Title: A New Flame

Timeframe: Late Season Three, after Remnants.

Author: Edes

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me

Summary for Part 7: Sark taunts. Leah fights. Will confronts.

A/N: Feedback welcome and appreciated. Story intended to be canon, but I might have bent timeframes a little. Please forgive.

Part Seven: Words like knives

[Sark]

It is quite unfair, really. Rather than cowering before his weapon, Leah had expertly feinted and used his millisecond of hesitation to beat away the gun. Sark's brain was still registering the shock as a second blow glanced off his shoulder. His body retreated, automatic, but Sark knew a moment of supreme disorientation. He'd barely had time to fall away—and that strike would have broken some bones if it had connected. I mean, who would have guessed? She's practically miniature.

This never happened to Sark. Oh, he fought for his life often enough—mostly Bristow's fault, although his line of work was dangerous enough without her. But Sark rarely underestimated his enemies…or his accomplices. It was therefore a doubly unusual scenario: for in Leah, Sark found some of both.

Sark blocked another surprisingly adept attack and noted that Leah was clearly fighting him with all she had. She was, for the moment, an enemy. But her moves were not those of a trained CIA agent, or even those of a self-taught thief or a frenzied Rambaldi vigilante. Leah was not his typical quarry. In fact, as she spun to avoid his own vicious counterattack, she reminded him of no one more than Irina. Irina, who had always had a place for him by her side. Irina, his original accomplice. Sark realized he should have anticipated Leah's fighting style, given that he knew her connection to Irina.

"This is rather inconvenient, you know, given that I have an understanding with Irina already regarding the object."

Sark backed off to smirk as his little opponent. He was barely winded, but he could see her in the moonlight, nearly shaking with fatigue. Nonetheless, he couldn't kill her. She was still fighting stubbornly, and he needed her cooperation to succeed. He'd intended to force it, but that became far less convenient with every punch combo she sent his way.

"You lie." Heavy breaths tangled her words, but she hissed them out. "I know you are here to take it for yourself. And I won't let that happen."

Sark was still semi-crouched in a fighter's stance. His tongue flicked almost imperceptibly over his top lip. Change of plan.

"So Irina didn't tell you about me, then? No, I suppose not. However, she did tell me a lot about you."

"Shut up!" Leah seemed ready to throw herself into it again. Sark smiled mirthlessly.

"I believe you were quite a disappointment. You see, I think she expected you to grow more."

With a guttural yell, Leah launched another attack. Sark had to commend her training and desire, but she was tired and untried. He blocked her blows unhurriedly. Then, as she spun to aim a back kick at his groin—we can't have that—he moved to the side and adroitly swept her off balance. She fell with a muffled gasp of rage. He was at her throat with his switchblade before she could move. His other hand produced a small wooden shaft. It was well-oiled wood, made of two conjoined cylinders. One end tapered to a slim wedged point. Leah blanched and became still. Sark swung his leg over her so that he was kneeling around her chest, pinning her arms.

"This encounter has been...diverting. But I think it's time that we discussed certain qualities of this object. For example, how does one remove the cap?"

"I'll never tell you," Leah gritted.

"I thought as much. Fortunately, I have a good idea how these contraptions operate by now."

He leaned closer to Leah, who narrowed her eyes and drew a sharp breath in distaste. "In one of Rambaldi's most popular stratagems, the blood of a specific individual unlocks an artifact. Shall we try that option, hmm?"

Leah didn't favor him with a reply. His knife winked in the moonlight. He leaned some of his weight on her.

"I suggest you remain still."

Sark slowly drew his blade across Leah's skin, following the line of her collarbone. Blood welled up along the cut, collecting at the end in tear-like drop that spilled down her chest. Leah tensed in revulsion but her face showed no sign of pain.

Leah finally spoke, her voice clenched with anger. "This…will… be…the last time you toy with me like this."

"You know, think you're right," Sark smiled, allowing a small flash of malice cross his otherwise perfectly schooled features.

He met the end of the wound with the tip of the shaft, allowing blood to flow onto it. The blood circled down the length of the shaft, marking it with a primordial spiral. Nothing else happened. Sark sighed, shaking his head. He leaned harder on her ribcage until her breathing became shallow.

"Oh, dear. Perhaps a key phrase?" Leah flicked her eyes away involuntarily. So that's it. Sark pursed his lips slightly. "I'm afraid we're wasting time." He leaned closer to Leah. His breath settled on her face. He held the knife where she could see it.

It occurred to Sark that Irina would not approve of what he was going to do; she would consider his actions the waste of a good asset. Nevertheless. She left me to rot in CIA custody for two years. Judging Sark was a privilege Irina forfeited long ago.

Leah took that moment to lunge at him with her only weapon—her forehead. Sark felt his bones creak under the contact. Cursing, he loosened his grip slightly. Leah contracted desperately, rising a few inches off the ground. But he was too heavy, too in control. She fell back, her head slamming against the unforgiving floor. Sark snarled as his left hand closed around her throat and his right held the knife above her.

His voice was chillingly subdued. "Tell. me. the pass-phrase." He emphasized his words by tightening his grip.

Leah's strangled breathing was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. Sark turned slowly, his eyes murderous.

"Hello, Sark." Will stood in the window, silhouetted in the waning moonlight.

[Leah]

This day has been one long face-off. Leah barely had time to catch her breath as Sark released her throat and dragged her to her feet in front of him. His blade remained at her neck. The moment was heavy with shades of other scenes. Will trading words the blonde woman. Will holding his fire on the blonde because Leah was in the way. Will threatening Leah with the gun, sure she was his enemy. Had that all only been this afternoon? I must have lived a lifetime since then. It seemed they were doomed to repetition, she and Will. And why not? She was his enemy again, after all.

Leah wondered almost idly if Will was going to kill them both outright. She had nearly given up hoping to get out of this alive; his presence meant she would almost surely die.

Will seemed to agree. "Don't bother, Sark. She's nothing to me. All this means is I can kill both of you at once."

Leah heard the conviction in Will's voice. Sark tensed almost imperceptibly, which meant he heard it, too. She remained still, impassive. She wished only for one, small grace: let Will learn the truth some day. Let him know that those hours on the boat were not a lie. Let him know that I could have loved him. Let him know…

Incredibly, it was Sark who answered her prayers.

"Ah, then you'd truly be doing the world a favor, ridding it of two of Irina Derevko's greatest prodigies in one shot."

"That's the idea," Will grated.

"I suppose it means nothing to you that one of us was an unwilling participant in our training? I'll leave it to you to decide which…"

Apparently, Sark had decided he rather liked her as a human shield. Leah's throat constricted in a tight spasm of hope.

Will swore. "I've had enough of your lies! Both of you." Will circled them menacingly, then backed up to the phone by what was left of the door. "You can tell it to the CIA, Sark. I'm sure they've kept your cell nice and clean for you."

"All your research on Project Christmas, and you don't recognize the product of childhood conditioning?"

Will said nothing, only reached for the receiver. Sark continued, undaunted. "Very unprofessional, Tippin. Of course, you had trouble identifying Allison, as well. Pathetic, really. Do you always repeat your mistakes like that? It's amazing you're still alive."

Will threw down the receiver and strode over to Sark and Leah. His deep blue eyes locked on Sark's icy blue ones. The barrel of Will's gun rested on Sark's smooth brow.

"Allison is dead," Will whispered.

Sark matched Will's whisper. He seemed to be speaking through pain. "Second time's the charm."

And then everything became a blur. Sark lashed out at Will with the knife he'd had at Leah's throat. Will stumbled back, aimed, shot. His shots passed through air as Sark rolled away neatly towards the window. Leah dove in the other direction, her fingers miraculously clasping around Sark's gun.

That was lucky. Please, let me kill Sark before…

It was too late. A muffled boom and a flash of pain told Leah that Will had fired.

End of Part Seven

A/N: Last chapter coming soon…Stay tuned…In the meantime, please let me know what you think of the story.