Best Enemies | Part Five
* * *
The day moved slowly after that. Sydney knew that both Sark and Simon were busy tracking her father and the other CIA agents as they one by one gave up the search for her and retreated to the States to get a firmer grasp on just where she was. Deceiving her dad was never something she enjoyed doing, especially after everything that had happened, but for now she had to keep everyone close to her in the dark.
"What are you doing?" Sark purred, sliding his hand into the curve of her neck and kissing her temple.
Well, maybe not everyone.
She smiled up at him and shifted to give him clearer access. "Thinking."
"Isn't that rather dangerous?"
Sydney swatted him on the arm and shifted out of his embrace. "Just for that--I'm not going to spar with you today!"
He laughed and brought his hand to rest on her waist. They started walking towards the stairs, back to their room. "If I recall correctly, I wasn't the one who wanted to spar in the first place."
"You're such a jerk."
"I love you, too, dearest."
* * *
Simon had locked himself in his room after brooding on the balcony for a good 20 minutes. Allison had made some excellent points. The transformation she had undergone had stripped her of her identity. It had taken much of her self-esteem with it and it was a wonder that she still had her underlying traits. Some things, like her aggression and pent up anger, were explainable. She was pissed. At everyone and everything, because they could be who they truly were and she couldn't. Not even if she wanted to.
Some things, like the way she handled a gun, and her hesitancy to go outside during the day--those were embedded into her because of their profession. Other things, like her fear of dogs and bright colors--those were pure Allison Georgia Doren traits--and he'd only seen them sneak through her many façades.
* * *
F L A S H B A C K
Sark looked back down at Sydney and silently asked himself just why he'd gone through all the trouble of locating her in the first place. Getting out of CIA custody had used up nearly every favor he'd been owed, the discreet flight to Europe had cost a fortune and he knew, that under no uncertain circumstances, when this was all over, he'd be right back in his little glass cage.
So why had he made the effort in the first place?
That wasn't something he was ready to answer just yet.
While he was thinking, Simon was assessing him. For nearly a year, he'd been searching for Sydney Bristow under orders of one Mr. Sark. What he could find on his employer was next to nothing. There were rumors--oh, incredible rumors that were just insane enough to be true--and Allie had filled him in on some things, when he dared to ask. But what he really wanted to know was how man could set a church full of people on fire and not feel anything.
The man had ice in his blood--another rumor--and apparently, one that was true. The only time he'd seen the cool look fade was when he'd set eyes on Sydney. Those two had a history, but not the type that would make you risk your life getting away from the United States Government.
He decided that now would be a good time to go check on Allie and make sure she was doing okay.
"Mr. Walker."
Simon paused and turned back around. Sark was looking at him with something in his eyes that impossible to read. "I trust you'll take good care of Allison?"
It was a statement, really.
"Course."
He nodded, pursing his lips. He did not look at Sydney or even register her form while she remained in his arms. It was as if she simply was not there. This was a conversation between two men discussing a certain woman.
"Allison is a very fragile person. You must be," he paused, trying to form his thoughts into words, "very careful when dealing with her. The slightest thing may just set her off and--"
Enough was enough. "With all due respect, Mr. Sark--can I call you Sark, then?--respect, and all that--I've lived with Allie for a year now. I know what she's like, I know how to deal with her. I don't need her ex telling me how it is."
A blue fire banked in the back of Sark's eyes and he opened his mouth to speak. Sydney stirred and slung her arm around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. He shut his mouth and Simon met his gaze evenly.
The door opened at the far end of the warehouse and Allison came flying out, two bags in her hand and the rare appearance of a wide-brimmed hat. She handed a bag to Simon and didn't look at Sark.
"We're all set."
"Right." He kissed her cheek and handed her his keys from his pocket. "Why don't you go get the car started?"
She left and Sark followed her with his eyes. He sighed and shifted Sydney. "I--"
"We'll see you in a couple of weeks, mate."
* * *
So, okay, their very first meeting had gone smoother than their second one. But eventually, Simon saw Sark open up about Allison and her likes and dislikes, childhood experiences she'd shared with him--things he never expected from her.
"How long have you been in here?"
He turned and saw her standing uncertainly in the doorway. Simon got up and drew her inside their bedroom. "Not nearly long enough to get anything productive done, that's for sure."
She made an attempt at a smile, and let her eyes wander over the tastefully decorated room. "I might just be able to help you with that."
It was weak and they both knew it.
He kissed her gently and knew that what she was alluding to would be a bad idea right now. Allison sensed his hesitation and pulled away, heading for the closet. One thing she did not like was being rejected. "Forget it."
"Babe--"
"I said, *forget it*." She came back out in a sweatshirt and exercise pants. "I'll see you at dinner."
* * *
"If you're not going to spar with me, then I'm going to try and get some training done before the day is completely wasted."
"Sydney--" he reached an arm off the bed for her.
She giggled at his fading state. "Guess I really wore you out there, huh?"
"I very much think you should come over here and see just how wrong that statement is."
She dropped her shirt and bra to toss on a sports bra. Inside the third drawer were her white lycra pants. Sark was transfixed by the line of her body and got off the bed like a man in a trance. He laid a hand on her wrist and she stopped, looking up at him with certain vulnerability in her eyes.
"Have a good workout," he murmured in her ear, brushing a hand down her arm. Goosebumps followed it its path. Sark gave her another inscrutable look and left her to her thoughts.
"He is so frustrating."
* * *
One of things she couldn't seem to shake was her taste in music. Francine Calfo had made many mistakes. Her choice in men, the opening of restaurant that would never see life again after a year past it's opening, refusing to wear black clothes whenever possible--but her musical preferences wasn't one of them.
It bugged Allison that after all her work trying to purge the life of Francie from her body, little things like her music choices stuck around for the long haul. She could eat coffee ice cream in peace, she could drink her espresso as strong as she wished without having to pretend it was tea, and she didn't have to wear frilly clothes when she left her room--but The Clash and some of Justin Timberlake's latest stuff wasn't really that bad.
Right now she was blasting Nine Inch Nails' 'Deep' and it had this habit of getting under her skin and inside her mind until there was nothing to focus on but the heavy beat of the music and the matching tempo of her fists on the punching bag.
Still, she wasn't completely unaware of her surroundings. No, that wouldn't do, to lose all conscious thought of what was going on around you. There was a dove at the basement window, pecking at the glass, probably thinking there was some type of nourishment. (That, or it was trying to avenge the death of its family members from before.)
So it wasn't much of stretch for her to sense when someone entered the room.
"This was one of Francie's favorite songs." Sydney folded her arms resolutely, giving her a death glare to the tenth power.
Allison glanced over at the stereo and decided against lowering the volume. "I know. Found it in one of her CD mixes."
The idea that an intruder had gone in and rifled through Francie's things irked her. The fact that she still might have something belonging to her best friend--when everything else had burned up in the fire that had taken the evidence of their friendship--made her anger rise another three notches.
Sydney stormed across the gym floor and yanked the CD out of the player. The room was silent, save for the fuzz of the dead speakers resounding in the room, as she traced her finger's over her lost friend's handwriting. 'Francie,' she mouthed, unable to speak, her heart clenching painfully.
"Put that back."
Allison looked aggravated and had her hands on her hips. Sydney's heart was *screaming* that Francie was standing right in front of her, that she'd gone a little heavy on the black eyeliner and had forgotten to get her haircut, but her head was telling her to fight. To trust her gut instinct and provoke her until every trace of her existence was gone.
"Make me." It was immature, but there was nothing childish about her chilling tone.
Allison cracked her knuckles as a slow grin crept on her mouth. "I thought you'd never ask."
* * *
"Never thought I'd find you here."
Sark looked up with a smirk. "I'm tracking Jack Bristow's phone calls right now--your reason for intruding was--?"
Simon stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered around the room. "What did you do when Sydney didn't want to be around you?"
His brows rose and he put down the pen. "Sydney never wanted to be around me. I coped. What's your point?"
"Oh, there wasn't one. I was just wondering."
Sark shook his head and went back to connecting the calls. It looked like Jack had first tried his contacts in Europe, and then resorted to telling whatever he knew to a single extension in the CIA. Calls had ended following that, and Sark noticed that his cable modem was particularly active afterwards.
"Now what's someone like Jack Bristow doing online for two hours?" He wondered quietly, running his fingers down the call list, searching for a misdialed number or reoccurring number when Simon left the room.
The rhythmic pounding that had been giving him a headache suddenly ended. Sark rose from his desk and went after him. He was surprised to see Simon heading back his way. "Hey, have you seen Allie?"
Simon frowned. "No. I was coming to ask if you'd seen Sydney. I wanted to talk to her."
Something prodded insistently at the back of his mind and he glanced at his watch. It had been quite some time since he'd left Sydney in the bedroom. It had been her intention to go to the gym, but he hadn't seen Allison since breakfast. When Allison had disappeared for long periods of time in the past, she'd gone to--
"Shit."
* * *
Sydney swiped at the blood on her lip. "Give up?"
Allison smirked and threw a punch to her stomach. "You kidding?"
Sydney ducked out of range and used her momentum to knock Allison flat on her back. She was getting to rest beside her and go for her neck when Allison's legs hooked behind her knees and she fell. They scrambled to their feet and Allison made it first, knocking Sydney back down with a grin.
"C'mon, *Syd*." Her voice had taken on Francie's easy-going tone. "You sure you don't want to just admit defeat? It'll be less painful in the end."
Sydney flipped to her feet. "Where's the fun in that," she wondered aloud and kicked twice at the stranger with Francie's face.
"Oh, I don't know," Allison retaliated by landing a punch on her shoulder and knocking her back a few steps, "going to ID a body at the morgue was never on my list of favorites. Then again, neither was pretending to be someone you're not--but you're really good at that, aren't you, Sydney?"
The rage that had been slowly building in her burst. When she attacked Allison the other woman didn't stand a chance. She was momentarily distracted when the doors to the gym burst open and looked up to see Sark and Simon rushing in.
That window was all Allison needed to flip their positions and get in some damage of her own.
"Stop," Sark exclaimed, trying to pull Sydney off of her. "Sydney, stop this!"
She reached back and nearly popped him on the nose. Stunned, Sark lost his grip on her and she went back to pounding on Allison.
"*STOP*!" Simon yelled, his voice thundering through the echoing walls. Abruptly, both women did. A CD fell from Sydney's waistband only to land on the floor and crack in two. Allison stretched down and tried to grab it. Sydney was quicker, though and had her hand around one piece when Sark scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
"You're a lousy kickboxer!" Sydney yelled, her voice sounding staggered as he walked away.
"Yeah, and you need to learn to stop dropping your right hook," Allison called back, rolling her eyes and wiping at her temple where it had come in serious contact with the floor. "You always did."
Sydney's eyes flared in anger and she started to squirm in Sark's hold. He gripped her tighter and there was no hint of tenderness behind the action.
"You and I," he promised ominously, "are going to have a serious talk."
The door slammed and Simon knelt down beside Allison to help her up. "What the hell just happened?"
She shrugged and they gingerly leaned against a nearby wall. "She came in, looking for trouble. We just. . . snapped."
"I'll say."
He didn't know how to handle her when she was like this. This was the side of Allison he very rarely saw and it was like playing with fire. If he got too close, she'd burn him. If he stayed too far, she'd freeze him out. Simon looked down into her eyes, cupping her chin in his hand.
He was shocked to feel the wetness on his hand. "Allie? What's wrong?"
"Everything," she muttered, wiping the hot tears away, ashamed of their existence. "And I hate her."
"No surprise there," Simon muttered, "but I have a feeling that might just be mutual."
Allison moved away from his hand and started to wrap her bloodied wrists. "Who cares? If she stays here much longer, we're going to kill each other anyway."
Simon looked at her, took in her wounded stance and the defensive way she held herself separate from him. "No," he said, "No, I don't think you will."
"Oh?" She arched her eyebrow and winced in pain. He retrieved an icepack form the fridge that held their water bottles and other such necessities. After wrapping a towel around it and placing it on her wounded temple, he continued, "Because you were holding back, Allie. You were holding yourself back."
* * *
* * *
The day moved slowly after that. Sydney knew that both Sark and Simon were busy tracking her father and the other CIA agents as they one by one gave up the search for her and retreated to the States to get a firmer grasp on just where she was. Deceiving her dad was never something she enjoyed doing, especially after everything that had happened, but for now she had to keep everyone close to her in the dark.
"What are you doing?" Sark purred, sliding his hand into the curve of her neck and kissing her temple.
Well, maybe not everyone.
She smiled up at him and shifted to give him clearer access. "Thinking."
"Isn't that rather dangerous?"
Sydney swatted him on the arm and shifted out of his embrace. "Just for that--I'm not going to spar with you today!"
He laughed and brought his hand to rest on her waist. They started walking towards the stairs, back to their room. "If I recall correctly, I wasn't the one who wanted to spar in the first place."
"You're such a jerk."
"I love you, too, dearest."
* * *
Simon had locked himself in his room after brooding on the balcony for a good 20 minutes. Allison had made some excellent points. The transformation she had undergone had stripped her of her identity. It had taken much of her self-esteem with it and it was a wonder that she still had her underlying traits. Some things, like her aggression and pent up anger, were explainable. She was pissed. At everyone and everything, because they could be who they truly were and she couldn't. Not even if she wanted to.
Some things, like the way she handled a gun, and her hesitancy to go outside during the day--those were embedded into her because of their profession. Other things, like her fear of dogs and bright colors--those were pure Allison Georgia Doren traits--and he'd only seen them sneak through her many façades.
* * *
F L A S H B A C K
Sark looked back down at Sydney and silently asked himself just why he'd gone through all the trouble of locating her in the first place. Getting out of CIA custody had used up nearly every favor he'd been owed, the discreet flight to Europe had cost a fortune and he knew, that under no uncertain circumstances, when this was all over, he'd be right back in his little glass cage.
So why had he made the effort in the first place?
That wasn't something he was ready to answer just yet.
While he was thinking, Simon was assessing him. For nearly a year, he'd been searching for Sydney Bristow under orders of one Mr. Sark. What he could find on his employer was next to nothing. There were rumors--oh, incredible rumors that were just insane enough to be true--and Allie had filled him in on some things, when he dared to ask. But what he really wanted to know was how man could set a church full of people on fire and not feel anything.
The man had ice in his blood--another rumor--and apparently, one that was true. The only time he'd seen the cool look fade was when he'd set eyes on Sydney. Those two had a history, but not the type that would make you risk your life getting away from the United States Government.
He decided that now would be a good time to go check on Allie and make sure she was doing okay.
"Mr. Walker."
Simon paused and turned back around. Sark was looking at him with something in his eyes that impossible to read. "I trust you'll take good care of Allison?"
It was a statement, really.
"Course."
He nodded, pursing his lips. He did not look at Sydney or even register her form while she remained in his arms. It was as if she simply was not there. This was a conversation between two men discussing a certain woman.
"Allison is a very fragile person. You must be," he paused, trying to form his thoughts into words, "very careful when dealing with her. The slightest thing may just set her off and--"
Enough was enough. "With all due respect, Mr. Sark--can I call you Sark, then?--respect, and all that--I've lived with Allie for a year now. I know what she's like, I know how to deal with her. I don't need her ex telling me how it is."
A blue fire banked in the back of Sark's eyes and he opened his mouth to speak. Sydney stirred and slung her arm around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. He shut his mouth and Simon met his gaze evenly.
The door opened at the far end of the warehouse and Allison came flying out, two bags in her hand and the rare appearance of a wide-brimmed hat. She handed a bag to Simon and didn't look at Sark.
"We're all set."
"Right." He kissed her cheek and handed her his keys from his pocket. "Why don't you go get the car started?"
She left and Sark followed her with his eyes. He sighed and shifted Sydney. "I--"
"We'll see you in a couple of weeks, mate."
* * *
So, okay, their very first meeting had gone smoother than their second one. But eventually, Simon saw Sark open up about Allison and her likes and dislikes, childhood experiences she'd shared with him--things he never expected from her.
"How long have you been in here?"
He turned and saw her standing uncertainly in the doorway. Simon got up and drew her inside their bedroom. "Not nearly long enough to get anything productive done, that's for sure."
She made an attempt at a smile, and let her eyes wander over the tastefully decorated room. "I might just be able to help you with that."
It was weak and they both knew it.
He kissed her gently and knew that what she was alluding to would be a bad idea right now. Allison sensed his hesitation and pulled away, heading for the closet. One thing she did not like was being rejected. "Forget it."
"Babe--"
"I said, *forget it*." She came back out in a sweatshirt and exercise pants. "I'll see you at dinner."
* * *
"If you're not going to spar with me, then I'm going to try and get some training done before the day is completely wasted."
"Sydney--" he reached an arm off the bed for her.
She giggled at his fading state. "Guess I really wore you out there, huh?"
"I very much think you should come over here and see just how wrong that statement is."
She dropped her shirt and bra to toss on a sports bra. Inside the third drawer were her white lycra pants. Sark was transfixed by the line of her body and got off the bed like a man in a trance. He laid a hand on her wrist and she stopped, looking up at him with certain vulnerability in her eyes.
"Have a good workout," he murmured in her ear, brushing a hand down her arm. Goosebumps followed it its path. Sark gave her another inscrutable look and left her to her thoughts.
"He is so frustrating."
* * *
One of things she couldn't seem to shake was her taste in music. Francine Calfo had made many mistakes. Her choice in men, the opening of restaurant that would never see life again after a year past it's opening, refusing to wear black clothes whenever possible--but her musical preferences wasn't one of them.
It bugged Allison that after all her work trying to purge the life of Francie from her body, little things like her music choices stuck around for the long haul. She could eat coffee ice cream in peace, she could drink her espresso as strong as she wished without having to pretend it was tea, and she didn't have to wear frilly clothes when she left her room--but The Clash and some of Justin Timberlake's latest stuff wasn't really that bad.
Right now she was blasting Nine Inch Nails' 'Deep' and it had this habit of getting under her skin and inside her mind until there was nothing to focus on but the heavy beat of the music and the matching tempo of her fists on the punching bag.
Still, she wasn't completely unaware of her surroundings. No, that wouldn't do, to lose all conscious thought of what was going on around you. There was a dove at the basement window, pecking at the glass, probably thinking there was some type of nourishment. (That, or it was trying to avenge the death of its family members from before.)
So it wasn't much of stretch for her to sense when someone entered the room.
"This was one of Francie's favorite songs." Sydney folded her arms resolutely, giving her a death glare to the tenth power.
Allison glanced over at the stereo and decided against lowering the volume. "I know. Found it in one of her CD mixes."
The idea that an intruder had gone in and rifled through Francie's things irked her. The fact that she still might have something belonging to her best friend--when everything else had burned up in the fire that had taken the evidence of their friendship--made her anger rise another three notches.
Sydney stormed across the gym floor and yanked the CD out of the player. The room was silent, save for the fuzz of the dead speakers resounding in the room, as she traced her finger's over her lost friend's handwriting. 'Francie,' she mouthed, unable to speak, her heart clenching painfully.
"Put that back."
Allison looked aggravated and had her hands on her hips. Sydney's heart was *screaming* that Francie was standing right in front of her, that she'd gone a little heavy on the black eyeliner and had forgotten to get her haircut, but her head was telling her to fight. To trust her gut instinct and provoke her until every trace of her existence was gone.
"Make me." It was immature, but there was nothing childish about her chilling tone.
Allison cracked her knuckles as a slow grin crept on her mouth. "I thought you'd never ask."
* * *
"Never thought I'd find you here."
Sark looked up with a smirk. "I'm tracking Jack Bristow's phone calls right now--your reason for intruding was--?"
Simon stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered around the room. "What did you do when Sydney didn't want to be around you?"
His brows rose and he put down the pen. "Sydney never wanted to be around me. I coped. What's your point?"
"Oh, there wasn't one. I was just wondering."
Sark shook his head and went back to connecting the calls. It looked like Jack had first tried his contacts in Europe, and then resorted to telling whatever he knew to a single extension in the CIA. Calls had ended following that, and Sark noticed that his cable modem was particularly active afterwards.
"Now what's someone like Jack Bristow doing online for two hours?" He wondered quietly, running his fingers down the call list, searching for a misdialed number or reoccurring number when Simon left the room.
The rhythmic pounding that had been giving him a headache suddenly ended. Sark rose from his desk and went after him. He was surprised to see Simon heading back his way. "Hey, have you seen Allie?"
Simon frowned. "No. I was coming to ask if you'd seen Sydney. I wanted to talk to her."
Something prodded insistently at the back of his mind and he glanced at his watch. It had been quite some time since he'd left Sydney in the bedroom. It had been her intention to go to the gym, but he hadn't seen Allison since breakfast. When Allison had disappeared for long periods of time in the past, she'd gone to--
"Shit."
* * *
Sydney swiped at the blood on her lip. "Give up?"
Allison smirked and threw a punch to her stomach. "You kidding?"
Sydney ducked out of range and used her momentum to knock Allison flat on her back. She was getting to rest beside her and go for her neck when Allison's legs hooked behind her knees and she fell. They scrambled to their feet and Allison made it first, knocking Sydney back down with a grin.
"C'mon, *Syd*." Her voice had taken on Francie's easy-going tone. "You sure you don't want to just admit defeat? It'll be less painful in the end."
Sydney flipped to her feet. "Where's the fun in that," she wondered aloud and kicked twice at the stranger with Francie's face.
"Oh, I don't know," Allison retaliated by landing a punch on her shoulder and knocking her back a few steps, "going to ID a body at the morgue was never on my list of favorites. Then again, neither was pretending to be someone you're not--but you're really good at that, aren't you, Sydney?"
The rage that had been slowly building in her burst. When she attacked Allison the other woman didn't stand a chance. She was momentarily distracted when the doors to the gym burst open and looked up to see Sark and Simon rushing in.
That window was all Allison needed to flip their positions and get in some damage of her own.
"Stop," Sark exclaimed, trying to pull Sydney off of her. "Sydney, stop this!"
She reached back and nearly popped him on the nose. Stunned, Sark lost his grip on her and she went back to pounding on Allison.
"*STOP*!" Simon yelled, his voice thundering through the echoing walls. Abruptly, both women did. A CD fell from Sydney's waistband only to land on the floor and crack in two. Allison stretched down and tried to grab it. Sydney was quicker, though and had her hand around one piece when Sark scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.
"You're a lousy kickboxer!" Sydney yelled, her voice sounding staggered as he walked away.
"Yeah, and you need to learn to stop dropping your right hook," Allison called back, rolling her eyes and wiping at her temple where it had come in serious contact with the floor. "You always did."
Sydney's eyes flared in anger and she started to squirm in Sark's hold. He gripped her tighter and there was no hint of tenderness behind the action.
"You and I," he promised ominously, "are going to have a serious talk."
The door slammed and Simon knelt down beside Allison to help her up. "What the hell just happened?"
She shrugged and they gingerly leaned against a nearby wall. "She came in, looking for trouble. We just. . . snapped."
"I'll say."
He didn't know how to handle her when she was like this. This was the side of Allison he very rarely saw and it was like playing with fire. If he got too close, she'd burn him. If he stayed too far, she'd freeze him out. Simon looked down into her eyes, cupping her chin in his hand.
He was shocked to feel the wetness on his hand. "Allie? What's wrong?"
"Everything," she muttered, wiping the hot tears away, ashamed of their existence. "And I hate her."
"No surprise there," Simon muttered, "but I have a feeling that might just be mutual."
Allison moved away from his hand and started to wrap her bloodied wrists. "Who cares? If she stays here much longer, we're going to kill each other anyway."
Simon looked at her, took in her wounded stance and the defensive way she held herself separate from him. "No," he said, "No, I don't think you will."
"Oh?" She arched her eyebrow and winced in pain. He retrieved an icepack form the fridge that held their water bottles and other such necessities. After wrapping a towel around it and placing it on her wounded temple, he continued, "Because you were holding back, Allie. You were holding yourself back."
* * *
