Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds
FIFTEEN – Simulated Desire
Rating: PG/PG-13
Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe, Berlin
Characters: Michael Vaughn, Jack Bristow, Sark, Sydney Bristow, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Marcus Dixon, Will Tippin, Eric Weiss, Lauren Reed, Marshall Flinkman, Arvin Sloane, McKenas Cole, Christine Esperanza (Mila Jovovich) mentioned Simon Walker
Length: 2,810 Words
The two men walk at the same pace through the halls, feet hitting the cement floor at the exact same time. Vaughn slips his suit jacket on, trying to rid himself of the wrinkles plaguing his outfit. He takes a deep breath standing a few feet away as Jack exchanges a few words with the guard. He hands him his keys and then turns back to Vaughn - the cue to continue their walk back to Dixon's office. "Ya know, Jack," Jack holds his hand up, pulling the cell phone from his pocket.
He presses the power button on the black phone, and then brings it to his ear. "Agent Bristow." He says, Vaughn watches expectantly, and suddenly Jack stops moving.
"Hello Jack, so good to hear from you." Sark. The British voice is so very disturbing. Jack doesn't want to hear it - not now. All he wants to hear right now is the voice of his daughter. And this phone call. He's actually relieved to be getting it.
"Put my daughter on the phone." Jack's words are sudden, and at the same time cold. Vaughn looks up, eyes getting wide. The two men stand in the hallway, not a single person around.
Jack hears as Sark pours something into a glass. A drink. How utterly arrogant of this child to act as though his capture of his daughter is nothing. Or is something that he can simply have a drink over. Jack takes a deep, angry breath - the kind that Vaughn is very aware means he's mentally planning this man's demise. "Well it seems as though your daughter can't come to the phone right now - she's currently sleeping because an associate of mine gave her a dose of tranquilizers. Don't worry though, she'll be just fine."
"First of all, I don't need you telling me my daughter is going to be okay - I know she is." Jack growls. "We had a deal, Mr. Sark, that she would make contact."
He can hear as Sark takes a long drink, and then scoffs slightly. "Well, I guess I have to remind you that I did not make that statement, Mr. Walker did." There is a moment of silence. Sark loves having conversations with Jack Bristow. He's the only one who knows how to keep up. "You do remember your encounter with the man, right? I wouldn't pin you as being senile just yet, although in your later years you're seeming to get sloppy - I mean considering the fact that Simon Walker is still alive." Sark is smiling on his end of this phone conversation. "Or was it your intent to let the man live?"
"I don't care to discuss my intent on the death of Simon Walker." Jack responds. "However if you would like to continue stalling before telling me when I will talk to my daughter, I wouldn't mind having a conversation about my intent in your death." He waits for a few moments for Sark to speak. And in the mean time he can hear a person moving around in the background - wondering whom it might be.
There's a slight click as Sark lets his tongue leave the roof of his mouth after another long sip of the drink. "Well to discuss your daughter first - truly one of my favorite topics by far - she will be making contact tomorrow morning, your time. Yes we've decided to be generous." Sark knows he has to at least moderately comply with the wishes of the CIA. He knows he has to act as though he's being cooperative - because this mission is not about harming Sydney Bristow. This mission is about exploiting Jack Bristow, and the CIA's weaknesses and getting what they want. "And now as far as my death, Jack, I wouldn't think so highly of myself if I were you." Sark goes to continue speaking, but hears the click as Jack has hung the phone up. He shakes his head, and looks at Steph. She shrugs.
-------
His lips are soft on hers. He moves them ever so slightly, caressing her mouth. She rubs her hand up the side of Sark's face, letting her fingers pet his short hair. Sark. His tongue in her mouth, running along the back of her teeth and the roof of her mouth. Chills. Chills start at the back of her mouth, and then travel through her spine to her pelvis. She shuts her eyes tight, feeling as he runs his fingers through her long brown hair. Sark. Always Sark running through her mind, and letting his fingers travel up her bare arm.
Sydney is well aware that she's dreaming. She knows that the scenes playing across her mind are all fake - that of her subconscious But she can't help but be shocked by them. And at the same time she realizes she hates Sark. She hates McKenas Cole. She hates the covenant and the crap that they're doing to her, constantly. She hates that she's been given these drugs, and that she can't wake up. Damn them all.
And she hates these dreams. She hates Sark's hands on her body and Sark's lips on hers. She hates that in her dreams she likes it. No. In her dreams she loves it. She loves the feeling of Sark slipping her shirt up over her head, a hand caressing her breast. She hates that she doesn't want him to stop, and that she loves it when he keeps going. Damn Sark.
Sydney knows she needs to do something, within her unconscious mind, to start thinking about something else. It's always useless when she has these dreams. She doesn't know why she has dreams about Sark. And she doesn't trust Dr. Barnett - never has. So she'll never ever mention these to the woman, in spite of the fact that she's dying to know why she's having them. Sark is her enemy. She would love to kill this man - more than she would love to kill anyone else. God, to actually see that man die would be pure bliss. To actually know that the bullet from her Kimber Custom II into the back of his head is what ended his life would be the release she's been hoping for since she laid eyes on him.
So instead, because she hasn't been able to kill him, her body has resorted to fantasies about him. These dreams are pretty regular. And they always end one of two ways. The first of the two ways is her favorite. These dreams end with her using him, getting what she needs from his body and then turning right around and killing him. The blood that sprays up from his body where she's severed his major arteries and spreads across her face is always her favorite part. These dreams are the best, because she has taken control of the helplessness she always feels as Sark enters her body in the dreams.
Then there are the dreams that end bad. The dreams that end with Sark using her body - taking what he needs or wants. The dreams that end with them both panting, humid breath on similarly scared skin are the worst. In the end she's always lying with him in bed, feeling content. Ha. She scoffs at that. She could never feel content with this sick excuse of a man. She could never feel content with him.
The dream is continuing, as it always does. He's pulling on her jeans, letting his hand rub her inner thigh. All she wants is to wake up, but she knows she can't. And she hopes that this time she can kill him. She hopes that this time she can escape the way he tortures her unconscious mind, and defeat him. She hopes that in this dream she'll get to see his blood.
-------
Her brown hair falls into her face as she sits at the table, writing on a pad of paper. She brushes it out of her eyes, tucking it safely behind her ear. She hates this table - it feels so uncomfortable to sit at it, in a small room separate from the rest of the people working on this case. Elle looks up for a moment, thinking and idly holding the pen in her mouth. She is currently writing a list of things she has the intention of asking her contact. A sigh escapes her lips as she writes a few more words, trying to think of more questions.
Elle is frustrated, maybe even stressing out. This job is a lot more intense than she ever expected it to be. She slips her glasses off and sets them on the table, rubbing her eyes. And she sits there for a moment, thinking, idly drawing a small picture in the corner of the paper. "You look really nice without your glasses." Instantly she looks up, and then slips her glasses back on to see Will standing in the doorway. Does he always just linger around like this? Doesn't he have a job to do?
"What, and I look hideous with them?" She questions, a sarcastic smile spread across her face. Will shrugs and walks in. She quickly tears the paper from the note pad and begins to fold it. Will raises his eyebrows and she smiles weakly. "It's a list of things I want to research." She's lying to him. She's blatantly lying to this man, and he has no idea. But she doesn't need him double checking her questions right now. She doesn't need him telling her what she shouldn't ask and what she should. He doesn't know her contact - and she's had this man as a contact for longer than she's had Will as a boss. Some things are better simply kept as secrets.
"Well Dixon is calling an impromptu meeting in his office right now." Will states. Elle nods, standing, slipping the paper into her pocket. She joins him in the hallway, and the two then walk to Dixon's office, joining some of the other members of the current task force. Once inside Will looks around doing a mental body count: Vaughn, Lauren, Weiss, Dixon, himself and Elle. Where is Jack?
"Jack is currently trying to have a phone call he received on his cell phone traced." Dixon states, before anyone even has the opportunity to question it. "I'm sending you all home right now." He continues. "We received a call from Sark, which informed Jack that Sydney will be making contact tomorrow morning to discuss the Covenant's demands. So I am now sending you all home, because tomorrow morning will be a very busy one."
------
Marshall types at the keys on the computer trying to see if he can at all trace the phone call. "The signal was bounced off a lot of different satellites." He explains. Jack nods. "Ya see, it's like umm, you know how there are those fun houses at umm Carnivals, ya know? With the hall of mirrors and you're like 'Oh my, wow... look at all of me.' Carrie and I were thinking about taking Mitchell to one of those, ya know, and so we tested it out in the bathroom by holding him up and having a few other mirrors... he cried a lot."
"Yes Marshall?" Jack states. And the younger man then knows that he needs to keep with the cell phone. He knows when Jack has reached his limit - it's usually a lot quicker than others.
Marshall looks up suddenly, a frown on his face. "Tracing software usually doesn't work as well when the line is disconnected - I can only trace it back so far... But see I've set your phone up with this device now, that will allow us to trace any incoming call, okay?" He hates that he's let the man down. And he takes his cell phone back from Marshall, shutting it off and slipping it into his pocket. "We'll, ya know... get her back." Marshall states. Jack nods. And suddenly his cell phone rings again. He pulls it from his pocket. Immediately Marshall presses a few keys on the computer, and Jack turns the phone on.
"Hello?"
"Jack." Sloane. Jack takes a deep breath listening, wondering just how good Marshall's software is.
"Jack I just heard what happened through a contact of mine," Sloane pauses in between his words. And Jack watches as the trace narrows down the search to Europe. "I can't express my feelings of sorrow enough."
Jack wants to scoff at this man. He wants to tell him how much of a liar he is. But he won't, not now. That will definitely come later. "And what did your contact say happened?"
"He said that Sydney was kidnapped by a few rogue members of the Covenant." Jack can hear the words; wants so badly to rip that man's heart out, and he sees the trace narrow down to Germany. Jack raises a curious eyebrow - does Marshall's technology actually work or not? "Jack, I have to tell you that I vow to do anything within my power to help save Sydney."
He's lying. Jack knows he's lying. This man is always lying. Why would he not be lying now? Sure he'd probably do anything to help save Sydney - but of course Sydney would just have to fall into some sick Rambaldi puzzle he's been trying to piece together. It's always like this with Sloane. Always. "I can assure you that the CIA is doing everything in its power - your power will probably not be needed."
Jack continues to watch the computer as it narrows down to Berlin, and then to a specific block - finally landing at a nightclub. Jack looks to Marshall who shrugs. "Well I'll let you get back to that." Sloane then hangs the phone up, and Jack turns to Marshall, flipping his cell phone off.
"I... don't know what is wrong with this..." He trails for a moment, pressing the keys. He continues for a few moments, eyes flashing across the screen. "I'll see if I can work out the bug..." He looks back up to find that Jack is gone.
------
Cole is waiting outside as her car approaches the property. And there are no words at all as he enters the codes into the keypad next to the gate, and then slips into the black BMW. She looks at him from behind her dark sunglasses - the sun beginning to come up. And they go through each gate, progressing toward the large house. Still no words, even as she parks her car inside the garage, and they both get out, entering the house.
The light, accenting her body, just makes her all the more beautiful. Curly red hair that rests on her shoulders, beautiful green eyes. And her skin is tanned - features expressing more of her Spanish heritage. Argentinean. "You're early." His words are soft, carrying the suitcase up the stairs, walking just behind her. She wears a dangerously cut tight black dress that is just long enough in only the right places. The neckline plunges toward her breasts, cutting in between them and revealing her tanned cleavage.
"Yes well, I wasn't in Argentina when you called - I was in London." Her voice has a rich Spanish ring to it, and yet at the same time threatens with a Gaelic tone. They ascend two flights of stairs and then begin walking down a hall. Her sharp black heels pound on the marble floor. And he can't seem to take his eyes off of the bare skin on her back. Christine. She's young. She's dangerous. She's everything he's ever wanted.
"You can use the room second on the right if you need to relax." He states. And she turns to look back at him, pointing to a door. He nods, and she opens the door, stepping inside. This is his room - the room he has been staying in. She turns to him and accepts her suitcase - always the demanding type. "I'll tell everyone of your arrival." She nods.
"Thank you." Words little expressed. She waits a moment, wondering why he's still standing there. And then he leans in, letting his lips press to the side of her face - her cheek but closer to her lips. This kiss means more to him than to her - she's certain of it. And a part of her wants to punch him suddenly - somewhere between his jaw and his brow - enough to make his brain slow down fast enough to draw a knife and gut him. That would be fun. But no. She can't do it - not to Cole. She steps back into the bedroom and shuts the door.