Title: No White Flag

Disclaimer: As if I was cool enough to have thought up "Alias!" I wish!

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Sydney/Sark

Author's Note:  This chapter, "Shattered," borrows from the Cranberries song on the Bury the Hatchet CD. Like I said in the first chapter, I'm not generally a songfic fan, but I think my experiment of incorporating lyrics into a chapter is working so far, so I'll keep it going for now. At least songs can be inspiring on where to move plot-wise.

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Sydney was surprised, yet not surprised that Sark had found her. He seemed to be better at finding her than the CIA was at keeping him in custody. Either way, Sydney wasn't fond of him and his lies, even if she did occasionally envy his skills. And his being here now risked blowing her cover with Simon, putting her in mortal danger (again).

After a pause where both thought about their precarious situation, Sark smiled. Well, actually it was closer to a self-satisfied smirk.

Damn, she thought. That always does shatter me when he does that. She quickly stopped herself, wondering what she was thinking. Maybe she had somehow missed their spats. She looked at him again.

Maybe not.

"It seems that now you are getting some idea of where you've been for the last two years," he said, walking over to the couch.

He sat down on one side, just slightly too close for comfort to Sydney. It was uncanny how he knew the exact millimeter that would overstep the boundary into her personal space to make her uncomfortable, she thought. Typical of him too.

"What's it to you?" she snarled.

Sydney wasn't in the mood for his longwinded games. Especially when Simon could walk in soon and Sark could blow her cover. Of course, she thought, maybe she didn't even care anymore. Everything that had once seemed so important to her now seemed so trivial after her relationship with Vaughn had ended. There wasn't much left to live for anyway, so why put in so much effort? She was beginning to tire of all the games. And she had a feeling that Sark wasn't going to make things better.

"Personally, I have no interest in your whereabouts," he said, with his usual condescension. "Sorry to disappoint you, but your illicit affair with that commoner Simon doesn't bother me in the slightest. Professionally, however, it seems our paths have crossed once again."

"So it seems," she said.

"Anyway, enough time for pleasantries," he said.

She wondered where the pleasantries had gone. She certainly hadn't seen any.

After a slight pause, Sark continued.

"As you might have guessed, I have found a new employer," he said. "Funny, how my services always seem to be indispensable." Again with the smirk.

She glared.

"Anyhow, the Covenant has placed me in charge of handling Simon's little operation, the very one you seem to be so involved with, 'Julia.' Personally and professionally, I might add."

The cocky bastard, always rubbing it in, she thought.

"Don't worry. I won't be standing in your way. My employer wishes for the operation to succeed, and you have clearly demonstrated your skills," he said. "Quite handy with a knife, I hear."

Another glare. So he knew about Vaughn too.

"I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of 'Julia's' wrath myself. But she has been most helpful in acquiring the serum the Covenant needs to develop its airborne Ebola strain."

Sydney felt guilty. Since she had placed the tracking beacon on Vaughn, now the entire world was at risk of dying from a disease with a 90 percent mortality rate. Great, she thought. Perhaps Vaughn hadn't been worth the trouble.

Sark leaned back into the couch, finding his position rather comfortable. Yes, he thought, he always did like having the upper hand. Especially when it came to Agent Bristow.

"Why are you even here telling me this, Sark? I already knew that, so I'm sure it isn't worthwhile to waste your time with me," she said.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Well, of course, there is a purpose to my little visit. You see, my employer doesn't quite trust Simon, And, if he double-crosses the organization, I could be in a bit of trouble, as his handler. It seems my employer doesn't quite trust me either."

Well that's a shock, she thought, thinking of just how many past employers Sark must have had.

"So I need you to do a little intelligence-gathering for me on the side," he said. "In exchange, I'll let you live. We'll decide just how comfortably later on."

Sydney looked at his pocket, glimpsing his Beretta. She was unarmed. She didn't think Sark would actually kill her – both had had the opportunity before, but neither had taken it. But if the Covenant had made her capable of killing Lazarey and sleeping with Simon, she didn't doubt the organization's ability to push Sark over the edge. Plus, the idea of pissing off the NSC hardly upset her.

"Fine," she said. "What do I need to do?"

Sark leaned forward.

"Stay close to Simon. Very close."

He softly combed his finger down her long curls, letting a single strand rest on her cheek.

She shuddered, repulsed, but comforted in knowing the encounter had already climaxed.

"I'll be in touch," he said, his blue eyes focused laser-like on her own, before walking away.

He turned out the light, leaving her behind in the dark with her thoughts.