Title: Scylla and Charybdis
Author: Nes (lochmoninov@yahoo.com)
Distribution: Ask and I'll say yes.
Summary: Sydney is caught between a hard place and Sark's ex-girlfriend. Er, not that hard place. Ahem.
Notes: This takes place vaguely after The Passage, Part One. Sark is working at SD-6, they're colleagues! Yay!
Inspiration: This fic was inspired (with permission) by Julia's Evo fic, "That Ball and Chain."
Sydney Bristow was stealing for Sloane and, for once, doing so with joy in her heart.
Why? Well, for one thing the compact disc was not related to Rambaldi. Good old Milo had neither created, hidden, nor ever dreamed the images embedded into the plastic round. The files would be used to blackmail Joseph Gould, a prominent Chicago attorney, but more importantly, also an up-and-comer in the Alliance. Furthermore, the CIA had not created a countermission for her; they were more than relieved to have Sloane remove Gould. Jack and Sydney were in a position to cripple SD-6; there had been no similar insertions into the Chicago organization, and also the added menace of Gould's ties with the city's major crime families. The CIA preferred to keep the players on their field familiar leaving Sydney able to do a job for Sloane and her country at the same time.
It was a warm, giddy feeling and one that she had not felt since she had learned the truth about SD-6. Despite all the betrayals, she liked being a spy. She was good, and it was fun.
She successfully completed copying the disk and decided to reevaluate her previous statement. Though the job was only two-thirds complete, it was almost over and there had not been any unexpected obstacles. Clockwork. I'm not just good at my job; I am a spying badass. A grin spread across her face at the boast; there was no drug like adrenaline.
"I do so love it when you smile," the purr quivered against her earlobe and pushed warm breath over her skin.
That was not my communicator.
She spun, grabbed the man's shoulders and slammed him into the floor. His head bounced against the mahogany floors twice.
Sark only looked up at her, eyes shining and face mischievous. "Why, Sydney- "
She cut him off, "What are you doing here, Sark?" In an effort to convince him to talk, she tightened the grip of her knees against his sides and dug in sharply.
"Sloane sent me."
"Bullshit. This is a simple op."
"Maybe dear, avuncular Arvin doesn't trust you to get it done."
For that little dig, Sydney punched him in the stomach.
His response came in a very satisfying wheeze, "Or maybe he was worried. He wanted me to keep you safe, watch your back. It is a very nice back to watch."
"Save it," she snarled. "And don't you dare smirk at me."
He kept his face blank, as per her command. She reached for the gun at her waist, "I'm going to let you up. Don't try anything."
Predictably, Sark tried something. He kicked the gun out of her hand and sent it spinning to the other side of the room. She was ready, and executed a series of roundhouse kicks to his shoulder, side, and groin. Without flinching, he grabbed her ankle and twisted hard so that she fell. He followed with a hit to her chest, but Sydney blocked and grabbed his wrist. Sark reversed the hold and held her in front of him, one arm locked around her neck. Straining to breathe, Sydney smashed the glass paperweight she had grabbed from the desk against Sark's face and he pushed her away.
She stood back to catch her breath, moving to put the desk between them. "Why are you here? You want the disk, don't you," she accused.
"Gould is useful to me where he is," Sark answered. Rivulets of blood streamed down his left cheek, where he'd been gashed. "Jesus, Sydney, did you have to use the glass paperweight? The metal one would one only have bruised."
"I knew it, I knew it! You're betraying SD-6, you bastard."
"Fine words coming from you," he threw back. "What's the countermission this time?"
Before she could retort, Sark launched himself across the table at her. Sydney managed to move out of the way. He landed in a crouch across from her. She waited for him to uncoil.
She didn't have to wait long. In a second, he kicked her into the desk and repeatedly crashed her face against the computer's keyboard. This time, she grabbed the copper paperweight and smashed it into his kidney.
"Damnit, Sydney, I wasn't making a request!" His breath came in sharp gasps.
"And I'd like to keep my full head of hair." Dressed for theft, Sydney had opted to forego her usual wig.
He had the grace to look sheepish as he realized long strands of Sydney's hair were caught in his fist, but that didn't stop Sydney from punching him in the mouth.
"I'm sending you my bill for cosmetic surgery," he warned as he barely blocked her drive at his left eye.
"Shut up and fight me, pretty boy," she bristled as she tried for the other eye.
"I assure you, Sydney," Sark said as he lashed out with his booted foot, sending her chin up with a crack. "All of my considerable powers of concentration are devoted to you."
Massaging her jaw with her hand, Sydney answered, "That's so sweet."
He punctuated the end of her sentence with a blow to her stomach. Sydney doubled over and barely dodged his foot thrusting at her chest.
They were both breathing heavily now, but Sydney could feel her second wind coming on. She found fighting Sark was both emotionally and physically satisfying. It was infinitely more rewarding than kicking the ass of random strangers.
She lunged, but he was ready. He stepped back, and then swept a foot out to trip her. He straddled her on the floor and held her both hands above her head in a secure grip.
"We have to stop meeting this way." His face was so close his mouth grazed her lips.
"You want to stop? All you have to do is die." She tried to knee him, but his legs held her down firmly.
"Now, Sydney-," he stopped suddenly, distracted by her wiggling beneath him. She took advantage of the diversion by pushing him off.
She stood and they faced each other, circling slowly. Sydney eyed the window behind Sark. They were only on the second floor. If she could just grab the disc off the desk-
Sark caught her eye. His voice turned smoky and intense, "We shouldn't be fighting, Sydney."
"What? Are you gonna just give me the disc?" She looked at him incredulously. He took the opportunity to step closer.
His eyes were hypnotizing, and Sydney found she couldn't look away. He extended his hands, closed the space between them-
"My, what a compromising position."
Sydney's head snapped towards the source of the interrupting voice.
Ana Espinosa.
In contrast to the utilitarian black burglar gear both Sark and Sydney wore, Ana wore a long gold evening gown. Heavy silk fell in graceful folds down to stiletto heels, Ana was flawless. The silver pistol she had trained on them seemed more like an elegant accessory than a weapon.
Her own lips bleeding and her cheek bruised, Sydney felt at a distinct psychological disadvantage.
The timbre of Ana's voice had been sly and full of knowing. In one fluid movement, she sinuously leaned forward to pick the forgotten disc off the mahogany floor. Ana stood and thoughtfully tapped her index finger against the sculpted curve of her cheek, as if pondering what to do with them.
Sydney fumed; she and Sark had been fighting for a full three minutes. If anyone was going to steal that disc from me, it was going to be Sark. Definitely not some Ana come lately.
Certain that together they could take Ana, even if the damned woman did have a gun trained on them, Sydney tried to make eye contact with Sark. But Sark wasn't looking at her.
It almost appeared as if Sark had stopped breathing. His eyes were shut tight. When they opened, his gaze flicked from Ana to Sydney before finally locking onto the gun. His eyes revealed nothing and his mouth only admitted a set determination and stoic resolve.
Resolve for what, Sydney wondered.
But then, quickly, Ana was in front of him, leaning.
Ana Espinosa was kissing Sark.
And she wasn't doing in it a "Welcome home, Comrade Soldier" kind of way but in more of a full on "Hey, Big Boy, what can I do you for?" osculation.
Highly trained as she was, Sydney's first thought was still a very strong "Ew."
It was only after expressing her repulsion that Sydney began to think of strategy. She could still go out the window. And maybe if the kiss went on just a little longer, she could also get her hands on the disc. Ana's arms were wrapped around Sark, trapping his arms against his body. The pistol was still in her right hand and the disc was held loosely in the other.
Quite unexpectedly, Sydney hoped that Sark would bring some of his charm to bear. She wished he would dip Ana or slip her some tongue, something. All in all, Sydney was disappointed by the passivity of his technique. She had always imagined him to be more aggressive. Not that she'd ever actually imagined-
She really needed to get to that window. Only need a few more seconds-
Much too soon, Ana pulled away from Sark. She looked closely at him for a few searching seconds. But Ana obviously didn't see what she wanted because the next thing she did was step away to pistol whip him.
Ow, Sydney grimaced in sympathy pain as Sark fell to the floor with a thump. He was out.
Working her way towards the window, Sydney held her palms toward Ana. "Okay, you got the disc. You can keep the guy. Are we done here? Because, honestly, I think I'm too squicked to fight you right now."
Ana didn't answer, not with words at first. Instead, she moved to block the window.
Sydney considered the window, Ana, the disk, and Sark unconscious on the floor. Perhaps it was too early to claim the title of Spying Badass. But hope sprung eternal when she realized Ana had left the door, and the path to it, wide open.
With one fleeting, curious glance at Sark, Sydney began a dead run for the door. There was a gunshot, but it didn't hit her. Pumped with an adrenaline high, Sydney hardly felt it when she ran into the solid mountain of a man Ana had set to guard the hallway.
Nor did she notice when she bounced hard off his chest onto the floor at Ana's feet.
Or when Ana probed her prone body with one elegantly shod foot and easily dismissed her.
What Sydney did notice, and was insulted by, was Ana's completely insincere apology, "Sorry to interrupt your foreplay," before knocking her out.
***
Sydney awoke to voices. It was Russian, but so musically accented she almost couldn't place it. Three voices, no, two. Was that some kind of Spanish or Hispanic accent? Not Cuban. Nicaraguan! Not Ana's neck of the woods, but close enough. Maybe Sandanistas?
She evaluated her surroundings. She was tied to the standard chair with the standard manacles fettering her wrists and ankles. Just once, she thought, I'd like to be tied up with rope.
There was enough room behind the chair for her to roll her neck in a circle without her head hitting a wall. She estimated the room to be four by four feet square. To call it a room was definitely being generous. She supposed that made sense since it was her holding cell. There were no windows, but the door was set to her left. There was no knob on the inside, but the door did feature a small rectangular window of (surely bulletproof and shatterproof) glass for the guards to look in through.
Sydney then tried to assess her options. She didn't know how long she'd been out and they'd removed her watch. Worse luck, they had also removed her earpiece (SD-6 comm), earrings (CIA comm), belt (lock pick set cum med kit), shoes (released sleeping gas), socks (sewn-in tracker), and ponytail holder (contained a small amount of C4). And there was always the underwire in her bra, God knew that in addition to providing excellent cleavage, the thing was sharp enough to wound. But she wouldn't be able to reach that with her hands tied.
In an effort to gather more intel, Sydney began to scream and thrash as much as a bound woman could. Within seconds, one of the guards had unlocked the door to check on her. Keeping his gun trained and ready, he approached Sydney carefully.
He watched her closely before yelling back to his companion in Russian, "It's okay. She can't hurt herself. As long as she's screaming, we'll know she hasn't choked on her tongue." The guard still gave her a sharp nudge in the shoulder with his gun before returning to his post. "And if she's faking, she'll tire soon."
Before he shut the door, Sydney, hair mussed and cheeks red with exertion, called out to him in Spanish, "Who are you working for? What do you want with me?"
The guard didn't even pause.
***
Though she had tried to stay awake for fear of a concussion, Sydney fell asleep. She awoke to a man, presumably the second guard, setting a folding chair beside her. He produced an unlabeled bottle of water, an apple, and a tin of fish. After arranging these on his lap, he busied himself with slicing a surprisingly fresh-looking loaf of dark-brown rye. The guard fed her without baiting or mistreatment. He was also cautious enough to watch her swallows before offering her any more food. Sydney was so hungry she almost forgot the rifle in his easy reach. However, she did manage to get a good look at his watch.
1400 hours. If the date on the timepiece was correct, Sydney supposed she had been kidnapped twelve hours earlier. If Ana had access to a plane, they could be anywhere in the world. Her mind was clearer now than the first time she'd awakened and she wondered what exactly was going on. She and Ana had tried to kill each several times; Sydney had always thought Ana would be direct about it. It didn't make sense for Ana to kidnap her. This was completely uncharacteristic behavior, and Sydney wanted to know why. Why, why, why? What was different this time? Sydney winced as a pair of cool blue eyes occurred to her.
Sark. Well, now, that was enough to make anyone act irrationally.
Speaking of crazy, Ana had kissed Sark with a certain degree of familiarity. He had all the accoutrements of rich playboy and Sydney had instantly assumed that Sark practiced the typical sexual habits accordingly. But there was having a girl in every port, and then there was Ana Espinosa. It was mind-boggling. She wasn't the screw-her, lose-her kind. Ana was deadly, malicious, and blissfully so.
No, Sydney, corrected herself. This made perfect sense. Sark was probably turned on by the peril of a relationship with someone as homicidal as himself.
Fat lot of good this did for Sydney. He wasn't tied to a chair, helpless -or if he was, Sydney shied away from that visual. She knew that any alliance between Sark and Ana would mean bad things for herself.
She looked up to study her guard. She could take him. With one hand free, definitely. Oh, and a foot would help, too. Damn, who was she kidding? She had to figure out the chair situation first. A surreptitious attempt to rock her seat assured Sydney the chair was firmly attached to the floor.
She looked to the guard again; he was cleaning up the remains of her meal. In Spanish, she asked him, "Why hasn't she killed me yet?"
The guard surprised her by shrugging his shoulders. "I don't ask questions. Perhaps she is waiting to do this herself? She's busy right now." He laughed as if he had made a clever joke.
"Where's the man I was with?" Sydney didn't like the insinuation of her own words but realized she needed to provoke the guard to answer.
The guard looked at her with a shade of pity. "He is also busy right now."
A completely unrelated and innuendo-free incidence of busy, Sydney scoffed internally. Right.
As suddenly as it had begun, it seemed that Q&A was over. He picked up the folding chair and rifle, then rapped on the door so the other guard could unlock it.
Sydney was alone again. She supposed it wasn't so bad. She was reasonably clean and safe; she had been in worse situations. Taipei came to mind. Cairo, Geneva, Argentina. And Taipei again. Siberia, where Sark had been. Paldiski, Sark was there, too. Oh, look, there's a trend. Lucky me.
And then just as if by naming the devil, she had summoned him, the door opened and there Sark was.
Sydney steeled herself for interrogation. When she did so, she unconsciously flicked her tongue to the empty space where a certain unlicensed dentist had removed some of her teeth.
When no questions came, Sydney looked up. Sark's shirt was torn to reveal several interesting slivers of back and abdomen. Gross, she thought. He's got hickies. And is that a bite mark?
Sydney squinted, it is! I've been tied up here for hours and he's been getting love bites? Where are Sark's priorities!
Sydney was outraged and prepared to give Sark a piece of her mind, no matter how unwise it was to henpeck at one's notoriously merciless captors. She had just opened her mouth when the guard, whom she had assumed was an escort and all-around bullyboy minion, moved away from Sark, out of the cell and locked the door.
Sark dropped to the floor in a boneless splay of limbs.
He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
Completely confused, Sydney was momentarily sidetracked by the thought that Sark might have a blood sugar problem. There was a quick image of Sark being stopped at airport gates: The security guards ignoring his loaded SIG and instead asking why exactly he carried so many hypodermic needles? Was he some kind of druggie? When Sark traveled to exotic locales for business, did he need to carry a doctor's note explaining his diabetes?
Hmm, Sydney thought. It's beginning to show that Sark isn't the only one who's been knocked unconscious and silly today. Yesterday. Whenever.
She cleared her head of the daydream and ventured, "Sark?"
His head did not move from its position (stuck to the floor), but his response came in the form of a pained grunt.
"Sark," she asked despite her better judgment, "Do you have a blood sugar problem?"
There was a silent pause and a second grunt. "No. I just seem to be making a habit of getting the crap beaten out me by girls."
Sydney took a second to decide whether she was insulted by his sexism or proud of her resemblance to that remark.
"Okay, I'll bite," she said and winced at the unintentional pun. "I know why I was kicking your ass, but what about Ana?"
There was a longer pause this time. "I slept with her."
"You were that bad," Sydney quipped before continuing. "I think I caught that sex bit, actually. Your shirt is quite obviously torn, by the way."
There was the rustling of clothes as Sark rearranged himself on the floor to lie on his side. He grunted again and corrected her, "I slept with her last year. The last time I was in Moscow, shortly before the first time I saw you, actually."
Moscow?
"You were hanging outside of a window," he offered. "People shot at you."
"Ivankov," she had the memory now. "I didn't know you saw me. Wait. You slept with Ana just before killing the head of her agency? I can see how that would piss her off; Ana is very loyal-"
"Actually-"
"That wasn't enough?"
"I'll admit it created some problems for her, after."
"What problems, exactly?"
"As you know, I 'passed' the directorship to Kessar. As it turns out, Kessar was not the most suitable man for the job. K-Directorate virtually crumbled due to his mishandling. Internal conflict has weakened the organization to a point where its rivals have moved in on its formerly undisputed territory." Sark took a deep breath.
"Oh, god. There's more?"
"Many blamed Ana for Ivankov's death and K-Directorate's subsequent collapse since I killed him and we had not exactly been discreet about our trysts. They thought we had conspired together."
"Did you?"
"Well, she thought we did. I promised her a position in The Man's cartel in exchange for K-Directorate's Rambaldi artifacts and research."
"She believed you?"
"I'll have you know I can be extraordinarily persuasive," Sark said haughtily although he still had not made eye contact with Sydney. "I also believe Ana fully intended to double-cross me after initiation into The Man's circle."
"Well, gee, in that case," Sydney mocked. "So what happened? Obviously, you didn't come through."
"I left. And when K-Directorate discovered that, in addition to 'selling' me the Rambaldi manuscript, they'd also lost their other artifacts and associated intel, their version of security section went after Ana."
"It's all so clear to me now," Sydney said. "I never thought I'd understand Ana Espinosa but now I find myself not only understanding her motivation but applauding her actions. You're a real sleaze, Sark."
"Yes. So I've been told. And it's not like you've never used your sex appeal to complete a mission, I suppose."
"Sex appeal, not sex. There's a difference for some of us. Those of us who have a moral compass."
"I knew I was missing something."
"Want to know what I'm missing? The part where your explanation provides for my presence. While top-full of intrigue and all very exciting, it has nothing to do with me. You screwed Ana, on several different levels, I might point out, yet I am the one in manacles."
"Are you complaining about the fact that she hasn't killed you yet?"
"No, I'm trying to find out why I'm here." She left unsaid the part about 'so I can formulate an educated plan of escape before Ana comes to kill me.'
Sark shifted noisily on the floor and spoke slowly, "It happens, not unexpectedly, that Ana is the jealous sort of ex-girlfriend."
"Again, if only to emphasize my frustration, what does this have to do with me? So Ana's jealous, what's she jealous-," Sydney stopped speaking, though her mouth remained open.
Finally, Sark lifted his head to look Sydney in the eye. "She's jealous of you."
Author: Nes (lochmoninov@yahoo.com)
Distribution: Ask and I'll say yes.
Summary: Sydney is caught between a hard place and Sark's ex-girlfriend. Er, not that hard place. Ahem.
Notes: This takes place vaguely after The Passage, Part One. Sark is working at SD-6, they're colleagues! Yay!
Inspiration: This fic was inspired (with permission) by Julia's Evo fic, "That Ball and Chain."
Sydney Bristow was stealing for Sloane and, for once, doing so with joy in her heart.
Why? Well, for one thing the compact disc was not related to Rambaldi. Good old Milo had neither created, hidden, nor ever dreamed the images embedded into the plastic round. The files would be used to blackmail Joseph Gould, a prominent Chicago attorney, but more importantly, also an up-and-comer in the Alliance. Furthermore, the CIA had not created a countermission for her; they were more than relieved to have Sloane remove Gould. Jack and Sydney were in a position to cripple SD-6; there had been no similar insertions into the Chicago organization, and also the added menace of Gould's ties with the city's major crime families. The CIA preferred to keep the players on their field familiar leaving Sydney able to do a job for Sloane and her country at the same time.
It was a warm, giddy feeling and one that she had not felt since she had learned the truth about SD-6. Despite all the betrayals, she liked being a spy. She was good, and it was fun.
She successfully completed copying the disk and decided to reevaluate her previous statement. Though the job was only two-thirds complete, it was almost over and there had not been any unexpected obstacles. Clockwork. I'm not just good at my job; I am a spying badass. A grin spread across her face at the boast; there was no drug like adrenaline.
"I do so love it when you smile," the purr quivered against her earlobe and pushed warm breath over her skin.
That was not my communicator.
She spun, grabbed the man's shoulders and slammed him into the floor. His head bounced against the mahogany floors twice.
Sark only looked up at her, eyes shining and face mischievous. "Why, Sydney- "
She cut him off, "What are you doing here, Sark?" In an effort to convince him to talk, she tightened the grip of her knees against his sides and dug in sharply.
"Sloane sent me."
"Bullshit. This is a simple op."
"Maybe dear, avuncular Arvin doesn't trust you to get it done."
For that little dig, Sydney punched him in the stomach.
His response came in a very satisfying wheeze, "Or maybe he was worried. He wanted me to keep you safe, watch your back. It is a very nice back to watch."
"Save it," she snarled. "And don't you dare smirk at me."
He kept his face blank, as per her command. She reached for the gun at her waist, "I'm going to let you up. Don't try anything."
Predictably, Sark tried something. He kicked the gun out of her hand and sent it spinning to the other side of the room. She was ready, and executed a series of roundhouse kicks to his shoulder, side, and groin. Without flinching, he grabbed her ankle and twisted hard so that she fell. He followed with a hit to her chest, but Sydney blocked and grabbed his wrist. Sark reversed the hold and held her in front of him, one arm locked around her neck. Straining to breathe, Sydney smashed the glass paperweight she had grabbed from the desk against Sark's face and he pushed her away.
She stood back to catch her breath, moving to put the desk between them. "Why are you here? You want the disk, don't you," she accused.
"Gould is useful to me where he is," Sark answered. Rivulets of blood streamed down his left cheek, where he'd been gashed. "Jesus, Sydney, did you have to use the glass paperweight? The metal one would one only have bruised."
"I knew it, I knew it! You're betraying SD-6, you bastard."
"Fine words coming from you," he threw back. "What's the countermission this time?"
Before she could retort, Sark launched himself across the table at her. Sydney managed to move out of the way. He landed in a crouch across from her. She waited for him to uncoil.
She didn't have to wait long. In a second, he kicked her into the desk and repeatedly crashed her face against the computer's keyboard. This time, she grabbed the copper paperweight and smashed it into his kidney.
"Damnit, Sydney, I wasn't making a request!" His breath came in sharp gasps.
"And I'd like to keep my full head of hair." Dressed for theft, Sydney had opted to forego her usual wig.
He had the grace to look sheepish as he realized long strands of Sydney's hair were caught in his fist, but that didn't stop Sydney from punching him in the mouth.
"I'm sending you my bill for cosmetic surgery," he warned as he barely blocked her drive at his left eye.
"Shut up and fight me, pretty boy," she bristled as she tried for the other eye.
"I assure you, Sydney," Sark said as he lashed out with his booted foot, sending her chin up with a crack. "All of my considerable powers of concentration are devoted to you."
Massaging her jaw with her hand, Sydney answered, "That's so sweet."
He punctuated the end of her sentence with a blow to her stomach. Sydney doubled over and barely dodged his foot thrusting at her chest.
They were both breathing heavily now, but Sydney could feel her second wind coming on. She found fighting Sark was both emotionally and physically satisfying. It was infinitely more rewarding than kicking the ass of random strangers.
She lunged, but he was ready. He stepped back, and then swept a foot out to trip her. He straddled her on the floor and held her both hands above her head in a secure grip.
"We have to stop meeting this way." His face was so close his mouth grazed her lips.
"You want to stop? All you have to do is die." She tried to knee him, but his legs held her down firmly.
"Now, Sydney-," he stopped suddenly, distracted by her wiggling beneath him. She took advantage of the diversion by pushing him off.
She stood and they faced each other, circling slowly. Sydney eyed the window behind Sark. They were only on the second floor. If she could just grab the disc off the desk-
Sark caught her eye. His voice turned smoky and intense, "We shouldn't be fighting, Sydney."
"What? Are you gonna just give me the disc?" She looked at him incredulously. He took the opportunity to step closer.
His eyes were hypnotizing, and Sydney found she couldn't look away. He extended his hands, closed the space between them-
"My, what a compromising position."
Sydney's head snapped towards the source of the interrupting voice.
Ana Espinosa.
In contrast to the utilitarian black burglar gear both Sark and Sydney wore, Ana wore a long gold evening gown. Heavy silk fell in graceful folds down to stiletto heels, Ana was flawless. The silver pistol she had trained on them seemed more like an elegant accessory than a weapon.
Her own lips bleeding and her cheek bruised, Sydney felt at a distinct psychological disadvantage.
The timbre of Ana's voice had been sly and full of knowing. In one fluid movement, she sinuously leaned forward to pick the forgotten disc off the mahogany floor. Ana stood and thoughtfully tapped her index finger against the sculpted curve of her cheek, as if pondering what to do with them.
Sydney fumed; she and Sark had been fighting for a full three minutes. If anyone was going to steal that disc from me, it was going to be Sark. Definitely not some Ana come lately.
Certain that together they could take Ana, even if the damned woman did have a gun trained on them, Sydney tried to make eye contact with Sark. But Sark wasn't looking at her.
It almost appeared as if Sark had stopped breathing. His eyes were shut tight. When they opened, his gaze flicked from Ana to Sydney before finally locking onto the gun. His eyes revealed nothing and his mouth only admitted a set determination and stoic resolve.
Resolve for what, Sydney wondered.
But then, quickly, Ana was in front of him, leaning.
Ana Espinosa was kissing Sark.
And she wasn't doing in it a "Welcome home, Comrade Soldier" kind of way but in more of a full on "Hey, Big Boy, what can I do you for?" osculation.
Highly trained as she was, Sydney's first thought was still a very strong "Ew."
It was only after expressing her repulsion that Sydney began to think of strategy. She could still go out the window. And maybe if the kiss went on just a little longer, she could also get her hands on the disc. Ana's arms were wrapped around Sark, trapping his arms against his body. The pistol was still in her right hand and the disc was held loosely in the other.
Quite unexpectedly, Sydney hoped that Sark would bring some of his charm to bear. She wished he would dip Ana or slip her some tongue, something. All in all, Sydney was disappointed by the passivity of his technique. She had always imagined him to be more aggressive. Not that she'd ever actually imagined-
She really needed to get to that window. Only need a few more seconds-
Much too soon, Ana pulled away from Sark. She looked closely at him for a few searching seconds. But Ana obviously didn't see what she wanted because the next thing she did was step away to pistol whip him.
Ow, Sydney grimaced in sympathy pain as Sark fell to the floor with a thump. He was out.
Working her way towards the window, Sydney held her palms toward Ana. "Okay, you got the disc. You can keep the guy. Are we done here? Because, honestly, I think I'm too squicked to fight you right now."
Ana didn't answer, not with words at first. Instead, she moved to block the window.
Sydney considered the window, Ana, the disk, and Sark unconscious on the floor. Perhaps it was too early to claim the title of Spying Badass. But hope sprung eternal when she realized Ana had left the door, and the path to it, wide open.
With one fleeting, curious glance at Sark, Sydney began a dead run for the door. There was a gunshot, but it didn't hit her. Pumped with an adrenaline high, Sydney hardly felt it when she ran into the solid mountain of a man Ana had set to guard the hallway.
Nor did she notice when she bounced hard off his chest onto the floor at Ana's feet.
Or when Ana probed her prone body with one elegantly shod foot and easily dismissed her.
What Sydney did notice, and was insulted by, was Ana's completely insincere apology, "Sorry to interrupt your foreplay," before knocking her out.
***
Sydney awoke to voices. It was Russian, but so musically accented she almost couldn't place it. Three voices, no, two. Was that some kind of Spanish or Hispanic accent? Not Cuban. Nicaraguan! Not Ana's neck of the woods, but close enough. Maybe Sandanistas?
She evaluated her surroundings. She was tied to the standard chair with the standard manacles fettering her wrists and ankles. Just once, she thought, I'd like to be tied up with rope.
There was enough room behind the chair for her to roll her neck in a circle without her head hitting a wall. She estimated the room to be four by four feet square. To call it a room was definitely being generous. She supposed that made sense since it was her holding cell. There were no windows, but the door was set to her left. There was no knob on the inside, but the door did feature a small rectangular window of (surely bulletproof and shatterproof) glass for the guards to look in through.
Sydney then tried to assess her options. She didn't know how long she'd been out and they'd removed her watch. Worse luck, they had also removed her earpiece (SD-6 comm), earrings (CIA comm), belt (lock pick set cum med kit), shoes (released sleeping gas), socks (sewn-in tracker), and ponytail holder (contained a small amount of C4). And there was always the underwire in her bra, God knew that in addition to providing excellent cleavage, the thing was sharp enough to wound. But she wouldn't be able to reach that with her hands tied.
In an effort to gather more intel, Sydney began to scream and thrash as much as a bound woman could. Within seconds, one of the guards had unlocked the door to check on her. Keeping his gun trained and ready, he approached Sydney carefully.
He watched her closely before yelling back to his companion in Russian, "It's okay. She can't hurt herself. As long as she's screaming, we'll know she hasn't choked on her tongue." The guard still gave her a sharp nudge in the shoulder with his gun before returning to his post. "And if she's faking, she'll tire soon."
Before he shut the door, Sydney, hair mussed and cheeks red with exertion, called out to him in Spanish, "Who are you working for? What do you want with me?"
The guard didn't even pause.
***
Though she had tried to stay awake for fear of a concussion, Sydney fell asleep. She awoke to a man, presumably the second guard, setting a folding chair beside her. He produced an unlabeled bottle of water, an apple, and a tin of fish. After arranging these on his lap, he busied himself with slicing a surprisingly fresh-looking loaf of dark-brown rye. The guard fed her without baiting or mistreatment. He was also cautious enough to watch her swallows before offering her any more food. Sydney was so hungry she almost forgot the rifle in his easy reach. However, she did manage to get a good look at his watch.
1400 hours. If the date on the timepiece was correct, Sydney supposed she had been kidnapped twelve hours earlier. If Ana had access to a plane, they could be anywhere in the world. Her mind was clearer now than the first time she'd awakened and she wondered what exactly was going on. She and Ana had tried to kill each several times; Sydney had always thought Ana would be direct about it. It didn't make sense for Ana to kidnap her. This was completely uncharacteristic behavior, and Sydney wanted to know why. Why, why, why? What was different this time? Sydney winced as a pair of cool blue eyes occurred to her.
Sark. Well, now, that was enough to make anyone act irrationally.
Speaking of crazy, Ana had kissed Sark with a certain degree of familiarity. He had all the accoutrements of rich playboy and Sydney had instantly assumed that Sark practiced the typical sexual habits accordingly. But there was having a girl in every port, and then there was Ana Espinosa. It was mind-boggling. She wasn't the screw-her, lose-her kind. Ana was deadly, malicious, and blissfully so.
No, Sydney, corrected herself. This made perfect sense. Sark was probably turned on by the peril of a relationship with someone as homicidal as himself.
Fat lot of good this did for Sydney. He wasn't tied to a chair, helpless -or if he was, Sydney shied away from that visual. She knew that any alliance between Sark and Ana would mean bad things for herself.
She looked up to study her guard. She could take him. With one hand free, definitely. Oh, and a foot would help, too. Damn, who was she kidding? She had to figure out the chair situation first. A surreptitious attempt to rock her seat assured Sydney the chair was firmly attached to the floor.
She looked to the guard again; he was cleaning up the remains of her meal. In Spanish, she asked him, "Why hasn't she killed me yet?"
The guard surprised her by shrugging his shoulders. "I don't ask questions. Perhaps she is waiting to do this herself? She's busy right now." He laughed as if he had made a clever joke.
"Where's the man I was with?" Sydney didn't like the insinuation of her own words but realized she needed to provoke the guard to answer.
The guard looked at her with a shade of pity. "He is also busy right now."
A completely unrelated and innuendo-free incidence of busy, Sydney scoffed internally. Right.
As suddenly as it had begun, it seemed that Q&A was over. He picked up the folding chair and rifle, then rapped on the door so the other guard could unlock it.
Sydney was alone again. She supposed it wasn't so bad. She was reasonably clean and safe; she had been in worse situations. Taipei came to mind. Cairo, Geneva, Argentina. And Taipei again. Siberia, where Sark had been. Paldiski, Sark was there, too. Oh, look, there's a trend. Lucky me.
And then just as if by naming the devil, she had summoned him, the door opened and there Sark was.
Sydney steeled herself for interrogation. When she did so, she unconsciously flicked her tongue to the empty space where a certain unlicensed dentist had removed some of her teeth.
When no questions came, Sydney looked up. Sark's shirt was torn to reveal several interesting slivers of back and abdomen. Gross, she thought. He's got hickies. And is that a bite mark?
Sydney squinted, it is! I've been tied up here for hours and he's been getting love bites? Where are Sark's priorities!
Sydney was outraged and prepared to give Sark a piece of her mind, no matter how unwise it was to henpeck at one's notoriously merciless captors. She had just opened her mouth when the guard, whom she had assumed was an escort and all-around bullyboy minion, moved away from Sark, out of the cell and locked the door.
Sark dropped to the floor in a boneless splay of limbs.
He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
Completely confused, Sydney was momentarily sidetracked by the thought that Sark might have a blood sugar problem. There was a quick image of Sark being stopped at airport gates: The security guards ignoring his loaded SIG and instead asking why exactly he carried so many hypodermic needles? Was he some kind of druggie? When Sark traveled to exotic locales for business, did he need to carry a doctor's note explaining his diabetes?
Hmm, Sydney thought. It's beginning to show that Sark isn't the only one who's been knocked unconscious and silly today. Yesterday. Whenever.
She cleared her head of the daydream and ventured, "Sark?"
His head did not move from its position (stuck to the floor), but his response came in the form of a pained grunt.
"Sark," she asked despite her better judgment, "Do you have a blood sugar problem?"
There was a silent pause and a second grunt. "No. I just seem to be making a habit of getting the crap beaten out me by girls."
Sydney took a second to decide whether she was insulted by his sexism or proud of her resemblance to that remark.
"Okay, I'll bite," she said and winced at the unintentional pun. "I know why I was kicking your ass, but what about Ana?"
There was a longer pause this time. "I slept with her."
"You were that bad," Sydney quipped before continuing. "I think I caught that sex bit, actually. Your shirt is quite obviously torn, by the way."
There was the rustling of clothes as Sark rearranged himself on the floor to lie on his side. He grunted again and corrected her, "I slept with her last year. The last time I was in Moscow, shortly before the first time I saw you, actually."
Moscow?
"You were hanging outside of a window," he offered. "People shot at you."
"Ivankov," she had the memory now. "I didn't know you saw me. Wait. You slept with Ana just before killing the head of her agency? I can see how that would piss her off; Ana is very loyal-"
"Actually-"
"That wasn't enough?"
"I'll admit it created some problems for her, after."
"What problems, exactly?"
"As you know, I 'passed' the directorship to Kessar. As it turns out, Kessar was not the most suitable man for the job. K-Directorate virtually crumbled due to his mishandling. Internal conflict has weakened the organization to a point where its rivals have moved in on its formerly undisputed territory." Sark took a deep breath.
"Oh, god. There's more?"
"Many blamed Ana for Ivankov's death and K-Directorate's subsequent collapse since I killed him and we had not exactly been discreet about our trysts. They thought we had conspired together."
"Did you?"
"Well, she thought we did. I promised her a position in The Man's cartel in exchange for K-Directorate's Rambaldi artifacts and research."
"She believed you?"
"I'll have you know I can be extraordinarily persuasive," Sark said haughtily although he still had not made eye contact with Sydney. "I also believe Ana fully intended to double-cross me after initiation into The Man's circle."
"Well, gee, in that case," Sydney mocked. "So what happened? Obviously, you didn't come through."
"I left. And when K-Directorate discovered that, in addition to 'selling' me the Rambaldi manuscript, they'd also lost their other artifacts and associated intel, their version of security section went after Ana."
"It's all so clear to me now," Sydney said. "I never thought I'd understand Ana Espinosa but now I find myself not only understanding her motivation but applauding her actions. You're a real sleaze, Sark."
"Yes. So I've been told. And it's not like you've never used your sex appeal to complete a mission, I suppose."
"Sex appeal, not sex. There's a difference for some of us. Those of us who have a moral compass."
"I knew I was missing something."
"Want to know what I'm missing? The part where your explanation provides for my presence. While top-full of intrigue and all very exciting, it has nothing to do with me. You screwed Ana, on several different levels, I might point out, yet I am the one in manacles."
"Are you complaining about the fact that she hasn't killed you yet?"
"No, I'm trying to find out why I'm here." She left unsaid the part about 'so I can formulate an educated plan of escape before Ana comes to kill me.'
Sark shifted noisily on the floor and spoke slowly, "It happens, not unexpectedly, that Ana is the jealous sort of ex-girlfriend."
"Again, if only to emphasize my frustration, what does this have to do with me? So Ana's jealous, what's she jealous-," Sydney stopped speaking, though her mouth remained open.
Finally, Sark lifted his head to look Sydney in the eye. "She's jealous of you."