PERFECT WORLD | CHAPTER 2
A/N: I promised a chapter in the near future and here it is. Hopefully everyone who asked for a PM got one. If you didn't just let me know and I'll add you to the list. The middle of this chapter is fun. I had a blast writing it. Lots of Sark/Sarkney banter. Hee.
* * *
Morning came far too quickly. Even with her second cup of coffee, Sydney felt like she was moving through a fog. It didn't matter which direction she looked in, or how far she walked, it still remained the bleak, empty wasteland she was getting more and more used to seeing. The fact that she was becoming resigned to it was what scared her.
Actually, what really scared her was that Dixon had just asked her something and she had no idea what he was speaking of.
She ventured hesitantly, "Sure, that seems like a good idea."
For a moment, she saw incredulity wash over his face before dissolving back into the mask he'd worn ever since she'd gotten back. "Well then. It's settled. Lauren, I'll leave it up to you to schedule a meeting with Sloane. Sydney and Sark will meet you there, along with a dozen or so armed guards."
*WHAT?!?*
"I'm sorry, is this really necessary?"
Dixon, bless him, thought she was speaking of the guards. "As glad as I am to see you adjusting to your role with Sark, we still have to treat him like the prisoner he is. The guards are just a safety precaution. Someone we're unaware of could have a vendetta against either man and where better to take care of that but at a simple conference? No, it's too risky. That's why I assigned the guards."
Still in shock, Sydney managed to nod her assent. Lauren looked at her with a mixture of approval and reluctant admiration--for what, she didn't know-- and probably would have attempted to talk to her had Sydney not flown out of the room, heading for the once place she hoped to get some straight answers.
* * *
"You knew."
Sark looked up from the floor pattern he was studying to see Sydney fuming. He got up to meet her. "We've really got to stop meeting like this."
"When did you find out?"
Confusion washed over his features. "Find out what? What's going on? No one's told me anything since last night."
Sydney looked taken aback. "So you didn't ask for a meeting with Sloane."
"What? Why would I ask to see that goat? Last I heard, he's switched sides--not that anyone with two plugs of sense would believe that--but there's really nothing we can do for each other."
Sydney leaned a shoulder against the glass. "Yeah, well, apparently, Lauren and Dixon don't see it that way. They want you to collaborate and dredge up anything you know on the Covenant. I guess they figure that if you're together, you'll be more likely to let something slip, or give up information."
Sark fixed her with a gauging stare. "Sydney. I have given the CIA everything I know. I have done nothing but cooperate. And now you are telling me they want me to be in the same room with Arvin Sloane--a man whom, had this been a different time completely--would have been grounds enough to kill us both."
"Yep."
He threw his hands up in the air. "This is insane."
"I know."
"Did you at least fight it? Try to change it? Perhaps move to avoid it altogether?"
Guilt nagged at her conscience. "Not exactly." When he didn't answer, she confessed, "I wasn't really paying attention."
"Bloody. Hell." He closed his eyes and his lips moved slightly, as if in prayer.
"Hey--you're the one who told me to get more rest!"
"Yes, I did." He replied calmly. "But not in a debriefing where they have my life in their hands!"
Sydney had the good grace to look chastened. "I'm sorry. But I'm new to this whole thing, I don't know how it works just yet."
Sark looked unimpressed. "How hard can it be for someone with your level of intelligence? You go into a meeting, you listen for information on your charge, and you deal with it accordingly. How is that difficult?" He sighed and started to pace the length of the small cube.
Sydney bit back a giggle, but not before it escaped halfway. Sark's eyes jumped to her face.
"Don't you dare laugh. This is not funny in any way. We are talking Sloane. He is a dangerous, evil man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants."
Her lip curved up on one side. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were afraid. And that description, could have easily been applied to someone else in this room."
Sark look exasperated. "Don't tell me they want you to dress up as a man."
She didn't know if he was deliberately being obtuse or he really didn't view himself as the ruthless man she had known. Either way, his comment sent her into a full-fledged grin, the brightness of which left Sark momentarily speechless.
The hilarity of the situation must have hit him as well, for moments later, he was smirking in his usual fashion. In better spirits, he added, "So it's safe to assume you'll be there to protect me, then?"
Sydney met his gaze with mirth in her eyes and mock-solemnly promised, "Sark, I will personally make sure no one lays a hand on you."
"Just as long as the rule applies to everyone but you. I may need support, you know, getting out of the van. Walking up steps. You see, I've been confined in this box for so very long that it's a wonder I remember how to move."
"You move very well." The impact of her statement hit a second later and she added, "For someone who professes not to."
Sark continued to watch her with that intent look that had made her antsy before and was appearing to have the same affect now.
She brushed off a piece of lint on her shoulder and met his eyes once. "They'll be taking you out in less than three hours." Feeling slightly impish, she added, "So I expect there will be nothing but cooperation on your part."
He rolled his eyes and walked away.
* * *
For weaker men, being surrounded by over a dozen armed guards would have been cause to faint or at least clam up in anxiety. But Arvin Sloane was not a weak man by any standards, least of all his. And so, it was with great deliberation, he leaned over to Sark--who was sitting less than half a seat away--to whisper, "Mine is prettier."
Sark's eyes never left the door where he knew Sydney and Lauren to be discussing the arrangement of their collaboration as he blandly replied, "Sure, if you prefer the porcelain doll with no smarts approach. At least mine has brains and a track record of using them occasionally." This morning, of course, excluded.
When Sloane opened his mouth, Sark continued, "And I know for a certainty you want Sydney as your handler. Even you would tire of messing with Ms. Reed's simple conscience. There's not enough of a challenge to keep you occupied. Whereas Sydney."
Sloane hissed under his breath, "You don't deserve her."
Mildly insulted, Sark retorted, "Neither do you. But it doesn't matter, really, because she's mine and not yours."
* * *
"I will not let you interrogate him about Lazeray while Sloane is in the room! If you wanted to do that, all you had to do was schedule a meeting with--" understanding dawned in her eyes as she continued, "--*me*. And then I would have seen to it that you got some time with Sark. But this is not the time or the place to be arguing about it, and there are more important things than tracking down the killer!" Never mind the fact that the killer appeared to be her. This whole conversation was making her a bit nauseous.
"I understand that this bothers you, and as Dixon said earlier this morning, I am glad you've seemingly fit into this role so well, but it is one of the NSC's priorities and I want to know if he'll say anything."
Sydney snorted. "First off, if you knew anything about Sark--which, you so obviously don't--you would know that he does not open up to people. The chances of him doing so are slim to none and when you add Arvin Sloane into the equation, they become obsolete. Secondly--and this is something you need to remember--this is *not* an NSC operation. It is a CIA op. Which means, we do things my way--because I am a *CIA* agent and have been given the authority to get this done. It also means that we will be asking more important questions, something that will apply to *both* of those men sitting outside this door, instead of just one."
Lauren's eyes flashed and Sydney momentarily wondered what Vaughn had ever seen in her. Didn't he know her nostrils flared when she was really angry? "You just don't want me harassing Sark! If you weren't his handler, you could care less what happens to him."
And there was light at the end of the tunnel! "If that's what helps you sleep at night." Because she really cared *that* much about the man. Yeah, *okay*.
She took a deep breath. "I would like a moment with Sark before we start this meeting."
"Fine," Lauren spat, leaving the room.
Sydney put her hand on the table for support and waited for him to come in. When the door opened again, she gave him a faded smile. "Hi. We need to talk."
* * *
Sloane had, once again, dropped obscure hints about the Covenant. He'd messed with all of their heads, including Sark. Lauren looked like 10 years of exhaustion had been added and Sydney momentarily felt a twinge of regret for pushing so hard before.
She looked through the clear glass doors and saw the sunlight and was very glad that she had. Otherwise, they'd still be in there, all trying to construct mental barriers for Sloane to try and yank down. A hand-cuffed Sark was quietly walking in front of them and hadn't said much since leaving the room.
It wasn't until they got outside that Sydney got the feeling something was terribly wrong. It was too quiet.
She looked around and saw no one. It was like a ghost town. A flash of black caught her eye and before she knew what was happening, she and Lauren were lying next to each other, face down. How many times had she been in this very same position with Vaughn? It hurt just to think about.
Wait a second. 'Sark.'
She turned her head to catch a glimpse of him and was rewarded with a kick to her head.
Something flat and brownish landed with a thump next to her face and she flinched. They were instructed not to move until they had counted to a hundred but as soon as she heard the squealing of tires, she looked up. Bullets flew over their heads and Sydney grabbed Lauren to pull her behind a trashcan for safety.
When the smoke had cleared and it was once again eerily quiet, Sydney peered over can and saw what had landed next to her before. A journal of some sort.
As she set about retrieving it, Lauren asked, "Why didn't you wait and just count like they had asked?"
She turned the journal over in her hands. 'Rambaldi'. Dammit. "Because I never do what they ask."
* * *
She was sitting on her couch when the telephone rang.
"And how are things in sunny California?" Cocky. British. Wait a minute. She knew that voice.
"Sark. Where are you? What's going on?"
"I'm not quite sure where I am. A few moments ago I was in a small room with no windows and some questioning brown substance on the floor. I just picked the lock and found a phone--but this will have to be brief because I think they'll be making rounds again in ten minutes and I don't want to get lost in the shuffle."
It occurred to her that he was taking a serious risk by calling her and the death-grip she had on the phone relaxed. "Then why are you even doing this? You could get killed."
"Oh? Is that concern I hear in your voice?"
"Dream. On." Her tone noticeably softened. "Seriously though. Are you sure this is secure?"
"Relatively speaking, yes." Sydney laughed and he chuckled at their present situation. "But, you are my handler--I'm just loving that term more with every day--and I'm requesting an extraction. Preferably before they chop off my head."
She grimly promised to do the best she could and swore she could feel him relax, just that tiny bit. Sark informed her that he had, at best, a little under five minutes left and they decided it would be prudent to end the call shortly, leaving him to find out what he could about his captors and where, exactly, he was. Of course, Marshall would trace the call in the morning, but until then.
"By the way, have you seen my jacket? I could have sworn I was wearing it last when I was with you."
"What color is it?"
"Black."
A loaded pause followed. For a moment, Sydney thought he had been found out. "No. Haven't seen a trace of it."
"Oh." For some reason, she wasn't really thinking about the jacket. "Okay then, I'm going to see if Dixon will get a team together for you."
"I appreciate it."
She sighed and tried to imagine gratitude on Sark's face. Nope. Wasn't working. "I'm sure you do."
* * *
End chapter 2.
Hey wow! 5 1/2 pages! That's very cool for an update. It's up to you guys to read and review.
A/N: I promised a chapter in the near future and here it is. Hopefully everyone who asked for a PM got one. If you didn't just let me know and I'll add you to the list. The middle of this chapter is fun. I had a blast writing it. Lots of Sark/Sarkney banter. Hee.
* * *
Morning came far too quickly. Even with her second cup of coffee, Sydney felt like she was moving through a fog. It didn't matter which direction she looked in, or how far she walked, it still remained the bleak, empty wasteland she was getting more and more used to seeing. The fact that she was becoming resigned to it was what scared her.
Actually, what really scared her was that Dixon had just asked her something and she had no idea what he was speaking of.
She ventured hesitantly, "Sure, that seems like a good idea."
For a moment, she saw incredulity wash over his face before dissolving back into the mask he'd worn ever since she'd gotten back. "Well then. It's settled. Lauren, I'll leave it up to you to schedule a meeting with Sloane. Sydney and Sark will meet you there, along with a dozen or so armed guards."
*WHAT?!?*
"I'm sorry, is this really necessary?"
Dixon, bless him, thought she was speaking of the guards. "As glad as I am to see you adjusting to your role with Sark, we still have to treat him like the prisoner he is. The guards are just a safety precaution. Someone we're unaware of could have a vendetta against either man and where better to take care of that but at a simple conference? No, it's too risky. That's why I assigned the guards."
Still in shock, Sydney managed to nod her assent. Lauren looked at her with a mixture of approval and reluctant admiration--for what, she didn't know-- and probably would have attempted to talk to her had Sydney not flown out of the room, heading for the once place she hoped to get some straight answers.
* * *
"You knew."
Sark looked up from the floor pattern he was studying to see Sydney fuming. He got up to meet her. "We've really got to stop meeting like this."
"When did you find out?"
Confusion washed over his features. "Find out what? What's going on? No one's told me anything since last night."
Sydney looked taken aback. "So you didn't ask for a meeting with Sloane."
"What? Why would I ask to see that goat? Last I heard, he's switched sides--not that anyone with two plugs of sense would believe that--but there's really nothing we can do for each other."
Sydney leaned a shoulder against the glass. "Yeah, well, apparently, Lauren and Dixon don't see it that way. They want you to collaborate and dredge up anything you know on the Covenant. I guess they figure that if you're together, you'll be more likely to let something slip, or give up information."
Sark fixed her with a gauging stare. "Sydney. I have given the CIA everything I know. I have done nothing but cooperate. And now you are telling me they want me to be in the same room with Arvin Sloane--a man whom, had this been a different time completely--would have been grounds enough to kill us both."
"Yep."
He threw his hands up in the air. "This is insane."
"I know."
"Did you at least fight it? Try to change it? Perhaps move to avoid it altogether?"
Guilt nagged at her conscience. "Not exactly." When he didn't answer, she confessed, "I wasn't really paying attention."
"Bloody. Hell." He closed his eyes and his lips moved slightly, as if in prayer.
"Hey--you're the one who told me to get more rest!"
"Yes, I did." He replied calmly. "But not in a debriefing where they have my life in their hands!"
Sydney had the good grace to look chastened. "I'm sorry. But I'm new to this whole thing, I don't know how it works just yet."
Sark looked unimpressed. "How hard can it be for someone with your level of intelligence? You go into a meeting, you listen for information on your charge, and you deal with it accordingly. How is that difficult?" He sighed and started to pace the length of the small cube.
Sydney bit back a giggle, but not before it escaped halfway. Sark's eyes jumped to her face.
"Don't you dare laugh. This is not funny in any way. We are talking Sloane. He is a dangerous, evil man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants."
Her lip curved up on one side. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were afraid. And that description, could have easily been applied to someone else in this room."
Sark look exasperated. "Don't tell me they want you to dress up as a man."
She didn't know if he was deliberately being obtuse or he really didn't view himself as the ruthless man she had known. Either way, his comment sent her into a full-fledged grin, the brightness of which left Sark momentarily speechless.
The hilarity of the situation must have hit him as well, for moments later, he was smirking in his usual fashion. In better spirits, he added, "So it's safe to assume you'll be there to protect me, then?"
Sydney met his gaze with mirth in her eyes and mock-solemnly promised, "Sark, I will personally make sure no one lays a hand on you."
"Just as long as the rule applies to everyone but you. I may need support, you know, getting out of the van. Walking up steps. You see, I've been confined in this box for so very long that it's a wonder I remember how to move."
"You move very well." The impact of her statement hit a second later and she added, "For someone who professes not to."
Sark continued to watch her with that intent look that had made her antsy before and was appearing to have the same affect now.
She brushed off a piece of lint on her shoulder and met his eyes once. "They'll be taking you out in less than three hours." Feeling slightly impish, she added, "So I expect there will be nothing but cooperation on your part."
He rolled his eyes and walked away.
* * *
For weaker men, being surrounded by over a dozen armed guards would have been cause to faint or at least clam up in anxiety. But Arvin Sloane was not a weak man by any standards, least of all his. And so, it was with great deliberation, he leaned over to Sark--who was sitting less than half a seat away--to whisper, "Mine is prettier."
Sark's eyes never left the door where he knew Sydney and Lauren to be discussing the arrangement of their collaboration as he blandly replied, "Sure, if you prefer the porcelain doll with no smarts approach. At least mine has brains and a track record of using them occasionally." This morning, of course, excluded.
When Sloane opened his mouth, Sark continued, "And I know for a certainty you want Sydney as your handler. Even you would tire of messing with Ms. Reed's simple conscience. There's not enough of a challenge to keep you occupied. Whereas Sydney."
Sloane hissed under his breath, "You don't deserve her."
Mildly insulted, Sark retorted, "Neither do you. But it doesn't matter, really, because she's mine and not yours."
* * *
"I will not let you interrogate him about Lazeray while Sloane is in the room! If you wanted to do that, all you had to do was schedule a meeting with--" understanding dawned in her eyes as she continued, "--*me*. And then I would have seen to it that you got some time with Sark. But this is not the time or the place to be arguing about it, and there are more important things than tracking down the killer!" Never mind the fact that the killer appeared to be her. This whole conversation was making her a bit nauseous.
"I understand that this bothers you, and as Dixon said earlier this morning, I am glad you've seemingly fit into this role so well, but it is one of the NSC's priorities and I want to know if he'll say anything."
Sydney snorted. "First off, if you knew anything about Sark--which, you so obviously don't--you would know that he does not open up to people. The chances of him doing so are slim to none and when you add Arvin Sloane into the equation, they become obsolete. Secondly--and this is something you need to remember--this is *not* an NSC operation. It is a CIA op. Which means, we do things my way--because I am a *CIA* agent and have been given the authority to get this done. It also means that we will be asking more important questions, something that will apply to *both* of those men sitting outside this door, instead of just one."
Lauren's eyes flashed and Sydney momentarily wondered what Vaughn had ever seen in her. Didn't he know her nostrils flared when she was really angry? "You just don't want me harassing Sark! If you weren't his handler, you could care less what happens to him."
And there was light at the end of the tunnel! "If that's what helps you sleep at night." Because she really cared *that* much about the man. Yeah, *okay*.
She took a deep breath. "I would like a moment with Sark before we start this meeting."
"Fine," Lauren spat, leaving the room.
Sydney put her hand on the table for support and waited for him to come in. When the door opened again, she gave him a faded smile. "Hi. We need to talk."
* * *
Sloane had, once again, dropped obscure hints about the Covenant. He'd messed with all of their heads, including Sark. Lauren looked like 10 years of exhaustion had been added and Sydney momentarily felt a twinge of regret for pushing so hard before.
She looked through the clear glass doors and saw the sunlight and was very glad that she had. Otherwise, they'd still be in there, all trying to construct mental barriers for Sloane to try and yank down. A hand-cuffed Sark was quietly walking in front of them and hadn't said much since leaving the room.
It wasn't until they got outside that Sydney got the feeling something was terribly wrong. It was too quiet.
She looked around and saw no one. It was like a ghost town. A flash of black caught her eye and before she knew what was happening, she and Lauren were lying next to each other, face down. How many times had she been in this very same position with Vaughn? It hurt just to think about.
Wait a second. 'Sark.'
She turned her head to catch a glimpse of him and was rewarded with a kick to her head.
Something flat and brownish landed with a thump next to her face and she flinched. They were instructed not to move until they had counted to a hundred but as soon as she heard the squealing of tires, she looked up. Bullets flew over their heads and Sydney grabbed Lauren to pull her behind a trashcan for safety.
When the smoke had cleared and it was once again eerily quiet, Sydney peered over can and saw what had landed next to her before. A journal of some sort.
As she set about retrieving it, Lauren asked, "Why didn't you wait and just count like they had asked?"
She turned the journal over in her hands. 'Rambaldi'. Dammit. "Because I never do what they ask."
* * *
She was sitting on her couch when the telephone rang.
"And how are things in sunny California?" Cocky. British. Wait a minute. She knew that voice.
"Sark. Where are you? What's going on?"
"I'm not quite sure where I am. A few moments ago I was in a small room with no windows and some questioning brown substance on the floor. I just picked the lock and found a phone--but this will have to be brief because I think they'll be making rounds again in ten minutes and I don't want to get lost in the shuffle."
It occurred to her that he was taking a serious risk by calling her and the death-grip she had on the phone relaxed. "Then why are you even doing this? You could get killed."
"Oh? Is that concern I hear in your voice?"
"Dream. On." Her tone noticeably softened. "Seriously though. Are you sure this is secure?"
"Relatively speaking, yes." Sydney laughed and he chuckled at their present situation. "But, you are my handler--I'm just loving that term more with every day--and I'm requesting an extraction. Preferably before they chop off my head."
She grimly promised to do the best she could and swore she could feel him relax, just that tiny bit. Sark informed her that he had, at best, a little under five minutes left and they decided it would be prudent to end the call shortly, leaving him to find out what he could about his captors and where, exactly, he was. Of course, Marshall would trace the call in the morning, but until then.
"By the way, have you seen my jacket? I could have sworn I was wearing it last when I was with you."
"What color is it?"
"Black."
A loaded pause followed. For a moment, Sydney thought he had been found out. "No. Haven't seen a trace of it."
"Oh." For some reason, she wasn't really thinking about the jacket. "Okay then, I'm going to see if Dixon will get a team together for you."
"I appreciate it."
She sighed and tried to imagine gratitude on Sark's face. Nope. Wasn't working. "I'm sure you do."
* * *
End chapter 2.
Hey wow! 5 1/2 pages! That's very cool for an update. It's up to you guys to read and review.