Tears of Pearls
Summary: "This was not something that usually happened. He was Julian Sark."
Rating: PG-13
AN: Because I wanted this to happen. They are the perfect evil spy couple.
He would admit it - a major reason he kept her around in the beginning was of a…personal nature. But at the same time, he would also say that she was a valuable asset – not just to him, but to the Covenant. There was no denying her skill as an agent.
That, of course, was why he went to Los Angles in the first place. Not because he cared about her, because he didn't. She was a key part to his operation. That was all.
That was also the reason he saved her. It was also the reason he was annoyed with her for not realizing he was warning her, not threatening her.
These were the justifications he gave his subordinates in regards to Lauren Reed. They accepted them without comment, of course; but really, they thought, these were not enough to justify some of his actions.
Sark sometimes didn't think they were either.
After he killed Bomani in front of her, he had found her in tears on a balcony. He supposed she wasn't accustomed to near-death experiences. Still, there was really no reason to take her in his arms and brush the tears away.
They were lovers, yes, so that accounted for some of the intimacy between them. It also accounted for the fact that after her cover was blown, they slept in the same bed. It was strange though, in the beginning, they had slept on opposite sides. Then at once, they were touching. Then he had an arm around her and she had her head on his chest.
There was no reason for his eyes following her wherever she went or the showers together or the trouble he went through to make sure she was never reassigned somewhere else.
These thoughts lurked in the back of Sark's mind, but he kept them quashed. Sometimes, however, they broke through the barriers. Like now, in the dark hours of the night.
He shook his head, as if to clear it, and absently ran his hand down his face. The sheets rustled and a voice spoke from somewhere near his heart.
"What are you doing up?" Groggy, not quite awake. He smiled.
"I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry I woke you." He tried to smooth her sleep-tousled hair.
She shook her head to tell him it didn't matter and rested her head on his chest.
"Go back to sleep," he murmured, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
She had very little trouble complying.
Sark paused, rethinking the past five minutes. Perhaps…perhaps he did care about her. He drifted off with that somewhat disconcerting thought playing in his mind.
He woke to her mouth on his. Gentle kisses, teasing. He returned them like he always did. The kiss deepened and he felt her hand slide up his thigh. Sark lost himself in her as clothes disappeared and he pulled her up to straddle him.
Afterwards, it seemed only natural to wrap his arms around her and brush kisses all over her face. And it didn't seem awkward when she nestled into his arms.
She was gone the next morning. He was surprised for a moment, but quickly recalled she had a plane to catch. Sark checked the time. Her mission was supposed to begin in an hour. He swung himself out of bed and into the shower.
After the mission, there was really no reason that he insisted on picking her up from the airport. She knew that, too, but made no comment as she slid into the passenger seat. Halfway back to base, stopped at a red light, Sark stopped thinking about what he was doing and reached for her hand. She started and stared, but didn't pull away. He wouldn't meet her eyes, afraid of what she might see. Something that he wasn't sure what to do about.
This was not supposed to happen; this did not fit in anywhere. His brow furrowed slightly and she must've noticed, but said nothing.
They separated at their temporary headquarters; he went to read over the specs for another possible mission, she disappeared in the direction of their bedroom. His eyes watched her until she had vanished before turning to his work.
An hour later found him closing a manila folder and handing it to a subordinate. Enough. He stood, releasing a breath, before following the path Lauren had taken earlier.
He found her covered in bath bubbles, as he knew he would. This is what she did after missions. After offering her a small smile, he settled himself at the edge of the tub and picked up her glass of wine.
He took a small sip, considering its flavor.
Lauren raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
He nodded. "Not bad."
She rolled her eyes, looking exasperated. He smiled, fully this time, before setting her glass back down.
"Would you like some company?" he asked, somewhat abruptly.
She nodded.
A moment later, she was settling herself back into his chest, smiling softly as he kissed her neck.
No one bothered to point out that this was not something that usually happened. They were both beginning to suspect what these ubiquitous signs meant.
He was in love with her.
This, of course, was something that did not happen. Ever. He was Julian Sark. Falling in love was not something that had ever been an issue before. He thought it never would be.
What did he know, anyway?
Months later, still reeling from the after-effects of Michael Vaughn's fists, he felt something else for the first time.
Shame.
He tried to look away as Lauren was brought into the cell next to his.
"Did you give me up?"
He lowers his eyes. That's all the answer she needs, apparently.
And then it's not her and they didn't find her and maybe she's going to make it.
They didn't tell him that she was dead for nearly two weeks. Even then, he didn't believe them. Who trusts the CIA anyway?
Then he read the file. And saw the pictures. Vaughn had killed her, they told him.
Later, hours later, when the shock, the absolute shock, had worn off, he cried for the first time in ten years. Heart-rending sobs that hurt his broken ribs and tears that stung open wounds.
He was very much aware of how bizarre this seemed to the agents that were monitoring him. Uncomfortable now, the lights of his cell were shut off, and Sark was left alone with his demons and his grief.
They were all he had left.