Author's notes: Okay, so I stole a book from episode 3 (just a smidge) and I'm gonna take lot more from episode 4 and again there's not so much banter. I just *really* wanted to do this. So blah on you guys. No, I don't mean that. This story is just undergoing an identity crisis but it hopes you still like it. So, yeah, bit of a different tone, but…okay, I'm gonna suck it up while you guys just read.
Edited to add more author's notes.
reesie: Ooh, thanks for reviewing in here and at SD-1. I love that!
depth: thank you!
opapea: Heh. Never been a fan of Sarkney? How on earth did you find your way in here? Well, I'm glad to have you. Please return!
true cat: good to see you!
cjgurl: you are officially Archbishop, you've got a *mofo* big hat. For all future interested parties, there is already one official Love Bunny of the Church of Sark.
advo: "it's been forever since your last chapter"// Heh. You have *no* idea. Ask around about that fic exile when I didn't update for like 2 months.
Fanatic: always a pleasure to see your reviews! I think they're my favorites.
---Part 5c---
Sydney Bristow might have been one of the Top Ten most compassionate humans on the planet, but she could also hold a grudge; she was still pissed so when the doctor was finished with his arm, Sark retreated to his own hotel room. He discovered the room was in a different wing from Jack and Sydney's. It was of a good size and of comparable luxury to Sydney's; Jack wasn't childish enough to dump him in the Swiss equivalent of a La Quinta.
Until, of course, Sydney told Jack what he'd said about Arvin…then he'd be lucky to be dumped in a ditch. He'd best bring his gun to the dinner table.
The tranq, of course. One simply did not kill a man in a Zagat recommended restaurant.
He wondered if Jack knew that.
***
Sark had underestimated Jack. He always called him Jack in his head because Agent Bristow was reserved for Sydney, always. In any case, Sark should have known better; he had expected Jack to act out violently rather willfully forgetting that Jack was a master of manipulation and games no less than his wife, Irina.
And so, of course, Jack did not attempt to draw blood but dealt with Sark in another fashion. After the waiter delivered their meals and refreshed their drinks (alcohol all around), Jack removed several colorfully-wrapped, cartoon-festooned packages from his briefcase. Sark could swear Jack toothily grinned at him before turning back to Sydney, stoic as ever.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart. Eric and Marshall were thinking of you and sent a few gifts."
"It was last week, Dad. They didn't have to do anything. Tell them they're sweet."
Birthday?
Well, of course, she had to have a birthday…it had occurred to him before. But between persuading her to go with him, their domestic bliss in Portugal, breaking his arm…not to mention planning the collapse of an international terrorist organization…
There must have been a prearranged signal because at that moment, the waiter reappeared carrying a cake complete with candles and enough chocolate frosting for the cake to collapse and fall through the floor, bringing the waiter along. Upon its delivery, Sydney flew from her seat into her father's arms for a long, loving embrace. Tears streamed down Sydney's face and she sniffled unselfconsciously. For a second, Sark broke out of his self-pity to realize that Sydney probably hadn't spent many happy childhood birthdays with her father. He was witnessing a historical Bristow Family moment. It was probably very emotional for both of them.
But the bastard had grinned! It wasn't fair. Yes, they were on different sides of the law but they should also have been men together, male solidarity and all that rot.
He wondered if Jack was this much of a smug bastard before Irina got her claws in him.
Yes, probably.
Sark handed Sydney a handkerchief when she returned to her seat and tried to compose herself. She then tore into the gifts in an aggressive way that both terrified him and turned him on.
The first turned out to be a paperback copy of "Alice in Wonderland" that set the waterworks off again. Luckily, she still had his handkerchief. It was ruined now but she was smiling. How could a woman manage to smile and cry at the same time?
"It's from Weiss," she said. He nodded, remembering the man who had sloughed off weight with every interrogation visit.
The second gift was a brooch in the shape of a…well, Sark wasn't sure what it was but it looked to be made of a high quality gold. It gratified him that Sydney looked just as confused.
"It's from Marshall," Jack began. "He claims it's based off the Fisher Price View Master. You put it to your eye and click the fastener and you can see pictures. Your photo albums were lost in the fire, but I was able to lend him my duplicates and he pulled others from alternate sources although it is my understanding that most of the pictures are actually of his children."
"Children?" Sydney looked up from her new toy.
"Yes, the Flinkman twins, Jacen and Jaina. Ms. Bowman apparently put her foot down on naming her children Luke and Leia."
Sydney shook her head in laughter. Sark busied himself with slicing the cake and made a mental note to find out exactly why that was funny. Sometime after he'd bought Sydney a thoroughly thoughtful and expensive gift. He couldn't believe he had forgotten her birthday, so much for getting back in her good graces.
"Sark, what are you doing?" Sydney's face was puzzled.
"Being the Birthday Girl's humble servant?"
She put her hand on top of his, forcing him to put the knife down.
"I have to blow out the candles and we have to sing the song."
Sark paused. "Right. I knew that. What song?"
Sydney's face blanked with…something…and he knew he'd made a mistake. Even Jack's face seemed excessively unexpressive and bereft of any homicidal urgency.
Sydney reached across the table and squeezed his hand briefly before blowing out the candles in one breath. While the other two chatted, Sark finished cutting the cake and parceled the slices out.
Jack removed yet another package from his briefcase, this one elegantly wrapped. Inside was a large carven jewelry box. Sark drew in a silent breath; Irina had once sent him into a burning building to retrieve it.
Sydney looked up at her father questioningly.
"It's from your mother and me. The pearls were Josephine's, my mother. The ruby belonged to Irina's grandmother."
Sydney cried as she tried to put the pearl earrings on.
Oh, dear lord, the woman was going to stab herself. Sark stood up and moved behind her. Then he took the earrings from her, placing them gently in her lobes. Next he lifted the ruby cabochon from the blue velvet. Sydney twisted her hair up in one hand while Sark fastened the necklace.
"Thank you," she said and kissed him softly on the cheek. He suppressed the urge to remind her that the gift wasn't from him. But Sydney then moved to give her father his own kiss and a hug.
While she returned to her seat, Jack gave Sark a look that chilled to the bone. It was a glare that reminded Sark exactly who had often been in charge of SD-6 interrogations. He decided to sit down, shut up, and wait to see what Jack was planning.
"I've thought about your alliance with Sark and I've come to a compromise."
Ah. Jack was going to bargain with Sydney while she was emotionally vulnerable. Sark supposed he would have done the same thing.
"I will allow the alliance if he would be willing to trust me."
"Dad?" Sydney laughed. "Come on, I mean, what else can you do? Ground me?"
He dismissed her question. "Irina would like to see you. I have confirmed your safety, but she'd like to see for herself. Your mother misses you, Sydney."
She looked at Sark but he wouldn't meet her eyes. No one had offered Sark an invitation. From their discussions, she could gather Sark might not be ready to see her mother in any case. "We have a schedule, Dad. It's sort of an awkward time for a break. I don't want to lose momentum."
"I beg to differ. It's a good opportunity for downtime. You won't be going on many operations with Sark out of commission. He needs the time to heal properly." He looked pointedly at Sark's cast. "He can watch over your operations while you visit with your mother."
That's right, Jack, make it all my fault. He could feel the other man's stare but took comfort in the small knife he had hidden inside his sling.
Not completely confident of what he was doing, Sark spoke up anyway. "Go ahead, Sydney. Your father's right. Two weeks won't hurt us."
Sydney still looked uncertain. But Sark couldn't find it in himself to be more reassuring. He didn't want Sydney to go, certainly not to Irina. What if she decided that she could make do with her parents operation? He'd be stuck alone while they played Happy Family. It was her choice, anyway. And he couldn't try to influence her decision while her father sat there or the next package Jack pulled out of his briefcase would be a brick of C-4 with his name on it.
All he could say was, "I'll wait for you in Brazil."
She bit her lip but nodded assent to her father. "And I'll hear no more complaining about Sark?"
Jack grit his teeth but agreed. "I'll give you the location of her private plane and you can leave tomorrow."
He looked at Sark, daring him to protest. Sark stared back.
Their manly contest of wills was interrupted when Sydney said, with some determination, "I'm going to have a little chat with Mom. It seems she left some vital things out of Sark's training."
Sark wasn't sure what she meant but Jack raised an eyebrow when Sydney squeezed Sark's hand again..
***
Sark returned to his hotel room after supper. He was exhausted but planned to return to Sydney's room later. At least her departure had given him a reprieve from her temper. Ostensibly they were going to watch a movie, but both knew they would really be saying goodbye. It was odd, they had seen each other everyday for the last two months. He didn't quite know how to explain the feeling of incipient loneliness welling in his gut so he attributed it to his broken arm. It itched.
He unlocked his door, planning the rest of the evening. He would also need to purchase Sydney a birthday gift. He had no idea what to buy the woman; they had such a strange relationship. She was his partner, but he didn't know if she could call them friends. He sighed and mentally sorted that along with the other "Thoughts of Sydney Bristow to Avoid Until Absolutely Necessary."
Usually, giving women gifts was reasonably facile. He bought Irina jewelry most of the time but Sydney's parents' gift had effectively ruled that out unless he could find a diamond bigger than her head and then somehow imbued it with greater emotional significance than the family jewels. Other women were pleased by clothing or perfume but he rather thought Sydney would find some way to be insulted by a Dior dress or atomizer of Chanel. He imagined her asking if he thought something was wrong with the way she smelled.
He didn't think Sydney was prepared for the negative answer and elaborate explanation of exactly what he felt about her scent.
He knew he wasn't.
Fortunately, events forced him out of thinking of Sydney. To wit, her father was standing before him. Not the Bristow Sark would have chosen to have waiting in his hotel room.
But he knew better than to make a quip about that. Instead he raised his good arm in the air to show he was unarmed.
Jack moved to the turn on the light switch and the men stared at each other, measuring.
"Thank you for not countermanding me at dinner."
"I'm hardly in a position to command your daughter's decisions."
"I think we both know your opinions carry some weight with Sydney. I might not approve but I'm willing to come to terms."
"I'm trusting you to return her to me."
Jack scowled deeply but otherwise did not react to Sark's bait. "I have an opportunity for you to prove yourself. There's an operation I have in mind. I'd go in and you would serve as my backup."
"You're right. That is a lot of trust." Sark narrowed his eyes. "How do I know you're not leading me into a CIA trap?"
"You don't." Jack paused. "Just as I don't know you won't abandon me if the operation goes sour. I won't tell Sydney about this operation; she won't be able to connect my death to you."
So that was why Jack had pushed Sydney to visit her mother. Sark couldn't quite believe their relations had improved that much. Although it did comfort Sark to know Irina had not retrieved her own husband from CIA imprisonment. But that was something else he didn't need to think about quite yet.
"Fair enough." Sark nodded his head firmly. "So what's this scheme of yours?"
"Have you ever heard of Simon Walker?"
***
TBC…
I don't know what's up with me and Sark being sleepy and people waiting in Sark's hotel room. Maybe it's Freudian. (---Webmistress Eh? There I go again...) Otherwise, is this too mushy? I'm trying to remember it's a Sarkney fic. Blame it on the lovely romantic stuff I've been reading lately.
Okay, banter next part with Syd and Sark saying goodbye before a long separation. Cue the boom*chicka music. No, not really. I'm just teasing...