A/N: I won't be posting over Thanksgiving, but I'm going to post a lot of chapters today. I may even post all of the chapters of the 1st part of the story. But there's a continuation that I'll post December 1. Enjoy, and keep reviewing!
Chapter 15
They used the private jet to fly out of Los Angeles. Sydney looked very stiff in the reclining leather armchair. She insisted on sitting on the other side of the plane, so Sark sat facing her, diagonally.
He sipped a bottle of water, trying not to laugh at her discomfort. Laughter won out.
"Sydney," he started, "your life isn't over." Her head snapped in his direction.
"What would you know?" She stood up and stalked to the kitchenette. Sark sighed, watching her fill a glass with any liquid she could find.
"You may be surprised, if you tried to understand," he replied.
"Tried to understand what? The trials of being a cold-blooded assassin?" She threw back the drink into her mouth and slammed the glass down on the counter top.
Sark closed his eyes, and rubbed his hands over his face. While he marveled at her annoying stubbornness, he hid the impact of her stinging remark.
"What'd you do to your hands, anyway? Your latest victim fight back?" she said. That's mature, Sydney, he thought. But if she wanted to be harsh, he could be that way too.
"No, the hands were because of you." Sark looked down at his knuckles, rubbing a finger over the cuts.
She watched him, her mouth open as if she wasn't sure what he meant. "And how did I do that, Sark?"
He sighed again.
"Indirectly. After you set me up at that zoo, I was actually quite disappointed. I took it out on a punching bag," he said. He tried to be blunt about it, but yet indifferent. He realized after he spoke that too much emotion came through.
"The CIA wanted to know how I knew about SD-6. I had to tell them, and then they wanted you brought in," she said.
"Nice try at justification, Sydney."
"Bite me, Sark." He let himself smirk openly at that.
"Was that an invitation?" he asked. She glared at him in response, but later sighed.
"I . . . I really didn't want to. And I know that you . . . you helped me, and setting you up was . . . like throwing it in your face." She sounded sincere. Sark saw the remorse in her eyes, and it softened his grudge.
She is so beautiful.
"Anyway," she said, clearing her throat, "I'm sorry about your hands." Sark stared at her.
"I know your life has been turned upside down," he said. "But you'll adjust. We'll figure out this Rambaldi stuff, and take things day by day." She nodded.
"How much do you know about Rambaldi? Do you have more about him?" she asked.
"Yes, but understanding Rambaldi takes time. I don't know what it's all about," Sark admitted. Sydney started pacing.
"Then how do I know I'm any better off with you and your employer? And it's time I know your employer!"
Her sudden return of frustration was making Sark tired and testy.
"First of all, my employer and I haven't locked you up in a cage because of Rambaldi. And we're flying to where my employer is. But it's not up to me to see that you meet. My employer will dictate that." He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment. "You should rest, Sydney. It's a decently long flight."
He heard her plop down in her seat. It was quiet for awhile, and Sark was close to drifting off. He debated about trusting her, but let himself let his guard down for a little while. For the first time in several weeks, his sleep was peaceful.
When they landed, Sydney got jumpy again. Sark couldn't really fault her for that. She was entering a new world, walking into the clutches of the most manipulative and powerful woman he'd ever met. Of course, Sydney didn't know all of that, but she would soon.
Sark, once he awoke, tried to estimate how long Sydney would stay. He didn't expect it to be too long, since Sydney's strong and overbearing sense of integrity would win over eventually. His current guess was 72 hours. One day for the meeting, a second for the screaming and accusations, and a third day spent in misery as Sydney reevaluated her life.
He wondered how that would affect him. He feared he knew how.
The limo was waiting, as usual. Sark held the door open for Sydney, who cautiously got in.
"I take it you're pretty well off, Sark," she said, starting some semblance of conversation. He smiled at that.
"This is just one of the perks," he replied modestly. "But to be honest, I much prefer a good sports car."
"Why, the control factor?" she guessed. Sark nodded.
"I'm much more comfortable when I'm behind the wheel. Not just the control, but the being at someone else's mercy," he explained. "It bothers me every time."
"Like now?" Sydney asked. "Are you nervous about your driver?" Se had a faint smile on her lips, the first he'd seen of late. Sark cocked his head to peer at the driver beyond the glass partition.
"No, I trust him. But I would handle any unexpected surprises flawlessly, whereas I fear he might succumb to shock," he said with a soft smile that had just a hint of scorn for the driver's inabilities.
Their eyes connected, and though the situation was new for both of them, Sark felt truly calm. That is, until she broke off the look, and shifted in her seat.
Sark held back a sigh. He was saved by his cell phone.
He answered on the second ring.
"Yes," he said. The voice back was Irina's.
"Is she all right?" Irina asked.
"Yes. We're on our way. ETA 20 minutes," Sark responded like an assistant.
"Let her settle in, freshen up, and then both of you meet me for dinner in the formal dining room." She hung up immediately.
Dinner, he thought. It wasn't the setting he imagined for the reunion, but it'd do. Sark wondered if he should wear a Kevlar vest for the occasion.
Sydney was staring at him intently, though not for his good looks, Sark realized.
"I apologize. That was my employer. We're to have dinner together," he relayed. "I hope that's satisfactory to you, Sydney."
She nodded, and Sark could tell she was pleased that finally she would know more.
Her jaw dropped when she saw the large estate that the facility and Sark's quarters were part of. Sark held a hand out for her as she stepped out of the limo.
She took it.
"I'll escort you to your room," he said. He picked up her bag, and led the way. By her slow pace behind him, she must have been taking in as many details as possible.
The facility was quite impressive. There wasn't much else around the grounds—they were quite isolated from the world, and that was smart, in Sark's opinion. But the appearance of the whole estate was rich and stately.
"Your room, Sydney," Sark said, opening the door. Her room had marble flooring like his, but a much more feminine hue in the walls and decor. She walked in, surveying everything.
"My employer and I took the liberty of supplying some clothing for you," he said, walking to a closet. "Please make yourself at home. Feel free to rest or freshen up, and I'll be back to take you to dinner in an hour." That sounded like a date, he reflected. He brushed it aside.
She nodded. Sark turned to leave.
"Sark." That shiver went through him again when she called his name. He turned back to her, and saw the soft, charming insecure look she gave him. "Where do you stay?"
He didn't reply for a moment; he just admired how . . . cute she was when she asked that timid question.
"I'm directly across the hall," he answered. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."
He turned and started out the door.
"Thank you." It was very soft but he heard it. And it made him rush to his room before he turned again and showed her the emotions threatening to overtake him.
He had composed himself to face her after a bath and a change into a charcoal gray suit and black shirt. No tie was necessary at dinner, but some level of formality was. He hoped Sydney chose something appropriate.
He knocked on her door. When she opened it, a breeze swept over him. She'd chosen a white dress with a black and faint gray floral print. The cut of it accented her figure, hugging to her body closely enough for him to appreciate the fact that he'd chosen the dress for her. He felt somewhat the winner that she'd chosen his selection over Irina's others, but anyway . . .
She was stunning. So much so that he forgot where they were headed.
"Where to?" she asked. Sark physically shook his head clear and held out an arm in the direction of the dining room.
"This way," he stumbled. She nodded and went with him.
He couldn't help but keep looking at her as they walked. If Irina looked like this when Jack met her, no wonder he was fooled for all those years.
The doors to the dining room were open, and Sark saw that place settings and the food were ready and waiting.
He went in first, with Sydney following. He nodded to his employer, who sat waiting for them.
Sydney stopped as soon as she saw her. No noise interrupted the silence as they stared at each other. Irina looked as close to soft as Sark had ever seen. Sydney's eyes shone with moisture and confusion.
"Mom?"