** I am in no way associated with Alias. The usual disclaimers apply.

PART THREE

Sydney walked reluctantly to the edge of the boat, Moore's careful gaze on her.

"Think about what you're doing…" Sydney was pleading.

"I'm saving myself…" Moore half-smiled sadly, but Sydney had trouble believing she was truly upset.

Sark looked on almost amusedly.

"Sorry, doll… this is just the way it has to be." Moore cocked her head to the side, training her gun on Sydney.

Sydney's eyes darted about the boat for a distraction, some way of getting out of the situation. Squinting against the sun reflecting off the metal railing on the opposite side of the boat, Sydney smiled.

Moore aimed the gun, and just as she was about to pull the trigger, Sydney darted to the side, allowing the sun to shine directly in the younger agent's eyes.

Sydney threw her leg up in a forceful kick, knocking the gun from Moore's hand. Moore recovered quickly, scrounging for her gun.

Sark fired, the bullet missing Sydney by a fraction and ricocheting off the railing. Sydney threw herself on top of Moore, who, unable to reach her gun, elbowed Syd in the face and scrambled to her feet. Sydney slammed her against the railing hard, knocking the breath out of her. Moore grabbed Sydney around the waist and lifted, pulling her over her head and the railing.

Sydney was flung over the edge of the yacht, desperately reaching for something to hang on to, the ocean pounding below her as the yacht powered ahead at full speed. With a sickening thud, Sydney's head hit a protrusion on the side of the boat, her limp body crashing into the water and disappearing under the backwash.

Moore straightened herself and turned back to Sark, who was looking at her with the same amused half-grin he always had.

"Why didn't you do something..?" She asked breathlessly.

Sark looked her over circumspectly - her tousled hair, disheveled bikini, and golden skin covered in a fine sweat. He raised an eyebrow. "Cos that was fun…" Sark motioned with a flick of his hand to one of his men. "Cuff her…"

"What!?" Moore looked at him confusedly, a hint of betrayal in her eyes.

"You, my dear, are quite a valuable asset. Free agents always are. We work for anyone, anytime, and that means we know a great deal about a lot of people."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I said I'd work with you…"

Sark chortled. "I know your kind all too well, aye, I am your kind, you'd try to escape the moment I had my back turned, or probably try to stab me in it…"

Moore winked. "It's like we're the same person".

Sark's men manacled her wrists and ankles, and Moore showed no signs of struggle.

***

Sydney's arms ached from swimming forcefully and her head pounded as if a small militia of Tarra Moore's had set up an armory in her brain. "That bitch."

Syd saw the coastline ahead of her, longing for nothing more than to lie down on the yellow sand and sleep forever. But she new she had to keep going one. She always had, and she always would. It was not in her nature to give up.

***

"You know, it's kinda breezy here darl, do you reckon I could get a jacket?"

Sark looked up from his map to where Moore was suspended from the ceiling in the same manner as before, wearing only her tiny black bikini and shivering from the breeze blowing through the door that led below deck.

"No. Jackets have zippers, buttons and other objects that may be used against me…"

Moore crinkled her nose, and Sark suddenly realized how child-like she was. Except for those eyes… those deep, archaic eyes.

"Asshole…"

"I heard that"

"You were meant to…"

Sark ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's quite hard being a criminal mastermind determined to take over the world, do you think maybe I could get a bit of quiet?"

"Sorry hun, one of my personality flaws."

Sark turned back to his map. Moore started clicking her tongue in boredom.

"My arms are aching…"

Sark sighed exasperatedly. "You'll have an aching gunshot wound in a minute…"

"What? You gonna shoot me? Then you won't get your information…"

"You don't need a leg to talk…"

Moore's eyes narrowed involuntarily. "I'm cold…"

Sark threw his pen down on the desk, the small object seemingly booming as it hit the map. He picked up his gun – the lethal item looking comfortable in his hand.

Moore saw Sark's reaction. His body was tense, and she could see his hair curling from the damp sweat on his neck. He was angry. Moore knew she had pushed to far, and that she had to rectify the situation – fast.

Sark stood close to her, directing the gun at Moore's lower leg, the cold barrel biting her skin. She could feel his warm breath dancing on her exposed skin, and she unwittingly trembled.

She looked into his eyes, sharp, bright blue pools that revealed his intelligence and annoyance and alluded to something less tangible… an inner darkness Moore knew all too well. She licked her lips.

"Thanks for the body heat…"

Sark caught the look in Moore's eyes as she studied him and he became short of breath. Her eyes seemed omniscient, and they also conveyed her emotions completely. He looked down to the gun in his hand and began to drag it up Moore's leg languidly. She gasped as the steel reached her inner thigh and Sark bit his lower lip.

"Warm enough yet?"

Moore smiled sarcastically. "Not yet…"

***

The sun leaked through the slits in tacky Venetian blinds that hung over one of the windows below deck, the sunlight splattering across disheveled sheets. Moore stirred softly, careful not to wake the sleeping sociopath beside her. She propped herself up onto an elbow to survey her situation. Sark was lying beside her, not quite peacefully though, as it would seem even in sleep his body was tense. His toes were curled tightly, and his grip on the pillow beneath his head threatened to tear the flimsy cotton cover. She could see his forehead creased in fury as he attacked his enemies in his unconscious.

She was closest to the wall, and could see numerous difficulties in extracting herself from the bed. Sark didn't look like he was sleeping sound enough not to be woken if she moved. She narrowed her eyes, studying him as he slept. They weren't so different, Sark and herself. In any other setting, if they had any other job, they may have been friends – or more. But they were spies, assassins, and in most cases, enemies. And they were always going to be. Moore knew that as soon as she had lost her usefulness to Sark, he would kill her, or sell her to people who would torture her, and then kill her. Her only chance of survival was to escape.

Moore slipped to the foot of the bed slowly, her arms trailing above her head. Just as her feet hit the floor, she felt her wrist caught by cold metal above her head.

"Going somewhere?" Sark's voice stopped her heart momentarily, his words brusque and free of drowsiness.

"Was thinking about it…" Moore bit her top lip in defeat as Sark cuffed her other hand to the bed head.

He rolled onto his stomach to face her, an almost warm smile on his face. "Think again…"

TO BE CONTINUED...