Show No Emotion
Spoilers: No
Archive: Yes, but please let me know at sarkaholic23@hotmail.com
A/N: This takes place after Truth Takes Time. Tenses in this story will change. When it is in first person POV, it will be in present tense. When it is in third person POV, it will be in past.
A/N #2: To answer a question asked multiple times in the reviews, I'm not exactly sure what the 'ship of this story is. It takes place after TTT, so Syd and Vaughn are together, but I've also found myself writing flirtatious scenes between Syd and Sark. I guess all of us will have to wait and see what it turns out to be!
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VERY BRIEF DIALOGUE SPOILERS FOR EPISODE 2.19, "ENDGAME."
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"Welcome to the Arabella Sheraton Atlantis Hotel!" the tall, jovial man behind the hotel management desk greeted. "My name is Adrien Hesse. If I am not mistaken, you are the Adjani-Lussac party, yes?"
"Yes, you are absolutely correct," Jack said, using a faux French accent. "Well spotted, my friend."
Adrien chuckled. "Well, thank you, sir. Now, Mr. and Mrs. Adjani, your room number is 447. Now, Mr. Joseph Lussac, your room is number 456, and Mr. Nathan Lussac, your room is number 464. I'm sorry we couldn't get your rooms closer, but I'm afraid the rooms in between are not vacant at this time."
"It's not a problem, I assure you," Jack said, waving his hand nonchalantly.
"Yes, well, I'm sure you are all tired from your flight. Allow our bellhops to take your luggage up to your rooms, and I'll give you your keys."
Adrien handed Jack, Vaughn, Sydney and Sark a card key for their rooms, and they turned to go up to their rooms.
"Oh, hold on a moment!" Jack exclaimed. "You three go on up, I have to take care of some business."
Sydney wrinkled her brow, but Vaughn took her hand and pulled her along. They took the elevator up the to fourth floor, admiring the lovely glass chandeliers and delicate hand-crafted furniture along the hallways. One of the bellhops led Sark down the corridor of the fourth floor and around the corner to his room while another followed Sydney and Vaughn into theirs. Sydney gasped with delight as they entered the room. There was a large, king-sized bed against the cream-colored wall, as well as two delicately carved wooden bureaus, a television, a small refrigerator, microwave, cupboards, and three lovely lamps. However, what caught Sydney's eye was the view. Sydney grinned as she looked out at the center of Zurich, with Vaughn at her side.
After the bellhop had left, there was a knock on the door. Sydney and Vaughn looked at each other and sighed, regretting that they had to cut their view of Zurich short. They got up and opened the door to find Jack standing on the other side. He entered the room without invitation and turned to face the two agents.
"Here are your keys to Sark's room," Jack said, handing Sydney and Vaughn each a small white and blue card with the words Arabella Sheraton Atlantis Hotel etched in script on the front side. "Whatever you do, do not let Sark know that you have complete access to his room."
Sydney rolled her eyes. "Dad, I think that's one of the more obvious things you've told us."
Jack nodded. "I know, but we must be very careful. If he does, in fact, plan to betray us, we have to be aware of his every move. We cannot let him compromise this mission."
"We get it," Sydney said, alarmed at her father's growing irritation.
Jack took a breath and glanced to his left. "Oh, look…one bed. One bed for two people. Well, uh, I suppose I should be getting to my own room now." He paused, as if he didn't want to leave Sydney and Vaughn alone together. "Yes, if you get into trouble, just…let me know." He slowly trudged out of the room, casting quick looks at the two young lovebirds.
As soon as Jack had exited their room, Sydney and Vaughn fell into fits of laughter.
"Did you see the look on his face when he saw the one bed!" Sydney exclaimed, falling into Vaughn's arms.
"I know! He was trying not to be obvious about it, too! That's what kills me!" Vaughn laughed, leading Sydney to the bed. They plopped down on their backs and sighed, holding each other's hand, reveling in the moment.
Later…
Sydney awoke from her sleep and sat up, groggily. She was pulled back down, but her alarm faded when she realized that Vaughn was still gripping her hand, though he was fast asleep. She smiled at his still form and brushed a bit of hair from his face. She stood up and paused, deciding what she should do now that she was up. She bit her lip, then unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a black tank top. She changed into her new clothes and was busy tying her shoelaces when a voice startled her.
"Syd?" Vaughn asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Where are you going?"
Sydney finished tying her laces and got up from the floor. "Oh, I'm just going out for a walk. Don't worry, you can go back to sleep."
"No, no, give me a minute, and I'll go with you," he said, moving off the bed.
"No!" Sydney exclaimed, surprising Vaughn. "Uh, I mean…you know, I think I'd rather go by myself."
Vaughn gave her a strange look. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm totally sure. You look tired, get some more rest."
Vaughn nodded. "Uh, okay…have a nice walk, I guess."
Sydney smiled and blew him a kiss. "Thanks." With that, she turned and walked out the door.
When she stepped into the hallway, she hesitated. Did she really want to do this? She nodded to assure herself that there was nothing to worry about and made her way to her destination.
Sark sat on his bed, flipping through the channels on the television, and yawned. He looked at the clock sitting on the table to his left. It was 9:43 p.m. He sighed. He had been awake with nothing to do for four hours. He had never been so stationary in his life. He raised an eyebrow when he heard a knock at the door. Assuming it was a bellboy, he prepared himself to act like Nathan Lussac. He smoothed his dress shirt, which he had not taken off yet, and opened the door.
"Yes, did I leave something down…why, Ms. Bristow, what brings you here?"
Sydney shrugged. "I don't know. Something just told me I should come over."
"Uh, yes, well…come in, come in, don't stand there in the hallway," Sark said, ushering her into the room. "Have a seat."
Sydney did so, sitting on one of the sofa chairs, as Sark sat on the edge of his bed.
"So there is no particular reason for your visit this evening?"
"Not really. I'm sorry to bother you."
"Oh, you're not a bother. I wasn't doing anything especially fascinating."
Sydney nodded. Sark tilted his head curiously.
"There's something you want to ask me. What is it?"
Sydney looked up at him, surprised. "How do you know I want to ask you something?"
"The way you're avoiding eye contact with me, the way you're sitting…you're uncomfortable here."
"Maybe that just means that I don't enjoy your company."
"If you didn't enjoy my company, you wouldn't be here in the first place."
Sydney paused before responding. "You're so young. How do you pick up these things?"
Sark averted his eyes from the agent. "I had a good teacher."
Sydney stiffened. "My mother?"
Sark nodded. "She taught me all that I know today."
"See, that's why I don't buy that you would just betray her like this. Why would you help the CIA catch someone who's been good to you for your whole life?"
"I'm not going to justify that with an answer, Ms. Bristow. If you don't want to believe what I say, then you don't have to. Just know that I'm sticking with the story I came to you with."
"You're good, Sark. Really good," Sydney commented.
"But that's not all you wanted to know," Sark said quietly.
"You're right. It's not."
"So why don't you ask?"
"Because I'm afraid you won't give me straight answers."
"Well, ask away, and I'll try my best to answer sincerely."
Sydney wasted no time in taking up his offer. "Okay. Who are your real parents? What were they like? Why did you become what you are?"
Sark blinked. "I…I never knew my real parents, to tell you the truth. I mean, I knew them, briefly. But they were killed."
Sydney winced. "I'm sorry."
Sark shrugged. "It's not as if we'd had a chance to bond. Irina told me they were friends of hers. I was sent to school in England at a very young age. Out of necessity one becomes...self-reliant and then perhaps prematurely ambitious. When I was in my early teen years, Irina took me from the school and raised me herself. I suppose I was basically manufactured--"
"Manufactured to be a spy," Sydney finished for him, nodding in understanding.
"Yes," Sark agreed. He stretched his arms. "And to think that I still haven't gotten anything out of it."
"What do you expect to get out of all of this?"
"Like anyone, Ms. Bristow, what I want is that which I never had."
"And what would that be?"
"I think you know."
They sat in silence for a moment, until Sark stood up from his spot on the bed. "Ms. Bristow, I hope you don't mind, but I must get out of this shirt. It's a bit warm in this room."
Sydney shook her head. "No, I don't mind."
"Thank you," he replied, walking toward the single bureau in his room. He had already unpacked his clothes and put them away in the drawers. He pulled out a plain, white wife-beater and laid it on top of the bureau.
Sydney cleared her throat. "Uh, I never imagined you as a wife-beater kind of guy."
Sark glanced at her and smirked. "Only in private, Ms. Bristow."
Sydney widened her eyes as Sark pulled of his shirt. She had assumed that he was going to change in the bathroom. But try as she might, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his strong arms. As he pulled the shirt away, she noticed an imperfection on the lower part of his back. It was a scar that seemed to stretch from the back to his rib cage. Her view was blocked as Sark pulled on his wife-beater, and she silently cursed to herself.
"Would you like something to drink?" Sark asked, opening the refrigerator.
"What? Uh…oh…no, that's okay," Sydney replied, shaking her head to clear her mind.
"Good, because this hotel stocks nothing but spring water. Honestly, couldn't they at least provide a bottle of Patruce?" he wondered aloud, sitting back on the bed.
Sydney giggled nervously, now alarmingly aware of how close she and Sark were really sitting. She bit her lip, then got the courage to ask what she was now wondering. "If you don't mind me asking, where did you get that scar?"
Sark put a hand to his abdomen, subconsciously, Sydney thought. "Oh…it was a few years ago. I was with Irina while she was on a mission, and…I was stabbed."
"Oh, my…that's terrible, I'm so sorry."
Sark shrugged. "I shouldn't have gotten involved. It wasn't my fight."
"What happened?"
"Irina was being held at gunpoint. I was young, maybe 18 or 19, I can't remember. Irina had told me to keep out of sight, but I was foolish. The man's back was to me, and I thought, 'This is my chance!' I ran out and attacked him. I made him drop his gun, which was the point, but I didn't know that he had a knife in his boot. I didn't even feel it for the first few minutes, you know. I suppose it was the shock, but I kept fighting. I beat him, then he turned me over and pounded at my face, pounded at the stab wound. That's when the gun went off. He was so busy with me that he didn't notice Irina standing right over him. She shot him in the back, and he fell on me. That's when the pain from the stab wound started kicking in. I couldn't move. Irina kicked him off of me and shot him in the head. I can remember Irina kneeling over me, crying, and berating me for coming out of hiding. That's the most emotional I've seen her since. Anyway, I can't remember what happened between the time I blacked out and woke up again, but the next thing I knew, I was lying in a bed at Irina's beach house."
Sydney raised her eyebrows. "Not to be crude, but…my mother had a beach house?"
Sark laughed and nodded. "Yes, indeed, and it was a lovely one at that. Nice and large, lots of channels from the satellite…"
Sydney rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I can imagine the channels you enjoyed watching."
"What can I say? I had to have some fun."
Sydney sighed. "You were stabbed when you were 19," she said, more to herself than Sark.
"It comes with the deal," Sark said indifferently.
"But you didn't make the deal," Sydney reminded him. "You were forced into this world."
"Speak for yourself, Ms. Bristow. It seems as if you didn't choose this life, either."
Sydney chose not to respond to his last statement. "You know, you can call me Sydney. You don't have to refer to me by my last name."
"Yes, well, you refer to me by my last name, so it's only fair."
"Well, we wouldn't have to if we knew your first name. Care to tell me?"
Sark chuckled to himself. "Not in this lifetime, Ms. Bristow. Not in this lifetime."