08 Breakfast and bullets
- - -
But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do
And I would gladly hit the road get up and go if I knew
That someday it would lead me back to you
That someday it would lead me back to you
"Sunday Morning" Maroon 5
- - -
Sark woke up early that morning. He looked at his bed side clock that blinked 7:53. Wondering what could have woken him up so early, his question was answered by a crashing noise downstairs. Without hesitation, he reached for his gun underneath his pillow and bolted out of bed. He opened the door and peered out, but found the hallway vacant. As he made his decent down the stairs he heard another crash and found the source of the noise was coming from the kitchen.
As he approached the door, he heard male voices. He tried to listen in on what they were saying but the kitchen door muffled their words.
He kicked the door open and pointed his gun in the direction of the voices. A scream penetrated through the air as Sark realized the male voices were coming from a small kitchen radio, the one he was pointing his gun at. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sydney pressing herself against the refrigerator, looking shocked.
"Bloody Hell" he muttered to himself under his breath and lowered his weapon. "Listen, Sydney, I'm sorry. I'm just not use to other people staying in the house," But as soon as Sark finished his sentence, he regretted his words.
"What do you mean not use to people in the house." She asked suspiciously. "I live here too, right?"
"Yes! Yes, you do. It's just ... your gone so often on missions it sometimes feels like I live alone." He replied and breathed a sigh of relief as she nodded and went back to sprinkling salt into a frying pan. "What are you doing?"
"Making breakfast" Sydney replied casually, reaching for a near by spatula.
"My sweet, we have cooks to do that for us." Sark replied, placing the gun down on a near by counter.
"I know. They were here this morning but I sent them home." She said as she sent Sark a smile. "I thought we could spend some quality time together alone. You know, just the two of us and we could maybe try working on getting my memory back."
Sark sent her a grimaced of a smile and sat down on a near by stool. He heard the door bell ring but didn't move and continued to stare at her stirring what looked like eggs.
"Aren't you going to get that?" Sydney asked. Sark looked up with bewilderment expression but it quickly dawned on him, she must've sent the butlers home as well.
"Right, suppose I will." He said grudgingly and got up. Sark made his way down the empty hall way to the front door. He peered through the peep-hole and saw a man dressed very formally, holding a large manila folder underneath his arm. The memory of making the phone call to an old friend slowly crept back into his mind as he opened the door.
"Package for Mr. Sark." said the man with a thick Irish accent.
"That's me." Sark replied and the man held out the manila folder. Sark snatched the folder and before another word could be spoken, slammed the door in the man's face. Sark stood there as he opened the folder and pulled out its contents.
He first pulled out a small pile of pictures of him and Sydney. They weren't normal pictures though; all of them were manipulated to look like they were an actual couple: pictures of them holding hands, holding each other, some were made to look like them posing together, and others were made to look like they were standing only feet from one another. No fighting, no guns, nothing but computer generated love.
Sark replaced the pictures with sheets of paper work containing in depth information on Sydney and her life. He realized certain things, words or images were triggering old memories to return. He needed to know what topics to avoid and prevent any more memories to resurface. As he shifted through the papers, he heard Sydney's voice call him from the kitchen.
"Sark, breakfast is ready!"
"Ok, just a moment." Sark replied, giving the paperwork one more look over before putting it back into the folder. He placed them on a near by table before exiting the room and walking to the kitchen.
When he entered the small room, the smell of hash browns, bacon, sausage, eggs, all ingredients to make a complete breakfast, hit him with full force. When he first entered the kitchen, he was ready to kill but when he entered this time, he knew what he was suspecting. Sydney grinned happily at him and Sark couldn't help but return it.
"Make your plate and meet me in the dining room." She instructed him, leaving the room with her own filled plate. Sark did as he was told, barely fitting all the foods he wanted on the small plate, and entered the dining room to find Sydney already tucking in.
Breakfast began quietly, each of them not knowing where to start. Sydney, searching for a good first question to ask as Sark feared to answer it incorrectly. When they were half way done, Sydney broke the silence.
"I was thinking today, we could go walk the fields and talk. The doctor said stories or possibly photographs of us or my family could help with my memory." She suggested looking at him briefly but letting her eyes fall back on her plate once more. Sark considered it for a moment before remembering something.
"Darling, we have that meeting with Mr. Sloane. Actually," he said glancing at his wristwatch, "we should be heading out there in an hour." Sark got up and as he collected his plate, saw the disappointed look on Sydney's face. "We'll do something tonight, I promise. We'll, uh, go to our favorite restaurant for supper."
"Alright," Sydney sighed in return. "I'll go get ready, I guess." She replied finishing her plate, still looking. Sark looked at her and then at his plate. He argued with himself for a moment before striding over to Sydney who was just standing up. He took her up in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She returned, putting his plate down for him and wrapping her arms around him, deepening the kiss. After a moment or two, they both separated and grinned.
"I promise, we'll spend some alone time. OK?" he told her and she nodded in return. She let go and left the room and, from what Sark saw, had more of a spring in her step.
After Sydney left, Sark headed to his own bathroom to get ready. As he stood in the shower, letting the water wash over him, his thoughts returned to their kiss in the dining room. Sark felt a spark. Normally, he would kiss any woman to get what he wanted and would feel nothing in return but it was different with Sydney. The moment his lips crashed onto hers, a true kiss shared between them, he had forgotten about everything: Sloane, Irina, The CIA, everything.
For years, Sark had been trained and programmed to be unemotional in every aspect. From watching a car explode to killing a faceless guard, he was taught that being emotional showed weakness. If any emotion threatened to surface, he had to fight it, forget about it, and do whatever he could to prevent that feeling to disrupt his work.
Truthfully, he didn't want to fight that emotion with Sydney.
- - -
An hour later, Sydney and Sark were in the car and driving to the location where the meeting was going to take place. Sloane had called earlier, with worries of revealing their head quarters to Sydney (amnesia or not) so he scheduled the meeting at a different address. Within 20 minutes of driving, they arrived at a remote pub out in the country far. From it's exterior, the pub looked like a broken down shack with a neon sign saying "Olr Pb" (the I, b ,v , e and u signs had burnt out
Cigarette smoke rolled out the front door as Sark and Sydney entered. A few locals occupied small tables as a large man wiped the bar clean. The place looked as run down on the inside as it did on the outside. Loud 70s music filled the pub as a tiny TV in the corner showed a football game. Sark sat down in one of the grungy stools in front of the bar tender.
"What'll be?" he grunted to Sark, continuing to wipe the same spot in front of Sark. Greasy hair fell over his eyes as tattoos covered what flesh was visible from his greased stain t-shirt.
"Your best wine please." Sark replied politely, as Sydney continued to scan the area behind him.
"We don't serve wine here." The mysterious man grunted in return but did not move from the spot.
"Shame, from a distance this place looked classy." Sark replied and watched as a small crack of a smile spread across the man's face. He motioned for them to follow him as he exited the bar and headed down a small hallway to the back of the pub.
"Mr. Sloane is waiting for you in here." He said, opening the door for them. They walked in to a small room to find Sloane sitting at a large, aged wooden table as Irina remained standing against a wall. The bartender exited and they were left alone.
"Please sit." Sloane offered, gesturing to two vacant chairs opposite of him. They both sat and Sloane pushed forward a black folder labeled "25427." Sark opened the folder to find a large photograph of a building. "That is the Nicole Mayer art gallery in Los Angeles. Inside that building are dozens of pieces of art dating back to 1100s and 1200s. You're mission is retrieve a Frederick Leighton painting, on display at that gallery."
"Why do you want a painting?" Sark returned, looking at Sloane curiously.
"There's an inscription hidden in the painting, a clue that will lead us to the location where a Rimbaldi artifact has been hidden." Sloane said curtly, and stood up. "You both shall be leaving tonight."
"Tonight? Can't we go another night?" Sark said. He had grown excited about spending a romantic evening with Sydney that night.
"I want that painting tomorrow, Mr. Sark. If you can't handle the mission, I will send someone else." Sloane replied, the sound of restlessness growing in his tone. Sark bowed his head and nodded as they both left left. As the door was shut, Sark sat back down and looked sadly at Sydney.
"I'm sorry; I had no idea about this." Sark said, looking down at his hands.
"It's OK." Sydney reassured him and he looked up at her. Instead of seeing a disappointed, sad expression on her face, she looked mellow and OK. "We'll just spend the afternoon together. I understand." She told him, placing her hand on top of him. Sark grinned at the image of their hands together and looked up at her.
"Come on; let's get out of this dump. There's a place I want to show you." He said, taking her hand into his.
A/N: Wow! It's been a year since I first published this story and I'm only on chapter 8. I really want to thank all the reviewers who have stuck with me for a whole year. You guys are truly awesome! I am going to finish this story. For a while I was thinking about just stopping it but I realized that would be unfair to all the readers who have stuck with me for so long. I do know what I'm going to do for the next up coming chapters so no more writers block. I will finish this story! Thanks again and keep on reading - Nicki
- - -
But things just get so crazy living life gets hard to do
And I would gladly hit the road get up and go if I knew
That someday it would lead me back to you
That someday it would lead me back to you
"Sunday Morning" Maroon 5
- - -
Sark woke up early that morning. He looked at his bed side clock that blinked 7:53. Wondering what could have woken him up so early, his question was answered by a crashing noise downstairs. Without hesitation, he reached for his gun underneath his pillow and bolted out of bed. He opened the door and peered out, but found the hallway vacant. As he made his decent down the stairs he heard another crash and found the source of the noise was coming from the kitchen.
As he approached the door, he heard male voices. He tried to listen in on what they were saying but the kitchen door muffled their words.
He kicked the door open and pointed his gun in the direction of the voices. A scream penetrated through the air as Sark realized the male voices were coming from a small kitchen radio, the one he was pointing his gun at. He looked over his shoulder and saw Sydney pressing herself against the refrigerator, looking shocked.
"Bloody Hell" he muttered to himself under his breath and lowered his weapon. "Listen, Sydney, I'm sorry. I'm just not use to other people staying in the house," But as soon as Sark finished his sentence, he regretted his words.
"What do you mean not use to people in the house." She asked suspiciously. "I live here too, right?"
"Yes! Yes, you do. It's just ... your gone so often on missions it sometimes feels like I live alone." He replied and breathed a sigh of relief as she nodded and went back to sprinkling salt into a frying pan. "What are you doing?"
"Making breakfast" Sydney replied casually, reaching for a near by spatula.
"My sweet, we have cooks to do that for us." Sark replied, placing the gun down on a near by counter.
"I know. They were here this morning but I sent them home." She said as she sent Sark a smile. "I thought we could spend some quality time together alone. You know, just the two of us and we could maybe try working on getting my memory back."
Sark sent her a grimaced of a smile and sat down on a near by stool. He heard the door bell ring but didn't move and continued to stare at her stirring what looked like eggs.
"Aren't you going to get that?" Sydney asked. Sark looked up with bewilderment expression but it quickly dawned on him, she must've sent the butlers home as well.
"Right, suppose I will." He said grudgingly and got up. Sark made his way down the empty hall way to the front door. He peered through the peep-hole and saw a man dressed very formally, holding a large manila folder underneath his arm. The memory of making the phone call to an old friend slowly crept back into his mind as he opened the door.
"Package for Mr. Sark." said the man with a thick Irish accent.
"That's me." Sark replied and the man held out the manila folder. Sark snatched the folder and before another word could be spoken, slammed the door in the man's face. Sark stood there as he opened the folder and pulled out its contents.
He first pulled out a small pile of pictures of him and Sydney. They weren't normal pictures though; all of them were manipulated to look like they were an actual couple: pictures of them holding hands, holding each other, some were made to look like them posing together, and others were made to look like they were standing only feet from one another. No fighting, no guns, nothing but computer generated love.
Sark replaced the pictures with sheets of paper work containing in depth information on Sydney and her life. He realized certain things, words or images were triggering old memories to return. He needed to know what topics to avoid and prevent any more memories to resurface. As he shifted through the papers, he heard Sydney's voice call him from the kitchen.
"Sark, breakfast is ready!"
"Ok, just a moment." Sark replied, giving the paperwork one more look over before putting it back into the folder. He placed them on a near by table before exiting the room and walking to the kitchen.
When he entered the small room, the smell of hash browns, bacon, sausage, eggs, all ingredients to make a complete breakfast, hit him with full force. When he first entered the kitchen, he was ready to kill but when he entered this time, he knew what he was suspecting. Sydney grinned happily at him and Sark couldn't help but return it.
"Make your plate and meet me in the dining room." She instructed him, leaving the room with her own filled plate. Sark did as he was told, barely fitting all the foods he wanted on the small plate, and entered the dining room to find Sydney already tucking in.
Breakfast began quietly, each of them not knowing where to start. Sydney, searching for a good first question to ask as Sark feared to answer it incorrectly. When they were half way done, Sydney broke the silence.
"I was thinking today, we could go walk the fields and talk. The doctor said stories or possibly photographs of us or my family could help with my memory." She suggested looking at him briefly but letting her eyes fall back on her plate once more. Sark considered it for a moment before remembering something.
"Darling, we have that meeting with Mr. Sloane. Actually," he said glancing at his wristwatch, "we should be heading out there in an hour." Sark got up and as he collected his plate, saw the disappointed look on Sydney's face. "We'll do something tonight, I promise. We'll, uh, go to our favorite restaurant for supper."
"Alright," Sydney sighed in return. "I'll go get ready, I guess." She replied finishing her plate, still looking. Sark looked at her and then at his plate. He argued with himself for a moment before striding over to Sydney who was just standing up. He took her up in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the lips. She returned, putting his plate down for him and wrapping her arms around him, deepening the kiss. After a moment or two, they both separated and grinned.
"I promise, we'll spend some alone time. OK?" he told her and she nodded in return. She let go and left the room and, from what Sark saw, had more of a spring in her step.
After Sydney left, Sark headed to his own bathroom to get ready. As he stood in the shower, letting the water wash over him, his thoughts returned to their kiss in the dining room. Sark felt a spark. Normally, he would kiss any woman to get what he wanted and would feel nothing in return but it was different with Sydney. The moment his lips crashed onto hers, a true kiss shared between them, he had forgotten about everything: Sloane, Irina, The CIA, everything.
For years, Sark had been trained and programmed to be unemotional in every aspect. From watching a car explode to killing a faceless guard, he was taught that being emotional showed weakness. If any emotion threatened to surface, he had to fight it, forget about it, and do whatever he could to prevent that feeling to disrupt his work.
Truthfully, he didn't want to fight that emotion with Sydney.
- - -
An hour later, Sydney and Sark were in the car and driving to the location where the meeting was going to take place. Sloane had called earlier, with worries of revealing their head quarters to Sydney (amnesia or not) so he scheduled the meeting at a different address. Within 20 minutes of driving, they arrived at a remote pub out in the country far. From it's exterior, the pub looked like a broken down shack with a neon sign saying "Olr Pb" (the I, b ,v , e and u signs had burnt out
Cigarette smoke rolled out the front door as Sark and Sydney entered. A few locals occupied small tables as a large man wiped the bar clean. The place looked as run down on the inside as it did on the outside. Loud 70s music filled the pub as a tiny TV in the corner showed a football game. Sark sat down in one of the grungy stools in front of the bar tender.
"What'll be?" he grunted to Sark, continuing to wipe the same spot in front of Sark. Greasy hair fell over his eyes as tattoos covered what flesh was visible from his greased stain t-shirt.
"Your best wine please." Sark replied politely, as Sydney continued to scan the area behind him.
"We don't serve wine here." The mysterious man grunted in return but did not move from the spot.
"Shame, from a distance this place looked classy." Sark replied and watched as a small crack of a smile spread across the man's face. He motioned for them to follow him as he exited the bar and headed down a small hallway to the back of the pub.
"Mr. Sloane is waiting for you in here." He said, opening the door for them. They walked in to a small room to find Sloane sitting at a large, aged wooden table as Irina remained standing against a wall. The bartender exited and they were left alone.
"Please sit." Sloane offered, gesturing to two vacant chairs opposite of him. They both sat and Sloane pushed forward a black folder labeled "25427." Sark opened the folder to find a large photograph of a building. "That is the Nicole Mayer art gallery in Los Angeles. Inside that building are dozens of pieces of art dating back to 1100s and 1200s. You're mission is retrieve a Frederick Leighton painting, on display at that gallery."
"Why do you want a painting?" Sark returned, looking at Sloane curiously.
"There's an inscription hidden in the painting, a clue that will lead us to the location where a Rimbaldi artifact has been hidden." Sloane said curtly, and stood up. "You both shall be leaving tonight."
"Tonight? Can't we go another night?" Sark said. He had grown excited about spending a romantic evening with Sydney that night.
"I want that painting tomorrow, Mr. Sark. If you can't handle the mission, I will send someone else." Sloane replied, the sound of restlessness growing in his tone. Sark bowed his head and nodded as they both left left. As the door was shut, Sark sat back down and looked sadly at Sydney.
"I'm sorry; I had no idea about this." Sark said, looking down at his hands.
"It's OK." Sydney reassured him and he looked up at her. Instead of seeing a disappointed, sad expression on her face, she looked mellow and OK. "We'll just spend the afternoon together. I understand." She told him, placing her hand on top of him. Sark grinned at the image of their hands together and looked up at her.
"Come on; let's get out of this dump. There's a place I want to show you." He said, taking her hand into his.
A/N: Wow! It's been a year since I first published this story and I'm only on chapter 8. I really want to thank all the reviewers who have stuck with me for a whole year. You guys are truly awesome! I am going to finish this story. For a while I was thinking about just stopping it but I realized that would be unfair to all the readers who have stuck with me for so long. I do know what I'm going to do for the next up coming chapters so no more writers block. I will finish this story! Thanks again and keep on reading - Nicki