7. "I propose a toast to my self control, you see it crawling helpless on the floor. Someday there'll be a cure for pain; that's the day I throw my drugs away."
"I didn't see the doctor," Sydney says.
"Excuse me?" He closes the door behind him as he enters.
"Dr. Miratomi. The reason I'm here, sort of. Where is he?"
"Don't know," he shrugs. "She's probably finished with him now." She's probably picking bits of his flesh out from between her teeth, he doesn't add.
"Is he still alive?"
"He might be. What's your interest?"
"Just curious." She stretches out on the bed, eyeing him as he keeps his distance, lingering by the door. "I'd be interested in finding out the rest of his story, you know? The part his files don't say, like why he disappeared all those years ago, why she wanted him."
He doesn't respond; it's not a subject he finds particularly compelling.
"You're here to make sure I don't try to escape." She smiles, and for a second he almost wishes her assessment wasn't accurate.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I'm the wrong person to ask."
"Of course. I forgot." Another smile. "For a second there, Sark, I almost thought you had a mind of your own."
He doesn't bother to respond; irritation rises once more, but he's not so blinded by it that he forgets the potential consequences of mouthing off to the boss's daughter.
"Where does she think I'm going to go, I wonder? And why is it so important that I stay?" She's fishing, and it amuses him, only increasing his commitment to keeping her in the dark.
In lieu of responding, he crosses the room and opens the window. "How can you stand it in here like that?" he mutters, leaning outside, looking down.
And suddenly she's standing right behind him, asking one more question: "If the doctor were still alive, where would she be keeping him?"
"I'm not going to tell you where your father is," he says without turning around.
Now her hand is on his shoulder as she draws even closer, whispering, "I know."
If he is confused when he faces her, the feeling isn't diminished as she kisses him hard, until he almost can't breathe. He does not resist, but he doesn't push it, either, keeping his hands still; he pretends that they are still on the airplane, with her sleeping father a few feet away. Considering the implications of the truth--that no one's watching, save for perhaps a half-asleep security guard, and where she's concerned he would have much more creative freedom than he's had in a while with a woman--would be entirely too dangerous.
"I know you're not going to tell me," she continues, after he finally pulls back.
He moves in once more, but she stops him, puts a finger to his lips, and says:
"I want you to show me."
"You're insane," he laughs, as if this is an epiphany. It is her turn to step away.
"Wouldn't you like to be free?"
She is surprised by the vehemence of his response. "What?"
"Of her. Of this. Wouldn't you like a chance to just start over?"
His eyes widen in sudden recognition. "What's going to happen, Sydney?"
She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. That's the point."
"What has time done to you?" he asks.
"Not 'time,'" she corrects. "Derevko. And you should know as well as anyone. Hasn't she done it to you enough times by now?"
He swallows what he could have said, and tries again: "She's tried to protect you."
"She took away everything I had, in the name of some ridiculous Rambaldi prophecy. My father, Will, Francie, Vaughn-"
What happened to Francie, Sydney? he wants to ask, force her to confess. Instead he moves to a slightly safer subject: "What happened to Agent Vaughn?"
"Nothing. He's fine."
"I don't understand."
"He thought I was dead, so to soothe his grief, he reunited with his former girlfriend. A civilian." She shakes her head. "She'll never know the truth. She'll be safe. I guess that's why."
"You can't blame her for--"
"Yes, I can," she interrupts, keeping her voice low. "I can blame a lot of things on that woman, and my boyfriend deserting me is probably the least of them."
"Tell me what's going to happen."
She takes a deep breath and regards him curiously, like she's trying to figure out whether she's successfully convinced him or not. Maybe this final confession will finish him off. "My father would only come back on one condition," she begins.
"For Christ's sake, she brought him here to help him." He starts to leave, but she grabs his arm.
"Stay," she almost pleads. "I never believed it before, but you came to Spain just to protect me. Based on her reaction, it's safe to assume she had no idea." She pauses. "I never believed it before, but I think you really are more than this. Or you could be. Don't you want to find out?"
He stares at her for a long time before responding.
"No. I can't. I'm not. I'm sorry."
****
He doesn't bother to secure her in her guest room before going down to ensure that Jack is still in place. She would appreciate this gesture if she could be convinced that it was motivated by anything but carelessness. She wants to ask why it matters, why he's reacting this way, when it finally makes sense in her head: Derevko is to Sark as Jack is to her, even more so now.
Therefore, she supposes she can't blame him for trying.
She follows him down to her father's holding cell, and if he notices that she's on his trail, he doesn't say anything or even turn around.
"Shit," he breathes.
Neither of them expected this.
A technician lies dead in the outer doorway. Advancing further into the room reveals that inside the cell, a syringe--presumably once filled by the formula Miratomi provided--is now broken and bleeding on the floor.
Her father has Derevko in a defenseless position on the cot she'd provided him for rest. Pinned beneath him, she doesn't notice that Sark and Sydney have entered the outer room, but Jack does.
"You were supposed to distract him," Jack growls, glaring at them through the glass.
"I--I couldn't--"
"Get him out of here!"
"I'm not going anywhere," Sark says, and she imagines it will only be a matter of time before they're trading hostages.
"How did he know?" Jack asks suddenly, turning his gaze on Sydney again.
Derevko takes the opportunity to free herself by force (and Sydney will blame herself for this later), leaving him alone on the floor. She's without a weapon, though, probably not by choice.
Sydney scans the cell for signs of one that was involuntarily discarded, but is interrupted by her father, issuing his final command:
"Take him with you and get out of here, Sydney," he says, calmer this time, facing down Derevko from opposite sides of the cell now. "This will all be over soon enough."
She looks at Sark, who is frozen in position; if he interferes, it could set her father off, and if he doesn't--well, he will. That much is clear.
Her own brain feels as though someone has poured molasses into its gears. She can't form the words to make this stop--because it must end with words, not with actions, if only due to her inability to choose a side. She can vaguely discern two relevant options: to either put an end to this by convincing her father to stop now, or to try once again to persuade Sark to follow her out and let it happen. Before she's able to make a decision, Sark does. He grabs her roughly by the shoulders and shoves her outside, but can't close the door due to the body that's in his way.
She does not follow him back inside.
Everything will be okay, she repeats. Everything will be okay.
Every other word she's ever known seems to have deserted her as the blood begins to pound so hard in her ears that she can't hear anything else, and maybe that's for the best.
****
Sark can tell she knows by looking at him how to conclude the story when she tells it later.
He wants to say: I didn't want it to end this way. All he can offer instead is, "I'm sorry."
"Why?"
He looks confused.
Her eyes become steadily brighter as she asks, "Why couldn't you have just agreed to come with me when I asked you?"
A pause while she waits, but he's at a loss for an answer that won't gut her. He says, "Look, I know you don't understand--"
"Why did you have to stay?"
"Little by little, Sloane made your father forget anything like love he ever felt for you. He would have used your father to get to you, and that man in there would have been a willing accomplice at this point." He hesitates. "Believe me, Sydney." Please?
She ignores him and asks again: "Why did you stay?"
He swallows hard, closes his eyes, tries to explain softly. "Time and time again, that woman has saved my life."
She stares him down coldly, like none of what has happened between them ever mattered to her.
"And now you've taken what was left of mine."
With that, she's gone, up the stairs, out the door. He makes no effort to follow her.
What else is there to say?
"I didn't see the doctor," Sydney says.
"Excuse me?" He closes the door behind him as he enters.
"Dr. Miratomi. The reason I'm here, sort of. Where is he?"
"Don't know," he shrugs. "She's probably finished with him now." She's probably picking bits of his flesh out from between her teeth, he doesn't add.
"Is he still alive?"
"He might be. What's your interest?"
"Just curious." She stretches out on the bed, eyeing him as he keeps his distance, lingering by the door. "I'd be interested in finding out the rest of his story, you know? The part his files don't say, like why he disappeared all those years ago, why she wanted him."
He doesn't respond; it's not a subject he finds particularly compelling.
"You're here to make sure I don't try to escape." She smiles, and for a second he almost wishes her assessment wasn't accurate.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I'm the wrong person to ask."
"Of course. I forgot." Another smile. "For a second there, Sark, I almost thought you had a mind of your own."
He doesn't bother to respond; irritation rises once more, but he's not so blinded by it that he forgets the potential consequences of mouthing off to the boss's daughter.
"Where does she think I'm going to go, I wonder? And why is it so important that I stay?" She's fishing, and it amuses him, only increasing his commitment to keeping her in the dark.
In lieu of responding, he crosses the room and opens the window. "How can you stand it in here like that?" he mutters, leaning outside, looking down.
And suddenly she's standing right behind him, asking one more question: "If the doctor were still alive, where would she be keeping him?"
"I'm not going to tell you where your father is," he says without turning around.
Now her hand is on his shoulder as she draws even closer, whispering, "I know."
If he is confused when he faces her, the feeling isn't diminished as she kisses him hard, until he almost can't breathe. He does not resist, but he doesn't push it, either, keeping his hands still; he pretends that they are still on the airplane, with her sleeping father a few feet away. Considering the implications of the truth--that no one's watching, save for perhaps a half-asleep security guard, and where she's concerned he would have much more creative freedom than he's had in a while with a woman--would be entirely too dangerous.
"I know you're not going to tell me," she continues, after he finally pulls back.
He moves in once more, but she stops him, puts a finger to his lips, and says:
"I want you to show me."
"You're insane," he laughs, as if this is an epiphany. It is her turn to step away.
"Wouldn't you like to be free?"
She is surprised by the vehemence of his response. "What?"
"Of her. Of this. Wouldn't you like a chance to just start over?"
His eyes widen in sudden recognition. "What's going to happen, Sydney?"
She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter. That's the point."
"What has time done to you?" he asks.
"Not 'time,'" she corrects. "Derevko. And you should know as well as anyone. Hasn't she done it to you enough times by now?"
He swallows what he could have said, and tries again: "She's tried to protect you."
"She took away everything I had, in the name of some ridiculous Rambaldi prophecy. My father, Will, Francie, Vaughn-"
What happened to Francie, Sydney? he wants to ask, force her to confess. Instead he moves to a slightly safer subject: "What happened to Agent Vaughn?"
"Nothing. He's fine."
"I don't understand."
"He thought I was dead, so to soothe his grief, he reunited with his former girlfriend. A civilian." She shakes her head. "She'll never know the truth. She'll be safe. I guess that's why."
"You can't blame her for--"
"Yes, I can," she interrupts, keeping her voice low. "I can blame a lot of things on that woman, and my boyfriend deserting me is probably the least of them."
"Tell me what's going to happen."
She takes a deep breath and regards him curiously, like she's trying to figure out whether she's successfully convinced him or not. Maybe this final confession will finish him off. "My father would only come back on one condition," she begins.
"For Christ's sake, she brought him here to help him." He starts to leave, but she grabs his arm.
"Stay," she almost pleads. "I never believed it before, but you came to Spain just to protect me. Based on her reaction, it's safe to assume she had no idea." She pauses. "I never believed it before, but I think you really are more than this. Or you could be. Don't you want to find out?"
He stares at her for a long time before responding.
"No. I can't. I'm not. I'm sorry."
****
He doesn't bother to secure her in her guest room before going down to ensure that Jack is still in place. She would appreciate this gesture if she could be convinced that it was motivated by anything but carelessness. She wants to ask why it matters, why he's reacting this way, when it finally makes sense in her head: Derevko is to Sark as Jack is to her, even more so now.
Therefore, she supposes she can't blame him for trying.
She follows him down to her father's holding cell, and if he notices that she's on his trail, he doesn't say anything or even turn around.
"Shit," he breathes.
Neither of them expected this.
A technician lies dead in the outer doorway. Advancing further into the room reveals that inside the cell, a syringe--presumably once filled by the formula Miratomi provided--is now broken and bleeding on the floor.
Her father has Derevko in a defenseless position on the cot she'd provided him for rest. Pinned beneath him, she doesn't notice that Sark and Sydney have entered the outer room, but Jack does.
"You were supposed to distract him," Jack growls, glaring at them through the glass.
"I--I couldn't--"
"Get him out of here!"
"I'm not going anywhere," Sark says, and she imagines it will only be a matter of time before they're trading hostages.
"How did he know?" Jack asks suddenly, turning his gaze on Sydney again.
Derevko takes the opportunity to free herself by force (and Sydney will blame herself for this later), leaving him alone on the floor. She's without a weapon, though, probably not by choice.
Sydney scans the cell for signs of one that was involuntarily discarded, but is interrupted by her father, issuing his final command:
"Take him with you and get out of here, Sydney," he says, calmer this time, facing down Derevko from opposite sides of the cell now. "This will all be over soon enough."
She looks at Sark, who is frozen in position; if he interferes, it could set her father off, and if he doesn't--well, he will. That much is clear.
Her own brain feels as though someone has poured molasses into its gears. She can't form the words to make this stop--because it must end with words, not with actions, if only due to her inability to choose a side. She can vaguely discern two relevant options: to either put an end to this by convincing her father to stop now, or to try once again to persuade Sark to follow her out and let it happen. Before she's able to make a decision, Sark does. He grabs her roughly by the shoulders and shoves her outside, but can't close the door due to the body that's in his way.
She does not follow him back inside.
Everything will be okay, she repeats. Everything will be okay.
Every other word she's ever known seems to have deserted her as the blood begins to pound so hard in her ears that she can't hear anything else, and maybe that's for the best.
****
Sark can tell she knows by looking at him how to conclude the story when she tells it later.
He wants to say: I didn't want it to end this way. All he can offer instead is, "I'm sorry."
"Why?"
He looks confused.
Her eyes become steadily brighter as she asks, "Why couldn't you have just agreed to come with me when I asked you?"
A pause while she waits, but he's at a loss for an answer that won't gut her. He says, "Look, I know you don't understand--"
"Why did you have to stay?"
"Little by little, Sloane made your father forget anything like love he ever felt for you. He would have used your father to get to you, and that man in there would have been a willing accomplice at this point." He hesitates. "Believe me, Sydney." Please?
She ignores him and asks again: "Why did you stay?"
He swallows hard, closes his eyes, tries to explain softly. "Time and time again, that woman has saved my life."
She stares him down coldly, like none of what has happened between them ever mattered to her.
"And now you've taken what was left of mine."
With that, she's gone, up the stairs, out the door. He makes no effort to follow her.
What else is there to say?