Sydney could only gawk at the information she found in her mother's folder about Adrian Lazarey. He was a former KGB agent who had left the agency when he married a wealthy Irishwoman named Marianne Holmes. Though Lazarey was depicted as a brilliant, kind and caring man in the eyes of the public, he inflicted physical and emotional abuse upon his wife and their two children. In July of 1990, the Lazarey home in Ireland was burned to the ground, killing Lazarey's wife and their children. Nobody had ever suspected that Lazarey was responsible, but Sydney's mother had...with good reason.
Among the papers within the folder, a small photograph was held inside. Sydney nearly cried out, as she recognized the man in the photo as Adrian Lazarey, the man she had killed. Lazarey was pictured with his family; a beautiful brown-haired wife, and two children: a beautiful young dark-haired girl, and a precious blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy. For reasons unknown, Sydney's eyes remained on the handsome young man in the photograph.
That's when she realized that she knew those blue eyes.
That familiar irritating, yet endearing smirk.
Sark.
Oh my God, she thought. It was Sark.
Further delving into the folder revealed that Sark was not Sark at all.
The handsome blonde, blue-eyed man in the next room was formerly known as Alexander Lazarey.
The son of Adrian Lazarey.
The folder and its contents fell to the floor as she shuddered at her new realization.
I murdered Sark's father.
*****
When Sark woke up the next morning, he was astounded to see Sydney very much awake, sitting in an armchair that faced their hotel room's only window.
"Hey," he said. She snapped out of a trance, and turned to him suddenly. He was shocked to see tears on her face. He was out of bed in mere seconds, padding slowly over to stand by where she was.
"What's wrong Sydney?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, nothing. I didn't get much sleep last night," she said, staring at the ground, "I can't stand it when I can't get any sleep."
"Well, you should be used to it, with the line of work you're in," he said, attempting to lift her spirits. It did not seem to work. She could not seem to lift her gaze from the floor. He didn't understand that she could not meet his eyes now.
Now that she knew she was responsible for his father's death.
Now that she knew he was still keeping secrets from her.
Why couldn't he tell her that Lazarey was his father?
Too many questions.
Sark didn't want to press the issue, so he merely offered her something.
"Sydney, what if I told you that I could avoid some of the red tape of this whole mission?"
She looked up at him, but still could not meet his eyes.
"How?" she asked, her voice raising a bit.
"I have an old, old contact. Someone who knew Lazarey. She..."
"She?" Sydney asked, her voice growing with curiosity.
"Yes, she. She's an agent with British Central Intelligence," he answered.
"You're associated with a woman in intelligence? She's not a double agent is she?" Sydney asked, standing up, finally meeting his eyes to judge his level of honesty.
"Sydney, you presume that I'm all bad. I'm not. There is a lot about me that you don't know," he said, avoiding her gaze for a moment. Sydney smirked.
Yeah, tell me about it, she thought.
"I don't think you're all bad Sark, I'm just surprised. Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.
"Frankly, because I haven't seen this woman in ages. She's a part of my past that I've been protecting for years. I don't want to risk her life," he said, looking up at her again.
"Oh," she said, at a loss for words.
"But," he began, "I'm not willing to let you run blindly into some investigation that could get you killed," he said, running his hand over his growing blonde hair. "I'll risk anything to keep you safe Sydney," he finished, putting his hands on her shoulders.
He was sincere. This scared Sydney. Their growing respect and admiration for one another was beginning to worry her. Now that she knew the truth about his father, well at least part of the truth, she knew they were more alike than she had previously believed. Their faces were mere centimeters apart, and she felt him pulling her closer. Before their lips touched, however, she pulled away from him, enough to gaze into his cerulean eyes.
"Sark," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "First things first," she said, stroking his cheek with her hand. She could not kiss him; not yet. She had to focus. They both had to. Sark realized this as well. He sighed, removing his hands from their resting place on her shoulders.
"Let's go to England, Bristow," he whispered, after kissing her hand quickly.
Yeah, like that's what on my mind right now, she thought.
But despite both their thoughts, they broke apart, though hesitantly, and began to pack their respective belongings.
*****
Adrianna Scott opened the door to her England home, and after promptly throwing her bags on the ground and throwing her keys on the table, she reached into her refrigerator for a drink.
As she poured herself a glass of iced tea, she rubbed her left temple, relieving the tension in her body. For three days she had been on a mission, and she was thrilled to be home. However, she assumed she would not be home for very much longer. There was always a mission, always someone to bring down. The job was beginning to drain her. She knew though, that if she quit, she would never get what she really wanted.
Revenge. Sweet and long-anticipated revenge.
She sighed loudly as she placed the empty glass in her sink, and walked to her discarded bags, throwing them over her shoulder. As she traipsed to her bedroom and placed the bags on her bed, she sighed again. She began to unpack her belongings, but paused when she heard a noise in her foyer.
It was natural that she reached into her bureau and removed her gun. She disengaged the safety and walked slowly from her room, rounding the corner carefully. She was stunned by the sight of two intruders.
"Freeze!" she yelled, and watched as the two followed her orders when they heard the sound of her gun.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," she yelled. The two raised their hands.
"Turn around!" she yelled again, and with that, a blonde-haired man and a dark-haired woman turned around.
Not your typical burglars, she thought. It did not appear that they had any weapons, until Adrianna noticed the gun concealed in a holster beneath the woman's jacket.
"Drop your weapon on the floor," Adrianna hissed. The woman began to remove the weapon, but the man lifted his hand to stop her.
"That won't be necessary," the man spoke.
"I'll make that call," Adrianna replied.
"Anna," the man spoke. Adrianna froze. She had not been called that since...a very long time ago. She closed in on the male intruder, pointing the gun in his face.
"My name is Adrianna," she said.
"I used to call you Anna," he said, his hands remaining in the air, "Don't you recognize me Ann?" he asked, his voice shaking a bit, but his eyes remained clear. Adrianna lowered her gun, her eyes growing wide.
"Alexander?" she asked, her voice shaking. Sark nodded as she closed the space between them.
"Oh my God, Alex. I thought you were dead," she said, and embraced him tightly, leaving Sydney Bristow staring. She had never seen Sark show this much emotion in all the years she had known him.
He pulled away from the woman enough to place a kiss on her hairline. The woman looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. They stared at each other for the longest time, forgetting Sydney's presence. Sark was the first to notice.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Sydney, this is Adrianna Scott. She's a dear friend from my past," he said, looking lovingly at the woman he was still clinging to. "Adrianna, this is Sydney Bristow."
Adrianna removed herself from Sark's embrace in order to shake hands with Sydney. Sydney took the moment to look over the woman. She was about four inches shorter than herself, and had hair that was about the same color as her own, only with traces of red throughout. Her eyes were very blue, only now they appeared cloudy, obviously from her joy of being reunited with her friend.
Sydney could not help but feel a tinge of jealousy when she noted the glance that Sark and Adrianna shared. She hated jealousy. She looked away, but was interrupted by Sark's interjection.
"So I guess now you know my first name Bristow," he said, smirking at her as she turned around to face him again.
"I guess I do," Sydney said, trying to sound surprised, although she already knew his name.
Now she wanted to know one thing: who was this woman, and why was she so important to Alexander?