Chapter Three
Sydney wakes, struggling to sit up straight. As soon as she opens her eyes and props herself up, a sharp pain shoots to her head. "Augh," she moans, squinting in the bright sunlight streaming into the hotel room. She rubs her forehead as the fog lifts and she recalls last night's events in her mind. She sighs, glancing around the room. She notices Sark sleeping soundly on the couch. Hopping out of bed and stumbling across the room, she glances at Sark's sleeping figure along the way to the bathroom. His lips are slightly parted and his chest rises and falls evenly. Sydney is amazed at how peaceful and innocent he appears. Before her thoughts can dwell anymore on Sark, she starts to feel ill. she bends over the toilet and pukes up last night's dinner. After her stomach has been emptied, she feels slightly better.
Flushing the toilet, she hears the words, "Hangover's a bitch, isn't it?" Sark stands in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning on the frame, smirking. His hair is tousled and he looks slightly sleepy.
"Shut up," Sydney mutters, turning on the faucet and splashing her face with cold water. She circles around to face Sark, "Why are you still here?" Her tone is curious, as if she couldn't fathom why Sark would want to stay with her.
He shrugs, unsure of the answer himself. "I fell asleep. Do you want me to leave?"
She brushes past him, moving back into the bedroom. "I was just curious. Thanks… for last night. I didn't think so at the time, but I really was drunk. I guess… you saved me from making a fool out of myself."
"Not just that…" Sark lets his unsaid words hang in the air.
"I know, I know, the guy practically tried to rape me. Don't have to gloat about it. I haven't seen you in two years and you haven't changed at all, you know."
He smirks, "Was I supposed to?"
"You're still giving me a hard time about everything. How long are you going to remind me that I got extremely drunk?" Sydney folds her arms and looks at him pointedly.
He chuckles, knowing she is right. "On the contrary, I believe I've changed for the better. You too have changed, however, it doesn't seem it's necessarily for the better."
"What?"
"Two years ago, you would've never gotten into a situation like you were in last night. And you would've beaten the guy to a bloody pulp if he tried to touch you, or perhaps your charming Agent Vaughn would have. Since I am standing here, talking to you, I know you haven't tried to hurt me, or bring me back to the horrid CIA cell."
Sydney holds back her tears at the mention of Vaughn. She wonders, briefly, how much Sark knows about the past two years. "A lot has changed."
"I can tell. If you don't mind me asking, why are you here?"
"I'm not allowed to take a vacation?"
"You're by yourself. I'm surprised nobody is here with you. Why isn't Agent Vaughn with you?"
"Why do you care?"
Sark looks away, not wanting to tell Sydney that she looks as if she is about to cry and not wanting to admit to himself that he actually cares. "I'm just curious. You two seemed, I don't know, sickeningly in love," he keeps his tone neutral, as if nothing remotely like love had never entered his life, and had never been torn away.
She laughs a bitter laugh. "Obviously, you've been just as out of the loop as I have. Vaughn's married, Sark. And not to me. I thought that you were the one who kept tabs on everyone and planned three moves ahead."
Sark blinks, obviously surprised by this bit of information. "I never kept tabs on everyone. Only certain people." He hesitates, then asks softly, his voice laced with concern, "What happened with Agent Vaughn?"
Sydney looks at him, unsure of what to make of his newfound worry for her. "I just told you, he's married. What more is there to it?"
"How, Sydney. How did that happen?" Sark curses himself for not keeping closer tabs on Sydney after he got out of the CIA's grip. He had been too focused on his own safety to monitor anything but Sydney's travels after Irina freed him from the clutches of the CIA.
She finds herself growing angry and irritated by his perpetual questioning, "Why do you even care?"
"You two seemed so in love. Agent Vaughn doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would give up 'true love'," Sark emphasizes these words with finger quotes, "He also doesn't strike me as the type of person who would give up someone like you, no matter how dense I considered him to be."
Sydney blinks. Has Sark just managed to compliment her and insult Vaughn in the same sentence? "Vaughn's not stupid," she tells him lamely, not fully believing herself either.
"Why are you still defending him? Obviously, something happened in Hong Kong or perhaps it was before Hong Kong, but something happened between you two. What happened, Sydney?" Sark persists with his questioning, getting the feeling that there is something more behind this small story.
"I just—Hong Kong?" Sydney's eyes grow wide. Does Sark know what happened to her? "What do you know about me being in Hong Kong?"
"Certainly less than you do. I just know you were there," he shrugs, the importance of the information lost on him.
Sydney shakes her head, "How long have you been keeping tabs on me?"
"I only know the places you've been. I've been too concerned with my own safety to really keep tabs on you. Being on the run from the CIA isn't exactly the best time to monitor their agents," he explains, wondering why she cares so much about what he knows. Is she hiding something?
"So… where have I been?" She ventures, wondering how long it will take Sark to get suspicious. Knowing Sark, he probably already is.
Sark feels himself growing impatient, "This conversation has strayed from our original topic. You've yet to tell me what happened with Agent Vaughn. Why should it matter to you if I know where you've been for the past year or so? Certainly, my knowing something of so little important shouldn't alarm you."
Sydney narrows her eyes, "Why do you care so much about what happened between Vaughn and me? And don't give me that whole 'being in love' reason; you wouldn't care about love. You've probably never been in love, and you probably don't know what love means." She almost regrets her words as she see the stricken expression pass fleetingly across Sark's face. Perhaps, she has been too judgmental. But in a matter of seconds, Sark's normally calm, cool expression is back in place.
"Don't assume things, Ms. Bristow. It's dangerous," Sark's voice is hard, and he regards her coldly, as if daring her to make another assumption about him. "Our experiences in love may be more alike than you think."
Well, if Sark wants to be all huffy about it, "I doubt that." She wants to remain just as neutral as Sark, but her curiosity gets the better of her, "Who did you love, then?"
"It isn't important. It was two years ago, and she obviously didn't care for me the way I cared for her." His voice tinges with bitterness, "And she was killed." He doesn't add, by you, but perhaps, those unspoken words are the most important ones.
Nothing prepares Sydney for that type of answer. "Oh," she chokes out, her mind frozen. "I'm sorry. Was she… an innocent?"
Sark nearly laughs at Sydney's question. She obviously has no clue that Allison is the girl he is referring to. He sees the surprise in her eyes, and wonders what she would do if she knew. "No. I have my suspicions about her caring for someone else, but she called me 'stupid' when I asked her if she fancied Tippin," Sark hides a grin, knowing this piece of information will send Sydney reeling.
And it does. She blinks a few times before yelling, "The hell?!?! Your girlfriend was Allison Doren? While she was—and she loved Will? And—oh geez… this is too much…"
Sark shakes his head, "What is so hard to believe? That I could actually care for somebody? Or the fact that Allison 'became' your friend?"
"Maybe the fact that she killed Francie! She nearly killed Will, and nearly killed me! If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't be here!" Sydney's voice escalates with each word.
"Sydney. Get a hold of yourself. Have you forgotten that it was you who killed her?"
"I had every reason to kill her! She killed Francie, she nearly killed Will, and she tried to kill me—"
At this point, Sark interrupts her and observes dryly, "Yes, I do believe you mentioned her murder attempts already. It's a part of this life, Sydney. Lives will be lost. And if I am not mistaken, you were all but saddened at the prospect of killing Mr. Sloane."
"That's different," she insists weakly, knowing deep down that it really isn't.
"How so? Just because Mr. Sloane was 'evil'? It's not that simple, Sydney. You can't keep separating the world into good and evil, especially not in the espionage life. You aren't a saint, and neither are the CIA agents. And regardless of what you might think, your mother and I are not out to destroy the world. Even Mr. Sloane has a soft side. He loved Emily, remember? He loved her so much that he almost threw everything away for her. It's not black and white, Sydney, it's grey. Just different shades of grey for everyone."
Sydney slumps down on the sofa, feeling extremely worn out. "When did you become so wise?" Sydney had meant for the question to be sarcastic, but instead, it comes out hushed and apprehensive.
Sark stands in front of her and looks down into her eyes somberly, "You'd be surprised what a long time in this business will do to you. You're lucky, Sydney, at least to me. You've had your share of bad experiences, worked for people on what you would consider the wrong side, but you didn't get involved until you were 19. You have a family and you have friends." He shifts his gaze from her to the window.
Sydney is taken aback at Sark's willingness to confess something fairly personal to her. A question nags at her, and she wavers a second before asking delicately, "Did you love Allison?"
Sark's gaze continues to linger on the scenery out the window, "I cared deeply for her, but I don't think I truly loved her. Not the way love is supposed to be. Perhaps you were right." He pauses for an instant, before adding quietly, "I don't think I've ever truly experienced love."
Sydney can't think of anything appropriate to say. The words, "I'm sorry," escape her lips, but she winces at how she sounds almost as if she pities Sark.
Apparently, Sark still isn't ready to drop the issue of her and Vaughn, because he turns back to her and asks, "Are you ready to tell me what happened between you and Agent Vaughn now?"
She opens her mouth to say no again, but finds herself confessing the events of the night she disappeared instead. Once she starts talking, she can't stop. The entire story pours out, starting with what happened with Will and Allison.
When she reaches the part about waking in Hong Kong, Sark's eyes widen in slight disbelief. He can't help but interject, "That's improbable."
Sydney smiles wryly. She finds it amusing, but not unusual that Sark didn't say impossible. Perhaps Rambaldi has shown the both of them that nothing is impossible. She proceeds to tell Sark exactly what happened with Vaughn, "He was married. I had been gone for two years, presumed dead by most. It was so incredibly selfish of me, but when I saw his ring, I wondered how he could do that to me." She laughs, but tears fill her eyes and spill over. "I wanted him back. Imagine what he felt," she says haltingly through her tiny sobs and hiccups. "He told me he loved his wife; that he couldn't leave her. I let him go. It was the right thing. That's how I ended up here. I wanted a break. I need to learn how to live without Vaughn. Letting him go was the right thing to do… but also the most painful." She curls up and hugs her knees, really allowing herself to cry for her broken heart. The pain and emotion that has been bottled up for the past week or so finally spills out as she weeps, her wall breaking down.
Sark watches her cry. She looks as vulnerable as a child does and he feels a strange need to comfort her. He doesn't wonder to himself, at which point was it that everything changed? When had he stopped wanting to be rid of Sydney, and started wanting to protect her? Instead, he sits down on the sofa next to her and reaches out a hand hesitantly, before pulling her soothingly into his arms.
Sydney feels small yet safe in Sark's tender embrace.
He doesn't say anything, doesn't try to comfort her with words. He just smoothes her hair and lets her cry into his shoulder.