5
Sydney strode through the office the next morning, on her way to her desk, when her father fell in step with her. "I just spoke with Dixon." He said.
"I suppose you're going to try to talk me out of working with Sark."
"I thought about doing that, but I'm not, actually." Sydney stopped and turned towards Jack, the shock clear upon her face. "We need to use all the resources available to us to find out what happened to you. If Sark can help us with that, well, it just makes him another necessary evil that we have to deal with."
"Are. are you serious?" Sydney asked slowly, the irony of the fact that she was asking Jack Bristow if he was being serious not escaping her.
"Yes." He said, stone-faced as ever.
"I'm sorry. I just expected a little more protest on your part. Am I the only one who thinks that this is an insanely bad idea?"
"Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of saying no to Sark's proposal. He's in control, so we have no choice but to cooperate."
Sydney laughed, shaking her head. "God, my life just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"
Jack laid a hand on her shoulder, his face full of warm concern. "We'll find the people responsible for doing this to you, Sydney. It may take time, but we'll find them." He smiled. "In the meantime, be careful." Sydney returned the smile.
Three hours after her meeting with Dixon had ended, Sydney found herself sitting at the airport, awaiting Sark and her flight's arrival. She had stopped by the hospital again on her way, but Vaughn still hadn't regained consciousness. She did, however, run into Lauren, who had made it perfectly clear that she entirely blamed Sydney for his condition. She wouldn't even listen to Sydney when she attempted to explain what had happened. Deep down, Sydney knew that Lauren was only stressed and worried about her husband, but she couldn't help wondering how Vaughn could marry such an absolute bitch.
Her thoughts were cut short when a voice came over the PA system, announcing that her flight was now boarding. She stood and straightened her clothes, a pair of dark denim lowriders and a red long-sleeved shirt. She reached for her suitcase, but found Sark already holding it in his free hand, dressed in worn jeans and a black shirt. "Good afternoon, Sydney." He said, smiling widely. She didn't return the smile.
"I'm quite capable of carrying my own luggage, Sark."
"Yes, I'm aware of that. I was merely being polite." He smirked. "However, suit yourself." He handed the heavy suitcase back to her. Sydney masked the grimace threatening to give away how much effort it was taking her to carry it and keep up with him as they strode towards their gate.
After boarding the plane and settling into their seats, Sydney quickly began wishing that Weiss were taking this flight as well. He would be meeting with them in Milan to cover surveillance for Sydney in case anything went wrong. After what had happened to Vaughn, they figured it would be safer for them both if they took separate flights. So Weiss got to take the comfortable, faster company jet, while she was stuck flying commercial with a wanted terrorist and pain in her ass. She faced a twenty- hour flight with only Sark for company. Sydney sighed irritably.
She pulled a book from her bag, hoping Sark would take the hint that she was in no mood for forced conversation. He must have, for he pulled out an MP3 player and put on the headphones, giving her a sideways glance. They stayed that way for some time, silent, save for the music leaking out from Sark's player, which sounded quite possibly like Led Zeppelin to Sydney. Neither of them spoke, except when the snack cart came around and Sark had nudged Sydney, asking if she wanted anything.
Eight hours into the flight, and Sydney was about ready to tear out her hair. She'd read through most of her book, and gone over the specs for the upcoming operation countless times. She looked over at Sark, who was still listening to his music, and had pulled out a book of his own. Out of sheer curiosity, she leaned over to see what he was reading.
"Tereza knew what happens during the moment love is born: the woman cannot resist the voice calling forth her terrified soul; the man cannot resist the woman whose soul thus responds to his voice."
Sydney's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon those well- known words. She looked up at Sark, who had turned towards her when she had leaned into him. He took off his headphones, his eyes inquiring. "Is there something wrong, Sydney?"
"No, I just. that's so weird."
"Forgive me, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
Sydney reached into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of her, and pulled out her copy of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera. It was just as worn and tattered as Sark's. She showed him the cover. "This is one of my absolute favourite books." A flash of surprise lit Sark's eyes, and he broke into a genuine grin. This time, Sydney returned the smile, feeling the iciness she harbored towards him melt a little.
What the hell, she thought, I'm stuck with him for the next couple of days. I may as well try to get along with the cocky fucker. "The first time I read it was in my third year of university. I stumbled upon it while I was researching sources for a paper. When did you first read it?"
"I was thirteen years old when it was given to me." Sark replied.
"Thirteen?" Sydney asked incredulously. "Are you kidding?"
"No. Is there something wrong with that?"
"Well, no," Sydney laughingly replied, "it's just when I was thirteen, I'm pretty sure the only things I was reading were Nancy Drew novels."
"Yes, well, that makes a lot of sense now, doesn't it?" Sydney started to tell him to shut up, but broke into a giggle when she saw the laughter in Sark's eyes. There was a pause between them before Sark spoke again. "What was it about the book that drew you to it?"
"I don't know." Sydney thought for a moment. "I guess the concept of "lightness" always kind of appealed to me. Maybe not so much to the point where I would be unable to feel anything, just, in my life. Well, things would be easier for me if I could lighten the load of my responsibilities; of the consequences to my actions." Her mind inevitably summoned pictures of Vaughn, eyes shut and skin paper white. Sydney was quiet, and looked away from Sark's gaze. She felt awkward, having told him something so personal.
He must have sensed this, for he said "There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, with someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."
Their eyes met once again, and Sydney gave him a small, sad smile before turning towards the window, and drifting to sleep. Sark watched her for a long time afterwards, a look of deep thought and concern etched on his face.
**** Hands moving up her sides, slipping up her shirt as she leaned back and moaned. Lips were moving over her throat, and she let out a blissful sigh. She had the sense of falling back, and landing on warm softness. Leaning into her now, hips on hers, pressing against her. A moan tore from her lips as she delighted in feeling the weight on top of her. Hands were lost in her hair now, as lips were pressed to hers. Tongue slipping inside her mouth, teasing her, exciting her. Her tongue played along until she felt she would burst. She broke the kiss, gasping for breath. A whisper now.
".Beautiful." It said. "You're so beautiful."
She gazed up into eyes so blue, she felt for a moment she was gazing into the sky. "And I'm yours." She whispered.
Sydney woke with a start later that night; the remnants of a dream quickly thinning like fog from her brain. The cabin was dim, and most of the passengers were asleep, with few exceptions scattered throughout. The lights from laptop computers glowed like beacons. It was peacefully quiet, save for the gentle tapping of keyboards, shuffling pages, and the occasional murmur of voices. Sydney rubbed her eyes sleepily, wondering what time it was.
"It's four o'clock in the morning." Sark's low voice startled her, jolting her wide-awake. She smoothed her hands over her hair, and stretched out her legs from the curled position against her chest they had been in for too long. She delighted in stretching out her muscles, sore from hours of sleep. Sydney pulled the fleece airline blanket tightly around her and turned herself to face Sark.
"How did you know I was awake?" she asked.
"You stopped snoring." He smirked.
"I do not sno." Sydney stopped, remembering very clearly that Vaughn had told her on more then one occasion that she did, in fact, snore. It took every fiber of her self-restraint not to punch Sark in the widening grin that spread across his face. "I was tired." She muttered.
"Clearly." He replied. "We still have a while before we land in Milan." Sark shut the laptop that he had been typing away on.
"Did you sleep at all?" Sydney asked.
"For a few hours. I've checked with my contacts, and everything is set for tonight. Biryukov will be in attendance."
"Good."
Silence.
"You mentioned yesterday that you were coming to meet me from the hospital." Sark said thoughtfully. "I assume you were there visiting Agent Vaughn."
"I was." Sydney confirmed, eyeing him suspiciously.
"How is he?"
"The doctors say he's in critical but stable condition." Sydney said tentatively.
"I'm simply trying to make conversation with you. You needn't be so paranoid."
"Paranoid?" Sydney said angrily, trying to keep her voice down. "I seem to recall you trying to kill Vaughn during several incidents. I'm not supposed to find it strange that you're pretending to be concerned about his welfare?"
"My concern wasn't for his welfare, Sydney." Sark said shortly, his normally smooth voice tainted with annoyance. "It was for you."
"I assure you, it's unwarranted. I'm fine."
Another awkward silence. Sark shivered slightly, pulling his arms around himself. She considered selfishly keeping the blanket for herself for a moment, if only to inflict some kind of suffering on him, until she realized that she hadn't fallen asleep with it. Sark must have covered her with it while she slept. Glancing over at him, she finally took some pity. "Cold?" Sydney asked.
"No."
"Yes, you are. Here," she said, pulling off her blanket and offering it to him, "take this. I'm too warm, anyway."
Sark hesitated, then took the blanket obligingly. "Thank you." He said quietly. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, Sydney heard the steady flow of his breath deepen, indicating he had fallen asleep. She found herself fascinated by the sight of him, fast asleep, looking so peaceful and vulnerable.
Sydney strode through the office the next morning, on her way to her desk, when her father fell in step with her. "I just spoke with Dixon." He said.
"I suppose you're going to try to talk me out of working with Sark."
"I thought about doing that, but I'm not, actually." Sydney stopped and turned towards Jack, the shock clear upon her face. "We need to use all the resources available to us to find out what happened to you. If Sark can help us with that, well, it just makes him another necessary evil that we have to deal with."
"Are. are you serious?" Sydney asked slowly, the irony of the fact that she was asking Jack Bristow if he was being serious not escaping her.
"Yes." He said, stone-faced as ever.
"I'm sorry. I just expected a little more protest on your part. Am I the only one who thinks that this is an insanely bad idea?"
"Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of saying no to Sark's proposal. He's in control, so we have no choice but to cooperate."
Sydney laughed, shaking her head. "God, my life just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"
Jack laid a hand on her shoulder, his face full of warm concern. "We'll find the people responsible for doing this to you, Sydney. It may take time, but we'll find them." He smiled. "In the meantime, be careful." Sydney returned the smile.
Three hours after her meeting with Dixon had ended, Sydney found herself sitting at the airport, awaiting Sark and her flight's arrival. She had stopped by the hospital again on her way, but Vaughn still hadn't regained consciousness. She did, however, run into Lauren, who had made it perfectly clear that she entirely blamed Sydney for his condition. She wouldn't even listen to Sydney when she attempted to explain what had happened. Deep down, Sydney knew that Lauren was only stressed and worried about her husband, but she couldn't help wondering how Vaughn could marry such an absolute bitch.
Her thoughts were cut short when a voice came over the PA system, announcing that her flight was now boarding. She stood and straightened her clothes, a pair of dark denim lowriders and a red long-sleeved shirt. She reached for her suitcase, but found Sark already holding it in his free hand, dressed in worn jeans and a black shirt. "Good afternoon, Sydney." He said, smiling widely. She didn't return the smile.
"I'm quite capable of carrying my own luggage, Sark."
"Yes, I'm aware of that. I was merely being polite." He smirked. "However, suit yourself." He handed the heavy suitcase back to her. Sydney masked the grimace threatening to give away how much effort it was taking her to carry it and keep up with him as they strode towards their gate.
After boarding the plane and settling into their seats, Sydney quickly began wishing that Weiss were taking this flight as well. He would be meeting with them in Milan to cover surveillance for Sydney in case anything went wrong. After what had happened to Vaughn, they figured it would be safer for them both if they took separate flights. So Weiss got to take the comfortable, faster company jet, while she was stuck flying commercial with a wanted terrorist and pain in her ass. She faced a twenty- hour flight with only Sark for company. Sydney sighed irritably.
She pulled a book from her bag, hoping Sark would take the hint that she was in no mood for forced conversation. He must have, for he pulled out an MP3 player and put on the headphones, giving her a sideways glance. They stayed that way for some time, silent, save for the music leaking out from Sark's player, which sounded quite possibly like Led Zeppelin to Sydney. Neither of them spoke, except when the snack cart came around and Sark had nudged Sydney, asking if she wanted anything.
Eight hours into the flight, and Sydney was about ready to tear out her hair. She'd read through most of her book, and gone over the specs for the upcoming operation countless times. She looked over at Sark, who was still listening to his music, and had pulled out a book of his own. Out of sheer curiosity, she leaned over to see what he was reading.
"Tereza knew what happens during the moment love is born: the woman cannot resist the voice calling forth her terrified soul; the man cannot resist the woman whose soul thus responds to his voice."
Sydney's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon those well- known words. She looked up at Sark, who had turned towards her when she had leaned into him. He took off his headphones, his eyes inquiring. "Is there something wrong, Sydney?"
"No, I just. that's so weird."
"Forgive me, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
Sydney reached into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of her, and pulled out her copy of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera. It was just as worn and tattered as Sark's. She showed him the cover. "This is one of my absolute favourite books." A flash of surprise lit Sark's eyes, and he broke into a genuine grin. This time, Sydney returned the smile, feeling the iciness she harbored towards him melt a little.
What the hell, she thought, I'm stuck with him for the next couple of days. I may as well try to get along with the cocky fucker. "The first time I read it was in my third year of university. I stumbled upon it while I was researching sources for a paper. When did you first read it?"
"I was thirteen years old when it was given to me." Sark replied.
"Thirteen?" Sydney asked incredulously. "Are you kidding?"
"No. Is there something wrong with that?"
"Well, no," Sydney laughingly replied, "it's just when I was thirteen, I'm pretty sure the only things I was reading were Nancy Drew novels."
"Yes, well, that makes a lot of sense now, doesn't it?" Sydney started to tell him to shut up, but broke into a giggle when she saw the laughter in Sark's eyes. There was a pause between them before Sark spoke again. "What was it about the book that drew you to it?"
"I don't know." Sydney thought for a moment. "I guess the concept of "lightness" always kind of appealed to me. Maybe not so much to the point where I would be unable to feel anything, just, in my life. Well, things would be easier for me if I could lighten the load of my responsibilities; of the consequences to my actions." Her mind inevitably summoned pictures of Vaughn, eyes shut and skin paper white. Sydney was quiet, and looked away from Sark's gaze. She felt awkward, having told him something so personal.
He must have sensed this, for he said "There is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels for someone, with someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."
Their eyes met once again, and Sydney gave him a small, sad smile before turning towards the window, and drifting to sleep. Sark watched her for a long time afterwards, a look of deep thought and concern etched on his face.
**** Hands moving up her sides, slipping up her shirt as she leaned back and moaned. Lips were moving over her throat, and she let out a blissful sigh. She had the sense of falling back, and landing on warm softness. Leaning into her now, hips on hers, pressing against her. A moan tore from her lips as she delighted in feeling the weight on top of her. Hands were lost in her hair now, as lips were pressed to hers. Tongue slipping inside her mouth, teasing her, exciting her. Her tongue played along until she felt she would burst. She broke the kiss, gasping for breath. A whisper now.
".Beautiful." It said. "You're so beautiful."
She gazed up into eyes so blue, she felt for a moment she was gazing into the sky. "And I'm yours." She whispered.
Sydney woke with a start later that night; the remnants of a dream quickly thinning like fog from her brain. The cabin was dim, and most of the passengers were asleep, with few exceptions scattered throughout. The lights from laptop computers glowed like beacons. It was peacefully quiet, save for the gentle tapping of keyboards, shuffling pages, and the occasional murmur of voices. Sydney rubbed her eyes sleepily, wondering what time it was.
"It's four o'clock in the morning." Sark's low voice startled her, jolting her wide-awake. She smoothed her hands over her hair, and stretched out her legs from the curled position against her chest they had been in for too long. She delighted in stretching out her muscles, sore from hours of sleep. Sydney pulled the fleece airline blanket tightly around her and turned herself to face Sark.
"How did you know I was awake?" she asked.
"You stopped snoring." He smirked.
"I do not sno." Sydney stopped, remembering very clearly that Vaughn had told her on more then one occasion that she did, in fact, snore. It took every fiber of her self-restraint not to punch Sark in the widening grin that spread across his face. "I was tired." She muttered.
"Clearly." He replied. "We still have a while before we land in Milan." Sark shut the laptop that he had been typing away on.
"Did you sleep at all?" Sydney asked.
"For a few hours. I've checked with my contacts, and everything is set for tonight. Biryukov will be in attendance."
"Good."
Silence.
"You mentioned yesterday that you were coming to meet me from the hospital." Sark said thoughtfully. "I assume you were there visiting Agent Vaughn."
"I was." Sydney confirmed, eyeing him suspiciously.
"How is he?"
"The doctors say he's in critical but stable condition." Sydney said tentatively.
"I'm simply trying to make conversation with you. You needn't be so paranoid."
"Paranoid?" Sydney said angrily, trying to keep her voice down. "I seem to recall you trying to kill Vaughn during several incidents. I'm not supposed to find it strange that you're pretending to be concerned about his welfare?"
"My concern wasn't for his welfare, Sydney." Sark said shortly, his normally smooth voice tainted with annoyance. "It was for you."
"I assure you, it's unwarranted. I'm fine."
Another awkward silence. Sark shivered slightly, pulling his arms around himself. She considered selfishly keeping the blanket for herself for a moment, if only to inflict some kind of suffering on him, until she realized that she hadn't fallen asleep with it. Sark must have covered her with it while she slept. Glancing over at him, she finally took some pity. "Cold?" Sydney asked.
"No."
"Yes, you are. Here," she said, pulling off her blanket and offering it to him, "take this. I'm too warm, anyway."
Sark hesitated, then took the blanket obligingly. "Thank you." He said quietly. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. After a few minutes, Sydney heard the steady flow of his breath deepen, indicating he had fallen asleep. She found herself fascinated by the sight of him, fast asleep, looking so peaceful and vulnerable.
