Part 9B: The Conclusion
As soon as she could approach him without seeming too eager to anyone watching, Sydney ran to confront Sark.
"Why?" she asked. Sark just looked her over, happy to be so close to her without the fear of being thrown into a cell.
"Sark." He refocused.
"Why what?" he asked with a smile.
"I didn't think you wanted to stay in the spy-life," she said, redirecting her question.
"Sydney," Sark said, reaching out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, "I didn't want to leave you. And I figured you may want to stay with the CIA." He paused, watching for her reaction. She looked at her shoes. "Now, you know how I feel about the CIA, but some of you aren't so bad." She looked into his bright eyes as she heard the slight laughter in his voice.
"Oh really?" she countered with traces of a grin.
"Yeah," he replied softly. "I could stand Vaughn on occasion, and Weiss is even fun." He saw her beam at that, and he knew it made her happy to know that he didn't despise everyone in her life. "And I wanted to stay close because I thought you may want to keep saving the world from time to time."
She bit her lip. "Is that why you said you'd freelance?"
Sark smiled. "If you go out into danger, I would rather be there to back you up and protect you than sit idly by and wait for a phone call." Her eyes shone at that, and Sark wanted to just scoop her up and kiss her.
He thought better of it as Agents Vaughn and Weiss approached them.
"Hey, how's the free man?" Weiss greeted. Sydney quickly wiped her eyes.
Sark just grinned and held out a hand to Weiss. "Thank you, for your help in that." Weiss shook his hand eagerly. Sark didn't offer it to Vaughn but just gave him a nod.
"So we were thinking of a celebration dinner," Vaughn said. Sark raised an eyebrow at him. On my account?? "For saving the world and all," Vaughn quickly added. Sark tried to hide a smirk.
"Sure!" Sydney said. "Where to?"
Sark was slightly worried about the level of establishment Weiss would choose, but that worry subsided when he saw the wine list later.
Sark ordered a nice bottle and poured it for his comrades. Weiss took a sip.
"Wow! You're buying, right?" he said, grinning at Sark. Sydney actually giggled, taking a sip of her glass. Sark just laughed, happy to be acting somewhat normal, even if Agent Vaughn was around.
Then his cell phone rang. Vaughn, Weiss and Sydney looked at him intently as he answered the call.
"Yes," he said, knowing who it was.
"How did things end up?" Irina asked. Sark glanced as his companions, debating about whether to leave the table. But he stayed, not wanting them to think he was collaborating with the "enemy."
"They ended well. We stopped Sloane." Sydney raised an eyebrow at him, doubting what he was doing.
"I assumed so. What's going on for you?" There was some hesitancy in her voice, and Sark knew she already suspected he struck a deal with the CIA.
"I'm a normal civilian now," Sark said. "I'm enjoying my first dinner as such."
Vaughn was glaring at him, but Weiss was trying to kick Vaughn under the table so he'd lighten up. Weiss ended up kicking Sark. He jumped at the kick and glared at Weiss, who held up two hands in surrender.
Sark smiled at that.
"Is she there?" Irina asked. Sark looked directly at Sydney.
"Yes."
Irina paused for a few moments, and Sark knew she was putting the pieces together. "I suspect this will be my last phone call for a long time, under the circumstances."
Sark nodded, knowing she wouldn't see, but knowing she would understand.
"Look out for her," she said. "And make sure you don't lose her." He could hear the regret in her voice, no doubt because she had made that mistake and lost Sydney years ago.
"I will." Sark didn't hang up immediately, just communicating in the silence some form of thanks and farewell. Irina, he noticed with some emotion, did the same.
When he ended the call, he looked up to three very interested CIA agents. He smiled at them all.
"Just saying goodbye."
Sydney's smile was light but accepting. Vaughn was calming down, seemingly ready to let go of that one technical slip-up to the agreement Sark signed early. Weiss just reached for the bottle of wine.
Sark leaned back, surveying the three as they continued on—eating, chatting, drinking. It's all so normal. Not just for them, but for himself. Though he knew moments of boredom would come, Sark felt optimistic about this new life. I can do this.
"So Sark," Weiss said as he finished laughing over some joke, "what are you going to do now?" Sark quickly adopted a stone-cold look on his face as he answered.
"Open a gun shop." The reaction from Vaughn was priceless. Sark couldn't help but break his facade and laugh at the agent, whose eyebrows had gone spiky. He visibly relaxed after he realized Sark was just playing with him, but not before shooting Sark a brief glare.
"Seriously," Sydney said, laughing at the two men. "Have you thought about it?"
Sark shook his head. When he moved to New Zealand, he hadn't done much but wait for Sydney. Even then he hadn't thought about what he'd do.
"What do you want to do?" The question, surprisingly, came from Vaughn. Sark shrugged.
"I really haven't thought about it. Any suggestions?" he asked, waving his hand at the three for answers.
"Well, what can you do?" Weiss asked. Sark shot him a look.
"Would you like to see my resume?" Sark asked sarcastically.
"If it has your first name on it, sure," he shot back with a grin. Sark shook his head, silently laughing at that.
"I'm an excellent shot, know how to use a variety of weapons, can kill a man 10 different ways barehanded, and I'm good at analyzing any situation," Sark rattled off. When he finished, the three agents were just staring at him. "Well, not like any of you can't do the same."
"Ten ways?" Weiss repeated. Sark laughed.
"I guess more practical and accepted skills are languages," he said. He held up his hands and started ticking them on his fingers. "Italian, Russian, Spanish, Portuguese, Mandarin, German, some Japanese, and a few others that rarely come in handy."
"You could always teach," Weiss suggested. Sark just shot him an are-you-kidding-me look while both Sydney and Vaughn laughed.
"I can't see Sark teaching people how to speak German," Vaughn said, chuckling. Sark watched the man, intrigued that he seemed to be more accepting by the minute.
"You know, Sark, there is one thing I've always wondered," Weiss said. His cryptic approach to the question made Sark cock his head to the side in anticipation. "Where do you buy your clothes?"
Sydney burst out laughing.
"He is so right!" she said, pointing at Weiss. "Where do you get your clothes?"
"Is it a good thing that you all are so curious about my apparel?" Sark asked. Subconsciously, he was worried that all this time he'd looked ridiculous rather than sharp and intimidating.
"Oh yeah," Sydney said immediately. Her eyes shifted to her comrades nervously, probably since she actually said that aloud. It made Sark smile at her seductively.
"Well, come on, man," Weiss continued. "'Fess up. Who's your supplier?"
It was Sark's turn to laugh. "Supplier? My clothing is hardly a drug line." He took another sip of wine and shifted in his seat. "There is an assortment of shops I find my clothes at."
"Whatever," Vaughn muttered. Weiss picked up right where his partner left off.
"Yeah, seriously. It has to be straight Armani." Suddenly Weiss sat up straighter, and it was quite evident a light bulb had gone off in his head.
"What?" Sark asked.
"That's it!" Weiss exclaimed. "You should be in the fashion industry." Vaughn took off with the idea.
"Fashion consultant."
"Designer," Weiss added.
"Model," Sydney said. Vaughn nearly blanched at that, and Sark sat up straighter.
"Could you really see me on a runaway by anorexic women?" He was somewhat serious with that question, but the three agents just broke down into what could best be described as giggles.
Sark sighed and took another sip of wine. He'd figure something out sooner or later, but for now, he just watched the agents.
"Come on, I think you'd be a great model," Sydney said, giggling still as they left the restaurant.
Vaughn and Weiss started heading off in a different direction.
"Hey, we're going to go home," Weiss said in parting. Sark nodded.
"Thank you for the evening." This time he extended his hand to both the men. Vaughn shook it, and for some reason that also gave Sark the impression that the future, even with Vaughn working with Sydney, might be somewhat pleasant.
"G'night," Sydney said. Sark thought she had a few too many glasses of wine, but supported her somewhat as they walked off to her car. She held out the keys to him, which he took immediately.
"Where to?" he asked.
"Home, Geeves, home." A fit of drunken laughter followed, and Sark was quite glad he was the one behind the wheel.
The lights at Sydney's home were on. Sark hoped Will Tippin wasn't there as he half-dragged Sydney inside.
"Hey, you're home!" came a female voice. Francie. She appeared out of the kitchen moments later, and stopped in her tracks.
"Oh sorry, I didn't know—I'm Francie," she said, extending a hand to Sark. He smiled politely but nodded at Sydney as an excuse for not shaking her hand.
"Here, let me," she said, pulling Sydney off of Sark. Sydney suddenly jumped up and plopped down on a couch. She looked up dreamily at Sark.
He couldn't help but feel unnerved by this sudden forwardness. Her eyes conveyed desire, a fact Francie didn't fail to notice.
"Uh, I'll leave you two alone," she said as she made a dash for her room.
"No," Sark quickly spoke up. "Um, perhaps we should put her in her bed." Francie eyed him, trying to see his intentions. Sark sighed. "I have no desire to take advantage of Sydney."
Francie smiled and then grabbed her inebriated roommate. "Come on, Syd."
Sark helped Francie as they went back to Sydney's room. He removed her shoes and took off her jacket. Then he stepped aside as Francie put her under the covers.
"I'm not tired," Sydney suddenly muttered. Sark smiled at her closed eyes and protest. He watched her as she settled in the sheets. She raised an arm to move her silky hair away from her face and then laid still. Sark leaned over her and gave her a light kiss on her forehead.
"Goodnight, Sydney," he said. He watched her for a moment later, and then followed Francie out to the living room.
"So you are . . . ."
"Sark," he said with a smile."
"Shark?" she repeated, skeptical at the name. Sark hid a laugh.
"Sark. Take out the 'h.'"
Francie nodded and went to the kitchen. "Nice to meet you. Do you want anything to drink?" she asked, taking out a glass for herself.
Sark shook his head.
"No, I've had enough for one night," he said as he looked over the apartment. He remembered the last time he was here, hiding behind a cough and in closets. He smiled to himself until he noticed Francie was still looking at him.
"Um," he said, running a hand through his hair, "I should get going. Could you recommend a nearby hotel?"
Francie waved a hand at him as if to shush him.
"Just stay here. It's late and you said yourself you've drunk too much." Sark started to object, but with a wave of the hand, he went quiet again. "Besides, we have a couch."
Sark smiled and slowly nodded. "Thank you."
"So where are you from?" Francie asked. Sark readied himself for a lie but then shut his mouth. This is one of Sydney's friends. And I don't have to hide myself anymore. After a career of lying and deceptions, Sark tried again.
"Ireland, originally. But I've lived all over." He suddenly found himself yawning.
"You'll have to tell me more, but for now I'll let you get some sleep," Francie said. "Make yourself at home."
Sark thanked her and took off his suit jacket and tie. As he kicked off his shoes, he reflected on the day. He knew things had gone verily well, not just with the CIA, but with Sydney and those in her life. He smiled as he thought about the dinner, and about Sydney.
She seemed quite pleased that he was willing to stick around to help her. Which meant, he liked to think, that she wanted him around. He didn't know what was ahead between them, but he planned on following Irina's advice: he wouldn't lose her.
He heard the voices before they registered with faces. Sydney and Francie were chatting quietly behind him. Sark opened his eyes slowly. In front of him was a coffee table and sofa chairs. He was still laying on the couch, one hand tucked under his head and the other cradled over his stomach.
Sark stretched out, yawning as he pulled out all the creaks in his body. The conversation between Sydney and Francie faltered.
"You awake there?" Francie's voice had a slightly amused tone to it.
Sark sat up, and ran a hand through his bed-head.
"Barely," he said groggily. He noticed their stares at his appearance. "Do you mind if I use your facilities to make myself presentable?"
Francie giggled at his formality and Sydney nodded.
"Back there, Sark," she said pointing. He didn't miss her admiring smile.
When he returned, he caught the girls whispering over cups of coffee. They hushed up and separated as soon as he reentered the room.
"Did I miss something?" he asked, as Francie hurried out to leave them alone. Sark smoothed out his dress shirt, even though it was wrinkled beyond help.
Sydney's eyes sparkled with mischievous laughter. "Nope. Just talking."
Sark shot her a look. "Just because I've retired from our business doesn't mean I'm instantly clueless, Sydney."
She laughed, and got up to pour him a cup.
"Here," she said, still smiling as she passed him the mug. Sark took it and sat down across from her.
"I take that to mean you're not telling," Sark deduced aloud. Two can play that game. Sydney just shrugged, so Sark moved on. "How are you feeling?"
"Me?" Sydney asked. "I'm not the one who was deathly ill recently." Sark smirked and pointed to her head.
"Hangover?"
"Oh," she said, grinning as she understood. "Fine. Thank you for . . . taking care of me." Sark smiled at her sudden timidity. "I didn't . . . do anything silly, did I?"
The smirk reappeared. "Well, that depends on your definition of silly."
She looked mortified as she seemed to imagine all the potential embarrassments. Sark finally laughed.
"You were fine. Friendly, but fine." She shot him a look, but then glanced down at her coffee. Her hand came up to tuck away a loose strand of hair.
"When I woke up this morning," she started, "I was half-sure you would were gone."
"Gone as in out of the country?" Sark clarified. She nodded. "I'll blame it on the wine, since I thought I made it clear I was sticking around." His tone was chiding but playful. Sydney smiled, but Sark knew she was thinking about them.
"You're wrong, you know," she said into her mug.
"What?" Sark asked, going tense. I'm never wrong, he thought instantly. He held his mug mid-air, waiting for more before finishing the rest of his cup.
"In Spain you said you wouldn't be a part of my future." Sark relaxed. "But you are. I decided that awhile ago. It just took me till now to rediscover that," she said.
"And now what?" Sark asked, his confidence rising. "Where does that leave us?" She moved closer to him and just stared at him with a smile on her lips.
"Together. If you still want me." She kissed him, softly. Sark didn't hesitate to return the kiss and revel in the moment. Not just the moment. The future ahead of them.
"Take this as a 'yes,'" Sark said quietly. He kissed her back again.
Sydney finished the kiss with a light peck on his nose, then leaned back. She watched him, analyzing, as she took another sip from her mug.
"So," Sydney began slowly, "are you ever going to tell me your name?"
Sark leaned forward, taking her cup from her and sipping slowly. "You really want to know?"
She jumped to attention eagerly. Her eyes were so bright with anticipation. "Definitely. What's your name?"
Sark took another slip and then a deep breath. He leaned back the kitchen chair and just smiled at her.