Summary: A mission for Sydney goes wrong. Wounded and alone she tries to
escape, but an old adversary has other ideas.
Disclaimer: Alias isn't mine; I just have an imagination that needs feeding
every so often.
Rating:
Spoilers: Set just after phase one, with references to that episode.
The moonlight seeped through the curtains and onto Sydney's sleeping face. Sark sat quietly by her bed and checked her bandage. It had stopped bleeding now. It had been almost twenty-four hours ago when Sark had brought her to the house and taken care of her leg.
He was glad she would live, at least for now, but he wished she'd wake up. So he could see the priceless look of horror that would come across her face. She'd fallen into his hands and she was defenceless.
She began to stir and he smiled. It wouldn't be long now. Her silky brown hair was now loose and partially covering her face. He moved it to the side for a better view of her face.
Sydney's eyes fluttered open and she found Sark sitting in a chair beside her. Where was she? What had happened? Why was Sark smiling? A thousand questions bombarded her dazed mind. "W-where am I?" Sark' smile widened as he bit his bottom lip slightly. Her fear! He was reveling in the fear she was experiencing. She tried to control her voice. "Where am I? What happened?"
He leant forward in his chair. "What do you remember Agent Bristow?" "I was stabbed...in the leg. Then I shot a guard, they all left...then you came in. You said something then..."
He teasingly held the disk in front of her. "I took the liberty of taking this from you." She sighed, he had the disk, he had her and she had no backup. The mission was definitely a failure. "Just hurry up and kill me." She muttered sourly. She hated being with Sark. His usually emotionless face lit up and he shook his head. "Why would I kill you? Or why would I hurry up and kill you?"
It was then she took in her situation. She was alive, Sark could have killed her any number of times once she'd passed out, or left her to get caught. She was in a house somewhere, in a room, on a bed. She'd obviously been sleeping for a while as the moon was up again.
"What do you plan to do? Talk me to death?" She scorned. If she couldn't hurt him she could insult him. He smiled, but this was more of a sadistic grin.
"Close, Miss Bristow. I plan to have a little fun." He replied and stood up to leave. "When I feel like it of course." She didn't like how he was looking at her, didn't like being so vulnerable, or how he was taunting her. "Wai..." He left her alone in the room. She fought back tears, she wouldn't cry. Her left arm was tied to the bedpost, but the rest of her was loose. That was his biggest mistake. She tried to wriggle free of the cuff that imprisoned her, but he had made it just tight enough to be uncomfortable if she remained still and to cause searing pain if she moved. It was then as she gave up that she noticed the small camera on the bedside table and she could see in her mind him laughing at her futile escape attempts.
Sark was well and truly in control now and there was nothing she could do, but she wouldn't break. He would get nothing form her and she made up her mind there and then. She wouldn't beg. She'd die first; she would never beg Sark, ever.
The moonlight seeped through the curtains and onto Sydney's sleeping face. Sark sat quietly by her bed and checked her bandage. It had stopped bleeding now. It had been almost twenty-four hours ago when Sark had brought her to the house and taken care of her leg.
He was glad she would live, at least for now, but he wished she'd wake up. So he could see the priceless look of horror that would come across her face. She'd fallen into his hands and she was defenceless.
She began to stir and he smiled. It wouldn't be long now. Her silky brown hair was now loose and partially covering her face. He moved it to the side for a better view of her face.
Sydney's eyes fluttered open and she found Sark sitting in a chair beside her. Where was she? What had happened? Why was Sark smiling? A thousand questions bombarded her dazed mind. "W-where am I?" Sark' smile widened as he bit his bottom lip slightly. Her fear! He was reveling in the fear she was experiencing. She tried to control her voice. "Where am I? What happened?"
He leant forward in his chair. "What do you remember Agent Bristow?" "I was stabbed...in the leg. Then I shot a guard, they all left...then you came in. You said something then..."
He teasingly held the disk in front of her. "I took the liberty of taking this from you." She sighed, he had the disk, he had her and she had no backup. The mission was definitely a failure. "Just hurry up and kill me." She muttered sourly. She hated being with Sark. His usually emotionless face lit up and he shook his head. "Why would I kill you? Or why would I hurry up and kill you?"
It was then she took in her situation. She was alive, Sark could have killed her any number of times once she'd passed out, or left her to get caught. She was in a house somewhere, in a room, on a bed. She'd obviously been sleeping for a while as the moon was up again.
"What do you plan to do? Talk me to death?" She scorned. If she couldn't hurt him she could insult him. He smiled, but this was more of a sadistic grin.
"Close, Miss Bristow. I plan to have a little fun." He replied and stood up to leave. "When I feel like it of course." She didn't like how he was looking at her, didn't like being so vulnerable, or how he was taunting her. "Wai..." He left her alone in the room. She fought back tears, she wouldn't cry. Her left arm was tied to the bedpost, but the rest of her was loose. That was his biggest mistake. She tried to wriggle free of the cuff that imprisoned her, but he had made it just tight enough to be uncomfortable if she remained still and to cause searing pain if she moved. It was then as she gave up that she noticed the small camera on the bedside table and she could see in her mind him laughing at her futile escape attempts.
Sark was well and truly in control now and there was nothing she could do, but she wouldn't break. He would get nothing form her and she made up her mind there and then. She wouldn't beg. She'd die first; she would never beg Sark, ever.