Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds
EIGHT – The Mark of the Beast
Rating: PG/PG-13
Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe
Characters: Sark, Sydney Bristow, Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), McKenas Cole, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Marcus Dixon, Lauren Reed, Will Tippin, Arvin Sloane, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco) mentioned Andrian Lazeray
Length: 4,671 Words
His crystal blue eyes watch the way her body doesn't move. And he feels pleased - because it's only when Sydney Bristow is knocked unconscious that he can truly explore her body. He slips a hand onto her leg, slowly rubbing up her soft skin. But he then stops, staring at the tux jacket. He mentally groans, knowing the piece of clothing is that of her fathers. Sark hates fathers - always has. Let it be his father, her father, or the Father. No, Sark does not like fathers. He reaches up, and slowly begins to remove the jacket from her body, hoping to tear away her patriarchal convictions.
He is immediately drawn to the woman's left arm seeing the deep red dried blood on her beautiful skin. He realizes then that she's been bleeding this entire time, and quickly stands, exiting the room. He slams the door, locking it behind him, and walks down the cement-floored hall. He is angry, and right now anyone who crosses his path will regret it. He finds himself storming into the separate room on one floor above - the room he and Abs were in together - finding her and Cole. He simply stands in the doorway, seething, because right now someone is in trouble.
Abs sits, the way she always does and he always likes her, with legs curled under her body, at a desk. The hair he loves to run his fingers through, is now up again, pulled out of her eyes. She's writing, probably beginning to start her part; creating the plans for the CIA negotiations. She's the best with negotiations. But she's also not his mark right now. His eyes drift to Cole, who has words running out of his mouth and about the room, holding his champagne in one hand. McKenas always knows just the way to sit and relax after a mission. And though Sark normally appreciates it, tonight he is angry.
"Who cut her?" Sark's voice is a grumble. And Abs turns suddenly, looking at the way Sark stalks across the room. She takes a deep breath, turning back to her work - because once she starts her work, she must complete it. She is the kind of woman who takes life one step and one moment at a time, and whichever moment it is, it will have her full-undivided attention. And Cole looks up, standing. As much as the man can seem like he's out of it, and couldn't possibly get a grasp on reality if someone handed it directly to him, McKenas is the most dangerous person Sark has ever met.
And Cole walks in Sark's direction, a glare painted on his interesting features. "What are you talking about?" He asks, folding his arms over his chest. Sark doesn't back down, not now. He's not going to allow his plans to be tainted or ruined.
"Who cut her?" Sark growls.
"What are you talking about?" Cole continues to counter.
"Who cut her?" Sark repeats.
"What are you talking about?" Every single word is slow and more defined than the one before.
"Who cut her?" It seems like this could go on for days, and immediately Abs is up out of her seat. Sure, she gives everything she does an undivided attention, but this is just too much for her to ignore.
"What are you ta-"
"Wait." Abs is suddenly standing close to between the two men, a hand on each one's chest. She bites her lower lip, knowing that this move could have been the last move. "Obviously there's a misunderstanding and something isn't being said." Abs is calm, the only form of control in this exchange between the two men. "What happened, Sark?" She asks. He can tell there's something in her eyes that he doesn't normally see from her. She's hurt, and he's the one who did it.
"Bristow has a four-inch laceration on her left arm. Who did it?" He growls, glaring at Cole. And Abs takes a deep breath, turning to the other man.
"I didn't even know about it." Cole answers. This seems to insight a glaring match between the two men, and Sark groans.
"We can't let this happen. The CIA isn't going to give us what we want if we don't fulfill our end of the bargain, the fact that you knocked her out is already weighing heavily on my mind." Sark's words are always like this, always spoken so clearly and presented as a lethal injection.
Cole wants so badly to hit Sark. "So you wanted her to know where we are, and somehow relay that information to her father when she makes contact?" He yells as Sark is turning and leaving the room. Abs looks at him, upon Sark's departure and expectantly makes a scoffing noise.
"Why do you always have to act like a third grader?" She questions, clearly showing her disdain for the man.
"Why do you always have to defend him?" Cole mumbles walking away.
Sark is quick as he runs down the stairs, in the direction of the room Sydney is in. He punches the code on the keypad next to the door, then opens it, walking it. He is met with confusion when he finds that Sydney is not in the bed. He feels the hard kick in the middle of his back, throwing him to the floor. Sydney is putting up a fight. Immediately Sark is up, fighting back. He dodges every weakened punch Sydney throws at him. And he almost feels bad as he is able to defeat the woman.
She gets the upper hand for another moment, throwing him across the room and reaching for the door. Immediately he slaps his hand on it, slamming the only entrance shut, in front of her face. "What do you want with me?" She screams, as Sark moves her away from the door with a powerful lunge. She kicks at him, and he's just fast enough to get out of his way. And he suddenly throws himself at her, Sydney screaming in pain as he grabs the wound on her left arm. And he knows then, that he has won.
"Stop moving!" Sark growls, as he throws Sydney on the bed - her stomach down, and her hands behind her back. Sydney struggles beneath his grasp, trying to get away from him. He doesn't want to strike her, but fears he might have to. She feels as he starts pulling her up off the bed, holding her wrists in his hands. And he presses his body into her back. "Sydney, you have to calm down." His words are angry, but oddly desperate. She jerks in his grasp, and he holds her tighter. She cringes. "Sydney, calm down."
"Like hell I'll calm down!" She screams, throwing her weight backward into him. She is lucky as he is knocked off balance, them both toppling to the floor. She scurries to the door, but he's once again quicker than she's expecting. She lets out a frustrated yelp, feeling as Sark pulls at her legs, causing the slit in the side of her dress to rip to an even greater and more dangerously scandalous height. She kicks at his shoulders, but he quickly begins to gain more control, groping aggressively as he climbs to the head of her body.
And they both stop, her laying on her back and him on his stomach on her. Their faces are inches from one another as she breathes heavily. "Calm. Down." His words are solid and angry, and she can smell the minty scent that leaves his mouth and always has. "You have a wound on your arm and you need stitches." He holds her down, wondering if he has the power to break the woman's wrists. She finally subsides underneath his weight, giving in to her new, horrifying reality. The last thing she has ever wanted, is to be held captive; kidnapped by the Covenant again.
The many pairs of feet pounding on the cement floor is unsettling for Elle. She trails behind Director Dixon and Lauren Reed, walking next to Will. He's been making her feel comfortable, and she's thankful for that, deep down. But walking past the empty jail cells is far from anything allowed to be comforting. She wonders if the man she met before, Agent Vaughn, is going to be in one of these. She feels a chill running through her body as they slow, approaching a cell with a man laying on the bed in it. "Get up." Dixon's voice is low and dangerous, taking a tone that neither Will nor Elle have ever heard from him before.
The man, who is probably in his early sixties slowly stands and walks to the bars of the cell, looking at the four people standing before him. Elle finds that subconsciously takes a half step backward, instantly fearing the man. "Yes?" The man questions, as his eyes trail over each person before him. They rest on Elle for a few moments, and she feels as though her skin is being tainted and tarnished, burned by his hell fire stare. She slowly inhales, keeping her eyes aimed at the floor.
"We need to ask you a few questions about the Covenant, and Rambaldi." Lauren states, her voice prim and proper, as tailored as her Christian Dior pinstriped suit. Will watches the man before him, a burning anger still and always ignited within. He's always wanted to see this man dead, and behind bars is good enough - for now.
The man adjusts his green round eyeglasses, followed by folding his hand together in front of his abdomen. "And why should I tell you anything, since I'm destined to be killed anyway?" The man questions. The words, the thought that this man has been sentenced to death, scare Elle. What could he have done? Yes he's scary, but that's just because he's behind the bars, she thinks. What frightens her now, is that if she were to see him in any other setting, she would find herself completely set at ease.
"Because maybe we can work something out." Lauren states. Dixon doesn't say anything in response to her words, or his question, because he knows that he won't be able to contain the same composure. He knows he won't be able to hold back, because the hatred he feels for the man is greater than anyone else - or so he believes. Arvin Sloane, a man who he spent years working for and trusting, is now the mark of his anger.
Sloane paces the bars, looking at each person. "Mr. Tippin, it's good to see you again - good to know that you've gotten your life back in your own control." He states. And Will glares, not even knowing what all the man is referring to. "But I don't know you, Hello, I'm Arvin Sloane." He states, sticking his hand through the bars at the girl. And Will finds himself suddenly sticking his left arm in front of Elle, causing her to take a couple of steps backward.
"You have more important things to be worrying about right now." Will growls, finding that he doesn't want to ever see anyone affected by this man again.
And Sloane is smiling now. "Oh but see that's where you're wrong, Mr. Tippin." His smile is cold and yet at the same time inviting. "I've been sentenced to die... I don't have a single worry in the world, because I no longer have decisions to make." Will takes a deep breath, his blue eyes still continuing to glare at the man, and his arm still continuing to work as a protective shield, in his mind. "It's very liberating, because I no longer have a single responsibility - only one appointment set in my book, and that is with a needle. So, Mr. Tippin, I've told her mine, now may I ask her name?"
"Sloane, you answer the questions, we ask." Dixon lets the words rumble from his chest. "Not the other way around." And he's only going to warn the man once. Dixon is strong, standing tall in his black suit, making sure everyone, especially Sloane, knows he is not going to ever budge.
And Arvin Sloane is far from weak. He knows he has the upper hand, because they're here asking him for information. They're here because they need him, and it's his move. "Why should I? What do I have at stake, you're already planning to take my life." His words are short and to the point.
His eyes land on the blonde woman who has her red lips pressed together firmly, giving him a glare. "Like I said, we'll discuss working something out later." Lauren states. And it's just like the NSC to threaten death, then take it off the table completely. She knows they have nothing. He knows they have nothing. And his life has been granted.
"We want to talk with you about page forty-seven." His eyes land on the blonde man who is speaking. It's like they're all taking turns, Sloane thinks, and the next one to speak should be the young, unknown woman at the end of the line. He wonders what this secret weapon they have is. What could this woman have?
And Sloane sighs, turning to Dixon. "Wasn't it the CIA who kept page forty-seven from me?" His words are meant to waste time, insight an argument even.
Elle steps up, suddenly. "Mr. Sloane, you can't have not known about what happened between Mathias Mohrle and Rene Persson as a follower of Rambaldi, and his work, yourself. What have you heard of that?" And he sees that he predicted correctly as she awaits his response.
"What is your name?"
"Williams." She answers, being discreet. Sloane reaches his hand out to again shake, and Will suddenly buts in. Sloane hates that the young man is trying to make him look impolite.
"Don't touch her." He's nearly growling, threatening and spitting venom at the older man. And Sloane never knew he had it in him, really. He's surprised, oddly, and at the same time almost proud of the boy.
"Alright, Ms. Williams I don't know much about it..." Sloane trails. And Elle suddenly takes a leap of faith, not sure why she's doing it. She knows her options. They've all been weighed out before her by Dixon, even though Will protested. And she takes a deep breath.
"Mr. Sloane, would you feel more comfortable speaking with just me?" She asks, and immediately Will is staring at her, confusion breeding in his eyes at a furious rate. Sloane watches, confused by this tactic. He can't deny the fact that he is interested though.
"Elle." Will scolds. And Sloane smiles, hearing the first name. Elle hates her own actions, hates that she's doing whatever she can to prove her worth to these people. And she hates that she's just offered to spend time alone with the man whom has been sending frightened chills through her body for the past five minutes.
"Actually, I would," Sloane answers. "Elle"
The light is warm, hot even on Sydney's bare skin. She leans her head backward, as she feels Sark's hands touch her left arm. She sits in the hard metal chair, Sark on a stool perpendicular to her. She closes her eyes, cringing as he uses the cotton ball dressed in alcohol to clean her open wound, and the surface around it. She grips the arms of the chair, flexing her muscles inadvertently. He suddenly places his hand on hers, sending a calm to wash over her body. She looks over at him, just as he wets his lips, thinking vaguely, that if he were to wear wire framed glasses while doing this, he'd resemble her father. And she hates herself forever making the mental comparison.
She looks to the table that sits next to him, an array of medical tools spread before him to use. He takes a deep breath, stopping the pain she feels, and replacing it with the soft sensation of warm water and light terry cloth washing down her skin. He's removing the dried and fresh blood from her limb, cleaning away her pain. And Sydney takes a deep breath, confused by the soft and almost beautiful sensations he's giving her. "Alright, I'm going to use the alcohol again, and it is going to hurt." He states, holding his hand out for her.
She gulps heavily, shaking her head, and refusing his gesture. He presses his lips together, once more picking up a cotton ball with the long tweezers. He dips it in the alcohol, and then grazes it along her deep open wound, causing her to take a shaky breath. Once he's certain he's cleaned her thoroughly, he reaches over and grabs the needle, with the long, thin black nylon thread used for giving stitches. She closes her eyes, waiting as the first puncture is made. He is sure to make sure he gets the same distance away from the opening of the cut, as how deep it is, so as to not tear her skin in healing.
He slips through the cut, coming back out the other side of her flesh, a knot at the first end. And he pulls the flesh taut, tying another knot on the end. He then grabs the scissors, cutting the thread, and tying a new starting knot. She relaxes at the slow, almost methodical pace he takes to what he's doing. He repeats about fourteen times leaving a quarter of an inch between each stitch to her flesh. She feels as he once again flushes more water over now closed wound. He dries the area completely before he grabs a large bandage. She feels as the square patch is stick to her upper arm, finishing his service to her.
She turns to him as he stands, throwing away and discarding the used, and now unneeded materials. He takes a deep breath looking at her. She's a complete mess in the clothing she wore to attend the banquet, only hours prior. The dress is ripped, blood stained, and she's missing an earring, her hair now fallen to her shoulders. She looks anything but dignified or graceful. "You didn't have to do that." Her words are quiet, referencing the wound he has closed. And Sark shrugs, continuing to stare in her direction.
"So," Sark starts speaking, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "What did you do to Simon?" He asks. And Sydney closes her eyes for a moment, using her right hand to reach up and brush the hair out of her face.
"I stabbed him in the leg with a screw driver." She answers. And Sark smiles, laughing slightly at the response she gave him.
He shakes his head for a moment, looking down. "I would have too." Sydney can't help but let a smile come to her lips, only barely, before it is replaced with her stone cold scowl. She watches as the door opens, sending foreign light around the room. A female who she feels she could maybe recognize in a different life time steps in.
"Are you almost finished?" The woman who questions has very Latin features. And Sark turns to her, taking a slow deep breath.
"Pretty much." He responds. Sydney wonders if there's something between the two of them. She wonders what the girl is like, and what drove her to work for Sark. And She wonders why it is that she wants to know if he's finished.
"Well I'm ready now." She answers, letting her eyes fall on Sydney for a moment, before she exits the room. The door shuts, leaving Sydney alone with Sark and the hot light above her.
"Her name is Stephania." Sark states, walking in Sydney's direction. He stops a few feet in front of her. He reaches down to the table surveying and lifting the tray of medical tools. So she hasn't decided to take her chances with stabbing him. "You'll get to know her well." He states, and then turns, carrying his tray with him. He gets to the door, opening it, and turning back to the woman who still sits in the chair. "I'll be back with some different clothes."
Abs throws the door open, slamming it shut behind her. Aiden looks up from where he sits in the corner, book in hand. No, he's not going to get to finish this any time soon. She stalks across the room - this one very different than the one he has been spending time with Steph in. He opens the book again, pretending to ignore the girl who dramatically throws herself on the bed. He doesn't look up, knowing that she's rolled over on her back, eyes closed. "You're letting him do it to you again, aren't you?" He questions.
Aiden knows her every move, her every action in times like this. She breathes in heavily, while her throat catches slowly. He knows that now she has tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "I don't know why I even fucking care." She responds. "He's always going to be like this - he'll always have a means to an end." Aiden wants to sigh. And he doesn't want to read - because with Abs he never wants to read. But he holds the book up still, silently paying her the attention Sark refuses to.
He shrugs, turning the page of his book, letting the words stare back at him. They blend, because his mind isn't focusing on the story depicted in Latin anymore. He glances up, knowing her eyes won't be back at him, because by now she's sure to have a hand over them. "It's because you're letting yourself love him - that's why you care." He states. His eyes stay away from the book too long, because she rolls her head to the side and lets them meet. Her face depicts that of a hurt little girl.
She looks away, and he throws his eyes back to the book. She sits up, scooting back to the head of the bed. She sits there, her shoes on, and leans against the plush pillows. When she's like this, she doesn't want to destroy anything, or hurt anyone. She doesn't want to deal with knives and anger. Because she is the one who is hurting and all she wants to do is hide from it. "Love! Ha. I just hate that he keeps playing me...and I'm stupid enough to allow him." She trails. Aiden looks up again, this time their eyes make solid contact, and this time it's welcomed.
"You're not stupid." Aiden responds. If there's one thing he thinks everyone should respect and worship within themselves it's their knowledge.
"Aiden, don't kid yourself. Lying is your forte." She has a bitter smile spread across her face. He slowly puts the book down, closing it gingerly and placing it on the table next to him. He is furious with Sark, for bringing such a wonderful woman to such a low state. This is not the destruction of Abs, and he won't allow it to be. Her eyes sparkle with intelligent intensity and her mouth is glib with agile comments. She is better than this; better than Sark, and he tells her this constantly. And how any man can be so fucking blind, or fucking callous is beyond him.
He leans forward in his chair, rests his forearms on his knees and glares into her deep brown eyes, so similar to his own, and yet also not. She is like him, yes, but she is also very different. They both can speak for hours about anything, words and thoughts on philosophy, politics and anything else coming with ease. Her eyes express in myriad shades, his flea and hide behind the wire frame glasses Steph finds so cute, especially since he doesn't need them. And he scowls at the languid form lying on the bed.
"I only lie when I need to," Aiden murmurs warningly because his threshold for self-pity only goes so far. "Abs." He doesn't dare use the name he wants to; the name she reserves for the man who is causing her this pain. And Abs hates to dwell on any of this. She'd rather forget she has this weakness at all, and only shows it to him. Aiden is the only one she allows to see this side, because Aiden is the only one who saw it before she ever allowed it.
She's hurting at the moment. Her heart is heavy and she wants to curl up, blocking out the world. And he knows that this is just a symptom of her larger issues. Sark is, and always has been, a symptom of her desire for affection from the distant father she never truly knew, save for when he was making her feel inadequate. Sark is like her father in so many ways, Aiden has noticed. Smart, cool, handsome and totally callous when it comes to her feelings. He wonders if she went into her relationship with Sark seeking to change the pattern; wonders if she even sees the pattern at all.
Abs is smart, but when it comes to parents and emotions, she has to accept that no one is immune. He knows this about her, about Steph, about Sark, and about himself. A stifled sob, and Aiden is beside her instantly on the bed, an arm around her shoulder as she buries her face into his neck. She gulps at air to halt the embarrassed noises which leave her body so heavily now. "God," She mumbles into him. "Go ahead and hate me already, Aiden, everyone else does." She feels the next sob literally roll through her body, shaming her name and every trait.
He's hit is last nerve, as the tears she despises blink back behind her eyes. This woman does not cry. This woman would rather throw knives, toss Ming vases out of windows and scream, as opposed to cry. She turns to him again, agonizing pain and words, "Wh-" but her question is silence by his mouth on hers. He does not want to hear her suffering anymore. He wants her to forget, and to feel something more than the insignificance Sark breeds as much as he breathes air. Her sigh into his mouth is full of contentment, no longer shame.
He pulls away from her, eyes searching souls and faces for answers. He hasn't confused her, rather rejuvenated her. He knows she'll always harbor the feelings she does for Sark, and he intends to set things straight with the man. But now, all he cares about is making sure she's okay. Because he hates to see her cry. She didn't even cry when she sat up with him one night, retelling the events of the death of the older brother she lost when she was fourteen - the older brother who was quite possibly the father figure she searches for in Sark. And Aiden leans in, kissing her forehead.
He hates anyone who makes her cry. He reaches forward, sighing to himself, as he brushes some of the hair out of her face. Her eyes are red. He pulls her with him as he leans back into the bed, scooting his pelvis forward. She adjusts herself, feeling the way one of his hands rubs her bare arm. She lets her body curl into his, because she needs this. And her eyes close, heavy from emotions and exhaustion. He combs his hand through her hair, and she murmurs a soft 'thank you' into his chest.
And as Aiden rubs her back, he feels vengeful, vowing to make Sark aware of the destruction he's creating.