okay theres like 3 chapters here since im having issues uploading i put
them all on one chapter
thanks for reading, i have been gone all summer so this is hte first chance ive had to update
Sydney's head was pounding and she knew her body would go into shock soon if she didn't get out of the cold. The raindrops hit her face like a thousand needles. Her drenched shirt clung to her shivering body. She slowly walked into a clearing in the middle of a wooded area. A small airplane was expertly hidden in the shadows. Yet the airplane appeared abandoned and run down. She stood there contemplating how she could escape. She could go into the woods and hide there until dawn. She knew she only had moments before Sark, who had been keeping his distance ever since the coat conversation, would catch up. Silently, she started to limp towards the woods. A twig snapping caught her attention.
"Ms. Bristow, you're not trying to leave? Perhaps I have not made it perfectly clear that I will use any measure to keep you and the information you have away from the CIA. All extremes Ms. Bristow, do you understand?" Sark asked.
Sydney refused to respond. She stared intently at her now extremely swollen ankle.
"I could be treating you much worse, you know? Handcuffs and all that fun stuff, but I don't think either of us will benefit from you being treated like a common prisoner. I need you to promise."
"Promise what, Sark? To be a good little girl and not run away?" Sydney asked, furiously.
"Promise that you wont leave, now or later. We're both adults, can I trust you?" He asked and ran his hands through his wet hair, shaking his head in utter disbelief that he was even having this conversation.
Can you trust me? Like hell you can, she screamed inside. No just say no, he's not going to trust you, even if you say yes. She looked up, fully intending to say no and put Sark in his place. Just before she spoke Sark looked up and just watched her, studying her expression. He looked so weary and warn out. Well, she could always take it back. "I promise."
"Alright then, the plane is over in the brush. We need to leave immediately," he ordered, then added, "It wont be long before more assassins find our trail."
Following him to the plane, she wondered in awe what it must feel to have every enemy of the united states under the impression that you betrayed them. The cockpit was eerily empty.
"Who's the pilot?"
"I am," he answered, inspecting the outside of the plane for damage.
"You? No seriously, where's the pilot?" she asked.
"I am the pilot," he answered, irritation rising in his voice.
"You are going to fly the plane in this weather? I can barely see to even walk and you think you can fly a plane in it? An experienced pilot maybe, but you?" she asked, the words harsher then she intended.
"Just get in, you don't have a choice."
Sydney reluctantly followed Sark into the small airplane. The interior of the plane consisted of two pilot seats and a cargo area in the back. The small dimensions made her feel defenseless and vulnerable. She never enjoyed flying, even when on commercial airlines. She wasn't like most people who could relax and sleep on a plane. She couldn't even take a nap on a plane. She collapsed exhaustedly in the copilot chair next to sark. The plane roared to life. Sark leaned over, "ready?"
"I guess," she responded, she awkwardly looked around, "Do you have a-"
"pillow?" he asked, noticing her discomfort.
"yeah," she answered surprised he noticed.
"There should be a pillow under the seat. You should really elevate your ankle. It's looking bad."
She reached down and grabbed a small pillow. "Is it going to be a long flight?" she asked hoping to figure out where they were going.
"It is a good while away. Get some sleep,"
She frowned, anticipating the long sleepless night ahead. The plane lurched forward. Ignoring the branches hitting the plane, Sark expertly maneuvered down a makeshift runway. Within moments, they were off the ground. She gripped onto the edge of the armrest so hard her knuckles turned white. Although the plane continued on smoothly, she didn't let go of the armrest.
"I assure you, we wont crash," Sark said, almost smiling.
She couldn't respond even if she wanted to, her throat was too tight from nerves. She looked out the window, trying to calm down, but the rain was hitting the window too hard to see anything. She looked at Sark next to her. In the dim cabin lighting, she watched as he set the plane on auto pilot. His blue eyes reflected the navy sky and cabin lights. They were the color of a storm, but they weren't angry or intimidating. The color of a storm on the beach, she decided, and his hair, although it was still damp, was the color of bleached sand. Shivering she pulled Sark's leather coat around her tighter and curled up in the seat. Still gazing at Sark, she put the pillow on the armrest and awkwardly put her ankle on it. If he noticed she was watching him, he didn't show it.
His coat smelled good, she realized. It smelled liked expensive leather. She hoped it wasn't ruined. It smelled like cologne and it smelled clean. The way someone smells when they first get out of the shower, still wet and lightly smelling of soap. The coat smelled like Sark, yet it smelled comforting at the same time. She let the smell drift around her. She breathed in deep and it filled her lungs. She stopped shivering and started to calm down. She didn't realize she was falling asleep, but Sark did. He turned out the cabin lights so that they were in almost complete darkness. He wasn't worried about being discovered. Years ago he secured this escape route. He watched Syd. Her breath became deep and even as she drifted to sleep. Her eyes no longer studied him, freeing him in from her gaze. Her hair was damp and pieces were stuck around her face and neck. She was curled into a ball, his coat wrapped around her tightly. He almost smiled. She looked so tired and warn out. He felt bad for bringing her into all this but he had no choice, she knew too much already. She was lucky she was still alive. Watching her, he saw the real Sydney. Her façade was gone. She was no longer the confident unstoppable woman she tried so hard to be everyday. Was this the Sydney, Will Tippen saw every night? Or the Sydney, Vaughn saw every day? He doubted that she ever consciously let anyone see the real Sydney. That's why he rarely slept, you gave up too much control. He leaned back and took one last glance at his new prisoner for who knew how long. He sighed.
"Goodnight Sydney," he whispered. He jerked forward with a start. When the hell did he start calling her Sydney out loud? He ran his hands through his hair and wondered if he really knew what he was getting himself into.
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
Sark sighed and rubbed his face groggily. His bloodshot eyes and ashen face were testament of yet another sleepless night. Every night held the promise of peaceful sleep, refuge from his empty and meaningless life, but sanctuary never came. The rare moments of sleep left him exhausted. His dreams were filled with the final screams, tears, and pleas from his victims. He couldn't escape their ghostly faces or the never ending taunting from the one person he couldn't destroy: Sloane. That was then, now Sydney's face alone filled his mind in the night. Her pale face, her dark brown eyes glazed in pain, stalked him. She was always dead in the dreams, and even though he never saw it happen, he knew he was responsible. He was losing control, and it infuriated him. It made him weak if he wasn't in control over his emotions. A week ago, he couldn't have cared less if Sydney died, but now it was haunting him and he couldn't understand why. He was never good at understanding his emotions, it was much easier to toy with other's minds then to understand your own.
He stared out the window, searching for comfort, and watched the glowing red sun rise above the ocean of clouds. The navy sky turned a deep shade of lilac, then rose, and finally a brilliant blue. The warm sunlight drifted into the plane, chasing away the demons of the night. The shadow over his mind lifted slightly. The pure beauty of nature was one of the few things he ever found comfort in.
In the early morning light, Sark inspected his clothes self-consciously. Instead of his usual flawless appearance, his clothes were wrinkled, covered in dirt, and ripped. A 900 dollar outfit, ruined, he thought in disgust. He turned to inspect Sydney. She was covered in mud as well, her thin t-shirt was ripped and her khaki pants were now a shade of dark brown. Her face was a mess. Mascara mixed with tears remained dried in gray lines on her cheeks. Her hair was tangled around her face. She was in the same crumpled position she was in when she fell asleep last night, arms entangled in his coat. Her ankle had completely disappeared and in its place was a puffy grapefruit sized green and blue welt.
Making sure she was asleep, Sark reached under his seat and retrieved his cell phone, hidden from Sydney the night before. It would be a short conversation, he knew but he wasn't looking forward to it. Distracted in his thoughts, he didn't notice her eyes flash open then quickly shut again. Running his hand through his hair, he waited for the call to go through.
"Is the artifact at the destination?" She heard him ask.
"Indeed?" he asked, his voice losing a degree of control. "From who Luke?"
"You sent it with the artifact? Damn it, Luke, it's called a wireless phone for a reason, you can call anyone anywhere, amazing isn't it? Trying using it next time" He slammed down the phone and she heard him dial a new number, muttering about there not being a next time.
"It's time, kill him. Yes it is unfortunate. . . you to, goodbye." Silence filled the plane.
"Who are you playing God with now, Sark?" she questioned, after recovering from the shock that the poor kid who tried so hard to please Sark was going to die, if he wasn't dead already.
"Good morning to you too, Ms. Bristow. You look just lovely." The panic in his voice was smoothly hidden with sarcasm.
"You didn't answer my question," Glaring at him, she sat up and tucked her messy hair behind her ears.
"It doesn't concern you Ms. Bristow. It is neither important or necessary that you know. I'm not going to tell you." he answered for the fun of it, he was sure she knew the answer already, her initial expression gave it away.
"You don't need to."
Sark sat there, studying a map, ignoring her. It mad her even more angry. "Who haven't you killed, Sark?"
"You." he answered matter-of-factly, shifting his gun at his side for emphasis as he put down the map. The smirk melted off her face with the grim reminder of what Sark was. He smiled to himself and examined the controls, turning off autopilot. Slowly the plane descended through the thick cloud layer revealing a rocky coastline below. Turning inland, he maneuvered the plane along the coast, over a small village along the steep cliffs. Waves were breaking in great flashes of white against the cliffs. Sydney watched in awe as the breathtaking countryside flowed by, a ribbon of colors. In all the missions she had been on, all the exotic places she'd been to, nothing compared to the beauty of this land. For a moment, the beauty cleared her heart from all worries. Her dad's well-being, her rescue, Luke's death, and Sark, all of it vanished. Dropping even closer to the ground, she watched as a huge stone castle rose on the horizon. Sark prepared to land, following the coastline, a small road appeared. The runway was old but it served it's purpose. The plane landed with a small thud and stopped. He gathered the few necessary belongings and opened the door. Immediately, cold fresh hair swirled into the plane. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sat up to get out. Pain ran through her, reminding her all too late not to stand on her ankle. Hiding her cry from Sark, she sat back down. Sark stuck his head in.
"Syd-Ms. Bristow, don't worry about walking, there should be a car here soon."
She looked up gratefully, but couldn't thank him. He was standing on the edge of the cliff, staring out at the choppy ocean. In the distance, a bell solemnly rang through the mist. The fog almost hid him from her sight, his image started to blur as her eyes got tired from looking through the fog Rubbing them, she leaned back into the seat. She looked around the cabin, alone for the first time. Thoughts of the CIA and rescue filled her mind. She reached under her seat but found nothing. Awkwardly, she shifted her weight so she could reach under his seat, but still keep her ankle from hurting. Leg sprawled one direction, she reached for the phone. She froze as a cold hand closed around her wrist.
"Ms. Bristow, I can assure you that you will not find what you're looking for," he teased cruelly, holding cell phone in his other hand. Still holding her wrist tightly, he reached in the back of the airplane and grabbed the abandoned hand cuffs. "Give me your hands," he ordered.
"Are you serious, Sark?" She asked, backing against her seat.
He grabbed her hands and forced them in front of her, quickly putting the handcuffs around her wrist. "I told you there was an easy way and a hard way. I personally would have chosen the easy way." He grabbed her and pulled her out of the plane. She stumbled to the ground. The car pulled up beside them and he pushed her in it. She stared angrily out the window at the violent ocean, anxiously waiting the arrival to their final destination. She silently wondered what Luke sent Sark that upset him so much.
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
thanks to my betas kalena henden, auroraskyes37, and Prlrocks, they saved this chapter, i never would have gotten it done with out their help!!
"Mike, it's not your fault. There's nothing else you could have done." Weiss recited the worn out phrase, hoping this time it would sink in. Vaughn shook his head and leaned back into the worn leather seat. A light hanging over the table created a dim yellow haze in the booth. Weiss absentmindedly picked at a plate of cold fries, covered in cheap ketchup and salt. Vaughn swirled his glass, muttering into the drink.
"I should have gone with her Weiss, I shouldn't have let her go alone," he paused. A flickering neon sign in the window cast red shadows around them illuminating Vaughn's unkempt face. Raising his voice, he continued, "Look at Jack, he's barely conscious. What the hell do you think Sark did to Syd?" Weiss looked down, blocking the unwanted visions of a tortured Sydney from his mind.
"I never even told her I loved her."
"She knew," Weiss whispered solemnly to his friend.
"She was everything to me. She was my shred of sanity on the worst of days, and she'll never know because of.... of Alice."
"No man, don't go there again tonight," Weiss grabbed their coats and tossed a wad of crumpled bills on the table. He helped Vaughn up and they left the empty bar together.
Vaughn, Kendall, and Weiss sat in the tiny conference room. For the last 3 days they had been going over the same folders filled with useless leads on Sydney's whereabouts. Vaughn held his head in his hands, fatigue washing over him. The door creaked. Vaughn looked up, expecting another agent coming in to help. He couldn't have been more wrong.
Sydney strolled into the room, wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair was pulled up into a messy bun. Her eyes twinkled with laughter. She playfully grabbed the folders and after skimming over them, laughed, "You guys couldn't have been more off." Smiling, she walked over to Vaughn, "Miss me?"
"Syd!" The short greeting was all he could say, but his smile said it all.
"Vaughn?" she asked, "Vaughn?" He frowned, her voice sounded like Weiss. "Agent Vaughn?" she asked again, now sounding like Kendall.
"Syd?" he asked worried. A sharp pain in his shin caused him to jerk his head out of his hands.
Sydney was gone. Weiss stared at him in shock, not sure whether he should laugh. Finally Kendall spoke. "Agent Vaughn, if you see this meeting as an opportunity for a nap, that's your problem. Could you be so kind as to not talk in your sleep? We really don't want to be a part of your dreams involving Agent Bristow."
"Yes sir," Vaughn answered, blushing. He looked around for a possible escape. "Is it alright if I go get some more coffee?" he asked, grabbing his empty coffee cup.
"Be my guest," Kendall answered, "you more than need it."
Vaughn shut the conference room door and collapsed against the wall. Sitting in that room, going over the same leads countless times, he'd never felt more helpless. Sydney would have broken every rule and been half way around the world looking for him by now, he thought guiltily. She even worked with the enemy to save him. He swallowed, realizing for the first time what he had to do. If the CIA couldn't find her then he would have to find someone who could.
Jack Bristow lay awake in the dark hospital room. The mechanical beeping and endless dripping of the IV would've kept anyone awake. It was all thanks to Sark and his goon that he found no rest. The throbbing pain in his head still remained. As well as the pain from the broken ribs and bruises from the beating he took after Sark and Sydney left. This kept him wide awake, miserable, and most of all, scared.
Vaughn quietly walked in and sat down in the cheap hospital chair next to the bed. Jack's left eye was swollen shut and his right shoulder showing through the hospital gown was covered in a purple welt. Vaughn shifted restlessly, wondering if he should've really been there. Shaking his head, he started to stand up. Jack's cold hand grasped Vaughn's hand and looked up at him with fear in his eyes. Vaughn shuddered. Never had he been more afraid of what Jack was capable of. Jack motioned towards the Styrofoam cup filled with melting ice chips. He reached for it being careful to keep a firm grip on Jack's hand. It frightened him to see Jack so undone and scared. Jack was never scared, he never let anything get to him. Vaughn would never admit it, but he was never truly scared unless Jack was.
After drinking the water, Jack started to speak in a hoarse whisper. "Why are you here? Did they find her?"
"No, the CIA doesn't know anything, that's why I'm here. I need you to help me find her. The CIA isn't getting anywhere." Vaughn hesitated, then continued, "When I was going to die, Syd worked with Sark to save me, and now Sloane is who I need to ally with."
Jack stared at Vaughn, not judging, just waiting for an explanation.
"He's the only person with enough power and lack of ethics to be of any use. Besides, Sark walked out on him as well. It's our last chance." Vaughn ended in a whisper. While convincing Jack, he managed to destroy what little confidence in the plan he had.
"Alright, Vaughn. Say we use Sloane to find Sark and Sydney, how do you plan on convincing him that you can be trusted and that he should even help you in the first place?"
"That's why I'm here." Vaughn answered somberly, knowing this was his final plea.
thanks for reading, i have been gone all summer so this is hte first chance ive had to update
Sydney's head was pounding and she knew her body would go into shock soon if she didn't get out of the cold. The raindrops hit her face like a thousand needles. Her drenched shirt clung to her shivering body. She slowly walked into a clearing in the middle of a wooded area. A small airplane was expertly hidden in the shadows. Yet the airplane appeared abandoned and run down. She stood there contemplating how she could escape. She could go into the woods and hide there until dawn. She knew she only had moments before Sark, who had been keeping his distance ever since the coat conversation, would catch up. Silently, she started to limp towards the woods. A twig snapping caught her attention.
"Ms. Bristow, you're not trying to leave? Perhaps I have not made it perfectly clear that I will use any measure to keep you and the information you have away from the CIA. All extremes Ms. Bristow, do you understand?" Sark asked.
Sydney refused to respond. She stared intently at her now extremely swollen ankle.
"I could be treating you much worse, you know? Handcuffs and all that fun stuff, but I don't think either of us will benefit from you being treated like a common prisoner. I need you to promise."
"Promise what, Sark? To be a good little girl and not run away?" Sydney asked, furiously.
"Promise that you wont leave, now or later. We're both adults, can I trust you?" He asked and ran his hands through his wet hair, shaking his head in utter disbelief that he was even having this conversation.
Can you trust me? Like hell you can, she screamed inside. No just say no, he's not going to trust you, even if you say yes. She looked up, fully intending to say no and put Sark in his place. Just before she spoke Sark looked up and just watched her, studying her expression. He looked so weary and warn out. Well, she could always take it back. "I promise."
"Alright then, the plane is over in the brush. We need to leave immediately," he ordered, then added, "It wont be long before more assassins find our trail."
Following him to the plane, she wondered in awe what it must feel to have every enemy of the united states under the impression that you betrayed them. The cockpit was eerily empty.
"Who's the pilot?"
"I am," he answered, inspecting the outside of the plane for damage.
"You? No seriously, where's the pilot?" she asked.
"I am the pilot," he answered, irritation rising in his voice.
"You are going to fly the plane in this weather? I can barely see to even walk and you think you can fly a plane in it? An experienced pilot maybe, but you?" she asked, the words harsher then she intended.
"Just get in, you don't have a choice."
Sydney reluctantly followed Sark into the small airplane. The interior of the plane consisted of two pilot seats and a cargo area in the back. The small dimensions made her feel defenseless and vulnerable. She never enjoyed flying, even when on commercial airlines. She wasn't like most people who could relax and sleep on a plane. She couldn't even take a nap on a plane. She collapsed exhaustedly in the copilot chair next to sark. The plane roared to life. Sark leaned over, "ready?"
"I guess," she responded, she awkwardly looked around, "Do you have a-"
"pillow?" he asked, noticing her discomfort.
"yeah," she answered surprised he noticed.
"There should be a pillow under the seat. You should really elevate your ankle. It's looking bad."
She reached down and grabbed a small pillow. "Is it going to be a long flight?" she asked hoping to figure out where they were going.
"It is a good while away. Get some sleep,"
She frowned, anticipating the long sleepless night ahead. The plane lurched forward. Ignoring the branches hitting the plane, Sark expertly maneuvered down a makeshift runway. Within moments, they were off the ground. She gripped onto the edge of the armrest so hard her knuckles turned white. Although the plane continued on smoothly, she didn't let go of the armrest.
"I assure you, we wont crash," Sark said, almost smiling.
She couldn't respond even if she wanted to, her throat was too tight from nerves. She looked out the window, trying to calm down, but the rain was hitting the window too hard to see anything. She looked at Sark next to her. In the dim cabin lighting, she watched as he set the plane on auto pilot. His blue eyes reflected the navy sky and cabin lights. They were the color of a storm, but they weren't angry or intimidating. The color of a storm on the beach, she decided, and his hair, although it was still damp, was the color of bleached sand. Shivering she pulled Sark's leather coat around her tighter and curled up in the seat. Still gazing at Sark, she put the pillow on the armrest and awkwardly put her ankle on it. If he noticed she was watching him, he didn't show it.
His coat smelled good, she realized. It smelled liked expensive leather. She hoped it wasn't ruined. It smelled like cologne and it smelled clean. The way someone smells when they first get out of the shower, still wet and lightly smelling of soap. The coat smelled like Sark, yet it smelled comforting at the same time. She let the smell drift around her. She breathed in deep and it filled her lungs. She stopped shivering and started to calm down. She didn't realize she was falling asleep, but Sark did. He turned out the cabin lights so that they were in almost complete darkness. He wasn't worried about being discovered. Years ago he secured this escape route. He watched Syd. Her breath became deep and even as she drifted to sleep. Her eyes no longer studied him, freeing him in from her gaze. Her hair was damp and pieces were stuck around her face and neck. She was curled into a ball, his coat wrapped around her tightly. He almost smiled. She looked so tired and warn out. He felt bad for bringing her into all this but he had no choice, she knew too much already. She was lucky she was still alive. Watching her, he saw the real Sydney. Her façade was gone. She was no longer the confident unstoppable woman she tried so hard to be everyday. Was this the Sydney, Will Tippen saw every night? Or the Sydney, Vaughn saw every day? He doubted that she ever consciously let anyone see the real Sydney. That's why he rarely slept, you gave up too much control. He leaned back and took one last glance at his new prisoner for who knew how long. He sighed.
"Goodnight Sydney," he whispered. He jerked forward with a start. When the hell did he start calling her Sydney out loud? He ran his hands through his hair and wondered if he really knew what he was getting himself into.
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
Sark sighed and rubbed his face groggily. His bloodshot eyes and ashen face were testament of yet another sleepless night. Every night held the promise of peaceful sleep, refuge from his empty and meaningless life, but sanctuary never came. The rare moments of sleep left him exhausted. His dreams were filled with the final screams, tears, and pleas from his victims. He couldn't escape their ghostly faces or the never ending taunting from the one person he couldn't destroy: Sloane. That was then, now Sydney's face alone filled his mind in the night. Her pale face, her dark brown eyes glazed in pain, stalked him. She was always dead in the dreams, and even though he never saw it happen, he knew he was responsible. He was losing control, and it infuriated him. It made him weak if he wasn't in control over his emotions. A week ago, he couldn't have cared less if Sydney died, but now it was haunting him and he couldn't understand why. He was never good at understanding his emotions, it was much easier to toy with other's minds then to understand your own.
He stared out the window, searching for comfort, and watched the glowing red sun rise above the ocean of clouds. The navy sky turned a deep shade of lilac, then rose, and finally a brilliant blue. The warm sunlight drifted into the plane, chasing away the demons of the night. The shadow over his mind lifted slightly. The pure beauty of nature was one of the few things he ever found comfort in.
In the early morning light, Sark inspected his clothes self-consciously. Instead of his usual flawless appearance, his clothes were wrinkled, covered in dirt, and ripped. A 900 dollar outfit, ruined, he thought in disgust. He turned to inspect Sydney. She was covered in mud as well, her thin t-shirt was ripped and her khaki pants were now a shade of dark brown. Her face was a mess. Mascara mixed with tears remained dried in gray lines on her cheeks. Her hair was tangled around her face. She was in the same crumpled position she was in when she fell asleep last night, arms entangled in his coat. Her ankle had completely disappeared and in its place was a puffy grapefruit sized green and blue welt.
Making sure she was asleep, Sark reached under his seat and retrieved his cell phone, hidden from Sydney the night before. It would be a short conversation, he knew but he wasn't looking forward to it. Distracted in his thoughts, he didn't notice her eyes flash open then quickly shut again. Running his hand through his hair, he waited for the call to go through.
"Is the artifact at the destination?" She heard him ask.
"Indeed?" he asked, his voice losing a degree of control. "From who Luke?"
"You sent it with the artifact? Damn it, Luke, it's called a wireless phone for a reason, you can call anyone anywhere, amazing isn't it? Trying using it next time" He slammed down the phone and she heard him dial a new number, muttering about there not being a next time.
"It's time, kill him. Yes it is unfortunate. . . you to, goodbye." Silence filled the plane.
"Who are you playing God with now, Sark?" she questioned, after recovering from the shock that the poor kid who tried so hard to please Sark was going to die, if he wasn't dead already.
"Good morning to you too, Ms. Bristow. You look just lovely." The panic in his voice was smoothly hidden with sarcasm.
"You didn't answer my question," Glaring at him, she sat up and tucked her messy hair behind her ears.
"It doesn't concern you Ms. Bristow. It is neither important or necessary that you know. I'm not going to tell you." he answered for the fun of it, he was sure she knew the answer already, her initial expression gave it away.
"You don't need to."
Sark sat there, studying a map, ignoring her. It mad her even more angry. "Who haven't you killed, Sark?"
"You." he answered matter-of-factly, shifting his gun at his side for emphasis as he put down the map. The smirk melted off her face with the grim reminder of what Sark was. He smiled to himself and examined the controls, turning off autopilot. Slowly the plane descended through the thick cloud layer revealing a rocky coastline below. Turning inland, he maneuvered the plane along the coast, over a small village along the steep cliffs. Waves were breaking in great flashes of white against the cliffs. Sydney watched in awe as the breathtaking countryside flowed by, a ribbon of colors. In all the missions she had been on, all the exotic places she'd been to, nothing compared to the beauty of this land. For a moment, the beauty cleared her heart from all worries. Her dad's well-being, her rescue, Luke's death, and Sark, all of it vanished. Dropping even closer to the ground, she watched as a huge stone castle rose on the horizon. Sark prepared to land, following the coastline, a small road appeared. The runway was old but it served it's purpose. The plane landed with a small thud and stopped. He gathered the few necessary belongings and opened the door. Immediately, cold fresh hair swirled into the plane. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sat up to get out. Pain ran through her, reminding her all too late not to stand on her ankle. Hiding her cry from Sark, she sat back down. Sark stuck his head in.
"Syd-Ms. Bristow, don't worry about walking, there should be a car here soon."
She looked up gratefully, but couldn't thank him. He was standing on the edge of the cliff, staring out at the choppy ocean. In the distance, a bell solemnly rang through the mist. The fog almost hid him from her sight, his image started to blur as her eyes got tired from looking through the fog Rubbing them, she leaned back into the seat. She looked around the cabin, alone for the first time. Thoughts of the CIA and rescue filled her mind. She reached under her seat but found nothing. Awkwardly, she shifted her weight so she could reach under his seat, but still keep her ankle from hurting. Leg sprawled one direction, she reached for the phone. She froze as a cold hand closed around her wrist.
"Ms. Bristow, I can assure you that you will not find what you're looking for," he teased cruelly, holding cell phone in his other hand. Still holding her wrist tightly, he reached in the back of the airplane and grabbed the abandoned hand cuffs. "Give me your hands," he ordered.
"Are you serious, Sark?" She asked, backing against her seat.
He grabbed her hands and forced them in front of her, quickly putting the handcuffs around her wrist. "I told you there was an easy way and a hard way. I personally would have chosen the easy way." He grabbed her and pulled her out of the plane. She stumbled to the ground. The car pulled up beside them and he pushed her in it. She stared angrily out the window at the violent ocean, anxiously waiting the arrival to their final destination. She silently wondered what Luke sent Sark that upset him so much.
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
thanks to my betas kalena henden, auroraskyes37, and Prlrocks, they saved this chapter, i never would have gotten it done with out their help!!
"Mike, it's not your fault. There's nothing else you could have done." Weiss recited the worn out phrase, hoping this time it would sink in. Vaughn shook his head and leaned back into the worn leather seat. A light hanging over the table created a dim yellow haze in the booth. Weiss absentmindedly picked at a plate of cold fries, covered in cheap ketchup and salt. Vaughn swirled his glass, muttering into the drink.
"I should have gone with her Weiss, I shouldn't have let her go alone," he paused. A flickering neon sign in the window cast red shadows around them illuminating Vaughn's unkempt face. Raising his voice, he continued, "Look at Jack, he's barely conscious. What the hell do you think Sark did to Syd?" Weiss looked down, blocking the unwanted visions of a tortured Sydney from his mind.
"I never even told her I loved her."
"She knew," Weiss whispered solemnly to his friend.
"She was everything to me. She was my shred of sanity on the worst of days, and she'll never know because of.... of Alice."
"No man, don't go there again tonight," Weiss grabbed their coats and tossed a wad of crumpled bills on the table. He helped Vaughn up and they left the empty bar together.
Vaughn, Kendall, and Weiss sat in the tiny conference room. For the last 3 days they had been going over the same folders filled with useless leads on Sydney's whereabouts. Vaughn held his head in his hands, fatigue washing over him. The door creaked. Vaughn looked up, expecting another agent coming in to help. He couldn't have been more wrong.
Sydney strolled into the room, wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair was pulled up into a messy bun. Her eyes twinkled with laughter. She playfully grabbed the folders and after skimming over them, laughed, "You guys couldn't have been more off." Smiling, she walked over to Vaughn, "Miss me?"
"Syd!" The short greeting was all he could say, but his smile said it all.
"Vaughn?" she asked, "Vaughn?" He frowned, her voice sounded like Weiss. "Agent Vaughn?" she asked again, now sounding like Kendall.
"Syd?" he asked worried. A sharp pain in his shin caused him to jerk his head out of his hands.
Sydney was gone. Weiss stared at him in shock, not sure whether he should laugh. Finally Kendall spoke. "Agent Vaughn, if you see this meeting as an opportunity for a nap, that's your problem. Could you be so kind as to not talk in your sleep? We really don't want to be a part of your dreams involving Agent Bristow."
"Yes sir," Vaughn answered, blushing. He looked around for a possible escape. "Is it alright if I go get some more coffee?" he asked, grabbing his empty coffee cup.
"Be my guest," Kendall answered, "you more than need it."
Vaughn shut the conference room door and collapsed against the wall. Sitting in that room, going over the same leads countless times, he'd never felt more helpless. Sydney would have broken every rule and been half way around the world looking for him by now, he thought guiltily. She even worked with the enemy to save him. He swallowed, realizing for the first time what he had to do. If the CIA couldn't find her then he would have to find someone who could.
Jack Bristow lay awake in the dark hospital room. The mechanical beeping and endless dripping of the IV would've kept anyone awake. It was all thanks to Sark and his goon that he found no rest. The throbbing pain in his head still remained. As well as the pain from the broken ribs and bruises from the beating he took after Sark and Sydney left. This kept him wide awake, miserable, and most of all, scared.
Vaughn quietly walked in and sat down in the cheap hospital chair next to the bed. Jack's left eye was swollen shut and his right shoulder showing through the hospital gown was covered in a purple welt. Vaughn shifted restlessly, wondering if he should've really been there. Shaking his head, he started to stand up. Jack's cold hand grasped Vaughn's hand and looked up at him with fear in his eyes. Vaughn shuddered. Never had he been more afraid of what Jack was capable of. Jack motioned towards the Styrofoam cup filled with melting ice chips. He reached for it being careful to keep a firm grip on Jack's hand. It frightened him to see Jack so undone and scared. Jack was never scared, he never let anything get to him. Vaughn would never admit it, but he was never truly scared unless Jack was.
After drinking the water, Jack started to speak in a hoarse whisper. "Why are you here? Did they find her?"
"No, the CIA doesn't know anything, that's why I'm here. I need you to help me find her. The CIA isn't getting anywhere." Vaughn hesitated, then continued, "When I was going to die, Syd worked with Sark to save me, and now Sloane is who I need to ally with."
Jack stared at Vaughn, not judging, just waiting for an explanation.
"He's the only person with enough power and lack of ethics to be of any use. Besides, Sark walked out on him as well. It's our last chance." Vaughn ended in a whisper. While convincing Jack, he managed to destroy what little confidence in the plan he had.
"Alright, Vaughn. Say we use Sloane to find Sark and Sydney, how do you plan on convincing him that you can be trusted and that he should even help you in the first place?"
"That's why I'm here." Vaughn answered somberly, knowing this was his final plea.