faults. Doesn't make you replicating them any less ill-advised."
"I'll tell her when I'm ready," she pouted.
Sark looked at his gold Rolex, and sighed. "We're going to be late if we discuss this any further."
~
Syd found herself back in the now familiar sight of Irina's office, waiting to be briefed by her mother, who was on the phone. Irina was not the crabby yet loyal Kendall or Sloane, who Sydney constantly plotted against. Sydney now worked for "The Man" and that thought tickled her nausea. She was about to face up to what she had become, a traitor.
At the click of the receiver being put down, Syd's eyes went to her mother, who began to speak.
"There's word that one of Sloane's associates will be meeting at the hotel in Paris with agents of SD-6 about the exchange of intel involving the location of rare and important documents, perhaps, we hope, a Rambaldi manuscript. You'll meet with the individual instead." Irina pushed a photo of a balding middle aged man across her desk. "No need to pose as anything but what you are. The man sells to the highest bidder and has no loyalty to any division. That is not to say you shouldn't take precautions."
Irina's eyes were on Syd and Syd alone, indicating those last words were for her. It was obvious what Irina thought of her versus the man next to her.
"What about the other agents?" Syd questioned, both out of curiosity and to break the tension.
"Try to leave them temporarily indisposed."
"And if that fails?"
"You find a way to leave when permanently indisposed," Sark answered for Irina.
Irina nodded while Syd looked at him with horror and shrieked, "They're innocent. They don't know who they work for."
"All you have to consider is the fact they don't work for me. That should be cause enough."
Sark turned to her and with complete sincerity reasoned, "If they succeed those they work for, and whom you hate, will have the documents. Not us."
Syd squeezed her eyes shut, hating his words. Both for their truth and his unfeeling in saying them. He'd never know what it was like to give oneself to something you believed in nor what it was like to be deceived while doing so.
"Sydney," Irina's voice beckoned, making Syd open her eyes. "If you're questioning your loyalties-"
"I'm not. It's just difficult."
She also would not admit that the idea of once again helping `the enemy," this time without noble cause or in ignorance, distressed her. She knew she'd related to those agents she was supposed to stop, more than the man who was now her partner.
"I know," Irina comforted, as Sloane would in one of his 'fatherly' talks and just like him the end focus was on the mission. "You'll leave tomorrow."
"So soon?"
"I don't believe the contact or the agents will wait 'til you're ready to arrive, so yes. You'll be back in two days, and this will be a good test on how well you and Sark will be as partners."
Sark and Irina stood up. Sydney followed their example comprehending they were through. Irina grabbed her by the shoulder on the way out though and stared at her with cold, hard eyes.
"Never again question my orders. You being my daughter doesn't give you the right. In fact, less so." When Sydney said nothing, Irina continued, "Understand?"
"Yes." She understood but a stubborn part of her resisted. She'd never fully except Irina's bidding. She was only doing this cause she had to.
"Good, I know you'll make me proud."
Yet there was a part of Sydney that wanted that too.
Thanks for reading. I hoped you liked it. If so a review would always be nice, lol. Sometimes I tend to think people on ff.net don't like my writing I admit.