Falling and Crawling

The man's momentum crashing into him made Sark's breath evaporate. They both slid in the snow, closer and closer to Sark's path of ascent.

Finally they came to a stop. Sark quickly scrambled to his feet, trying to gain some sort of balance in the snow and dizziness in his mind. As his eyes refocused, he saw the skier was up on his feet as well. Sark didn't hesitate.

He launched forward an attack, leaping forward on one foot and kicking at the skier with his other foot. He struck the man in the stomach, but the impact threw off Sark's balance too. Both fell to the snow.

Sark was on his feet again quickly, and up for Round 2. He swung at the skier, who caught his fist mid-air and pushed Sark back. He stumbled but stayed up. He swung again, low this time and catching the man in the side. The skier groaned, but as Sark's follow-up came, he dodged the blow and landed his own squarely in Sark's chest.

Sark fell back again. His body slid back.

The edge! He was close, he knew. He clawed at the snow, trying to catch any rock underneath him. His body slowed, and he started to breath as he stopped just short of the rocky face he'd climbed.

His chest pushed out air quickly, but he got up slowly. With an intimidating glare at his opponent, he waited for the skier's next move.

"Sark," the skier said. But the voice wasn't what he expected. A hand came up to pull at the hood on the skier's suit, and as the skier pulled it back, Sark's eyes went wide.

"Sydney?!"

She smiled as she clutched her side.

"Hi."

His mouth was wide open. The words came but couldn't quite make sense as his brain processed them.

"What?" he tried. "How? Sydney, how did you—"

He had taken a step forward, and slipped in the snow. His body hit the mountain a second later, and he gasped as he slipped off the snowy edge.

"Sark!" he heard Sydney yell. But his focus was on the sensation that his heart had fallen out of his body. A sharp yank traveled through his shoulder as his fingers caught some rocks. His gloves and hands were both tattered, but he held on with those fingers. His other arm flailed.

Grab the rocks, grab the rocks, grab the rocks—

Shut up!

He moved his arm slowly, afraid that any false move would make him lose the slight grip he had. Rocks fell below him, no doubt loosened by his fall and anxious grab for his life. He kicked at the rocks, trying to get a footing there.

"Sark!" Sydney had panic in her voice, something Sark rarely heard. Normally he would have taken some enjoyment out of it, but since his life was on the line, he passed on that.

"Give me a second, please," Sark said as calmly as possible. The toes of his shoes loosened chips of the rocks, but he seemed to be finding some more stability.

Now, your other arm. The hold he had with his fingers was slight, but since it seemed to be working, he wasn't about to change it. He searched for another hold.

"Hang on," he heard above him. "I'm coming down."

"No!" His yell startled him, even though he shouted it. "Don't risk it." His eyes never left his predicament.

"Sark, give me your arm."

There was a slight dent in the rocks, a little hole that could work . . . I can almost grab it.

"Almost have it," he muttered, still without looking up or down.

"Sark, give me your arm!"

He sighed as his other hand reached that hold. "I said, I almost have it!" He looked up sharply at Sydney, only to realize she wasn't but a few feet from him. She shot him a look with those brown eyes and a raised eyebrow. "Fine," he muttered again.

He reached up to her, his body stretching above him.

Then his right foot slipped, and he started to fall again. The gravity of it made Sark grasp at anything. The rocks tore at his fingers, scraping his knuckles and his palms through the gloves.

His feet hit something, a rock that jutted out from the rest of the peaks. He crumbled and landed on that rock. His body threatened to roll over and on down, but he braced himself with his bloody hands.

Sark started to cough, partially because of the cold and more because he just couldn't breathe.

"Sark!! Stay there!"

"You think?" he muttered again in between coughs. Okay, just control yourself. His hands were throbbing. He glanced at them and noticed rivulets trickling over his skin. His legs shook, but aside from a scrap he suspected he had, he was all right.

"Don't move!" Sydney yelled from above. "I'm coming down, all right?"

Too dangerous, he thought. "You don't have any ropes, Syd. You need—"

"I do have ropes and gear, Sark. Just hold still and I'll be right down."

Sark opened his eyes and watched as she started to make her way down. She was about fifty feet above him, scaling the rock face with meager fishing line. Well, that's what it looked like to him from his vantage point.

His breathing was starting to mellow out, but he wasn't about to move. For the first time in his life, he felt more than just uneasy. He felt scared that he might fall. And that'd just be a pathetic way to go. His thoughts flashed back to Wyoming. Right above being trampled by your own horse.

"Sydney," he began, trying to distract himself. "Mind the rocks, now." He could hear the frustrated sigh above him.

"You're the one who fell, not me," she said. Sark narrowed his eyes at her.

"Well, forgive me for being caught slightly off-guard when someone leapt out of a helicopter and rammed me to the ground," he said. His voice rose with his sarcasm and temper.

"Well, I wouldn't have had to leap out of the helicopter if you wouldn't insist on faking your death and running away!" He allowed himself to smirk at her own anger. She pushed back from the rocks after unclipping her top anchor.

Sark closed his eyes as a little dizziness made his head buzz. "You couldn't think of just tracking me down in my cabin and waiting there?"

She snorted loudly, and Sark's smirk grew as the sound echoed off the rocks.

"Yeah right," she said. "You wouldn't have waited around. You're probably about to move on or you have your cabin booby-trapped anyway."

"Oh please," he muttered to himself. "It's not like I don't have your best interests at heart."

"Oh, shove that excuse," she shot back. Sark raised an eyebrow at that. "If you really had anyone's interests at heart, other than your own, you would let them decide for themselves!"

Hmm. She had him there, but Sark wasn't about to leave it at that.

"It's not like it's been all pleasant for me," he defended himself. "Do you think I enjoy being in Alaska? Especially this time of year?!"

"Am I supposed to buy your excuses?" It was a rhetorical question, but Sark almost said 'yes.' "You went from London, to Miami and Pennsylvania. None of those places seem like the armpit of the world."

Sark was confused. "How did you know I was in all those places?" From where he lay, he saw her smile. She was getting closer.

"Someone came after you in London, right?" she said. "We tracked you from Heathrow to Miami, and had fun finding 'William Patricks' take a flight to Pittsburgh."

Okay, it's definitely possible. Passenger manifests and all. But he was in Alaska, and that whole travel route was in February. It'd been a couple of months since then. "How'd you track me to here?"

"My dad," she said. Sark didn't miss the trace of pride in her voice. "He called in some favors for me at the Agency."

"Hmm," was all he said in reply. His leg suddenly jolted, and Sark swatted at it to stay still. "Took him long enough."

Not that I wanted to be found anyway.

He heard her chuckle. "Well, you know as well as I do that the Agency's technology isn't always perfect."

He nodded. The Agency. He missed it before, but the way she referenced it . . . His eyes narrowed again, this time in suspicion.

"How is the good ol' CIA these days?" A few rock chips got loose and sprinkled over him. Sydney was just a few feet away, hovering over him.

"Fine, as far as I know," she said. "I resigned in January." With that, she plopped down on her feet at his side. Sark's eyes were wide now. Resigned.

She had a smile in her eyes. She knows I'm proud of her for doing that. Not to mention shocked, but in a good way.

"You resigned," he repeated. She smiled and nodded as she leaned over him.

"Yeah, I did." She stared at him with those smiling eyes and soon Sark felt the smile infect him. "Come on," she said, glancing away to his hands and body. "Let's get off this mountain."

"Yes," Sark said, exhaling as he sat up. "I can show you my un-booby-trapped cabin."

--------

For some odd reason, Sark seemed less than excited to be showing her where he lived now. As he led the way into his cabin, Sydney understood why.

It was tiny. One bedroom was what the little cabin boasted, and it was more like a studio that opened up to the kitchen and living areas. The only truly sealed off area was the bathroom.

Sark hadn't said much on the way down the mountain. He seemed to focus on his hands. She knew it was more of an excuse—they were just scrapes, albeit bad ones. Sark kept up his interest and walked to the kitchen sink. He ran his hands under the water. She saw him wince as the water washed off blood and dirt.

Maybe he's not faking it. She looked around the meager cabin. Where would bandages be? Sydney quickly shed her outer coat, tossing it on a chair. Feeling less restrained, she started to look around for supplies.

"I have some ointment and things in the cabinet in the bathroom," Sark said suddenly. Sydney glanced at him. He hadn't turned or anything to know what she was doing. Well, it makes it easier.

She walked the four steps to the bathroom, which was minuscule and beyond basic. She hadn't ever stayed at places this remote, even in all her years as an agent. She shook her head and retrieved the bandages from a broken cabinet.

He dried his hands on a kitchen towel as she spread out the various bandages, tape, and ointments. Sydney glanced at his hands.

They were ripped up. Nothing serious, but Sydney would have to use a whole box of bandaids on one hand. She chose the bandages instead. She took one hand in hers, and started spreading ointment over the cuts. Sark's eyes were on her, she knew, but she remained focused on her task.

He hadn't asked yet, about his family. It didn't really surprise Sydney. The wall was still up, as always.

Her fingers worked the bandage over his hand, leaving his fingers exposed a bit so he could still function. Some of the scrapes were uncovered, but Sydney wasn't worried.

"Thank you," he said. The tone was suspiciously indifferent. Sydney rolled her eyes.

"You're welcome, you brick wall," she said. She glanced at his face, and saw he almost laughed.

"I've reverted," he said, just traces of a smirk showing. "Sorry."

Silence settled in as she wrapped up his other hand. When she finished, they just stared at each other. Sark broke first, grabbing some ointment in his bandaged hands and turning his attention to a scrape on his leg. The pants were torn, showing the mangled skin and rocks embedded to the side of his knee.

"Why are you here?"

Sydney barely heard it, partially because he spoke into his knee like a hidden microphone.

"I'm here to bring you back," she said. No sense dancing around it in disguise. No matter what reason she gave, he would see the truth. Now she braced herself for the rejection.

"I hate to rehash past debates and events, Sydney, so I'll just get to the conclusion: leave me alone." The bitter acceptance in that lonely statement made her heart ache.

"To what?" she started. She could feel heat rising to her cheeks as she spoke. "Leave you to this luxurious estate you have here?" She huffed at her surroundings. "Yeah, this place really puts that cabin in Scotland to shame."

He glared at her, which made Sydney's hopes rise. Getting a rise out of him was what she needed to succeed.

She hoped.

"Sorry, hiding doesn't always allow luxury." He turned away from her. "You're wasting my time, Sydney, and yours. Go, live your life."

She rolled her eyes.

"I would, but part of it is missing."

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and Sydney almost smiled at it.

"Sydney, why waste a perfectly good resignation from the CIA and then go back to a life of looking over your shoulder?"

"Because I love you." She waited for a reaction, but saw only stoniness. He seemed to puff himself up, and gave her his best smirk.

"Well, I don't love you," he said quickly, "so you're wasting your life." With that he turned away.

Sydney sighed, slightly defeated. Not that she believed what he said, but because she now had to resort to plan B.

She quickly started after him, pulling something from her pocket as she did. Her fingers weaved around the thin object, expertly flicking off the cap.

Sark heard her behind him, but didn't turn until she plunged the syringe into his neck. He gasped, watching her with a look of betrayal. Then his eyes glazed over, and he slumped to the floor.

Sydney sighed.

"Serves you right."