A/N: I pretty much just randomly decided on a wine . . . :)
MADRID
Irina is quietly furious upon learning how the Jakarta mission went. She dismisses Sydney almost absently, but asks Sark to stay behind.
The door closes. Irina doesn't speak at first, as though deciding what to say. Sark senses that something of magnitude must have happened while he was away.
She passes him two slim folders. "These are the mission specs for Argentina. Read it over; if Sydney chooses not to take it you can either go solo or assign it to a team of Class A's."
This can't be all.
It isn't. "We-believe-we have a plan for Doren's escape."
He feels a sort of sickened lurch in his stomach. He had nearly forgotten. But he recovers in an instant.
"Will it require my assistance?" he asks briskly.
Irina shakes her head, and again, Sark senses an absence.
He ventures to ask. "You seem . . . off. Is there something . . ." He trails off.
She's put her defense up, Sark realizes too late. There will be no getting it out of her now.
"I might ask you the same question," Irina says gently.
"No," he says, with a half-hearted smile, "I'm just as . . . normal as ever."
She leans forward a little. "Aidan," she says. "I know what Doren means to you."
Sark feels a little jarred. He hasn't heard his name in over six years.
And for another thing, he isn't really sure what he feels about Allison anymore.
"I appreciate your concern," he says, rather stiffly, "and the fact that we have a plan is also quite reassuring." He rises. "You know where to reach me." He turns and leaves.
Once outside the office, he breaks into a jog.
He reaches Sydney on the verge of entering her room. Sark notices her uncertainty under her normal, cold exterior.
"Sydney-" he begins. "I really think there are some things-last night, in particular-that we should discuss."
Clearly she's been expecting this, because she sighs and says, "I know, and I just-there's nothing to say."
"Are you sure?"
Silently she nods.
He knows why-why she wants to forget . . . Suddenly everything comes into perspective. It was a one-time thing, for the both of them. He had Allison- not a certainty, he admits-and Sydney . . .
Sydney had Agent Vaughn.
"Oh, and-here . . . this details a mission to Argentina. It concerns, predictably, retrieving another Rambaldi page." He hands her the copy. "It's not mandatory."
She takes it but continues to look at him, expecting something else.
"That's all."
"So does this involve Sloane?"
Sark considers. "No-well, not directly at least. If you want to prevent him from getting the page himself . . ."
Sydney flips through the pages, taking it in rapidly. Finally she says, "You've forgotten the reason I am here in the first place and that reason is, to take down Arvin Sloane. And as far as I can see, this mission has no relevance to him at all. Assign it to someone else." She holds it out to him.
"As I said, it's not mandatory," he replies coolly, taking it. He strides away, not even bothering to look back at her.
Five minutes later, he is speeding through Madrid, automatically taking the turns and twists of the street.
He needs a glass of Merlot. A large one.
A/N: yeah, very short . . . muse working overtime on allison/escape details . . .
MADRID
Irina is quietly furious upon learning how the Jakarta mission went. She dismisses Sydney almost absently, but asks Sark to stay behind.
The door closes. Irina doesn't speak at first, as though deciding what to say. Sark senses that something of magnitude must have happened while he was away.
She passes him two slim folders. "These are the mission specs for Argentina. Read it over; if Sydney chooses not to take it you can either go solo or assign it to a team of Class A's."
This can't be all.
It isn't. "We-believe-we have a plan for Doren's escape."
He feels a sort of sickened lurch in his stomach. He had nearly forgotten. But he recovers in an instant.
"Will it require my assistance?" he asks briskly.
Irina shakes her head, and again, Sark senses an absence.
He ventures to ask. "You seem . . . off. Is there something . . ." He trails off.
She's put her defense up, Sark realizes too late. There will be no getting it out of her now.
"I might ask you the same question," Irina says gently.
"No," he says, with a half-hearted smile, "I'm just as . . . normal as ever."
She leans forward a little. "Aidan," she says. "I know what Doren means to you."
Sark feels a little jarred. He hasn't heard his name in over six years.
And for another thing, he isn't really sure what he feels about Allison anymore.
"I appreciate your concern," he says, rather stiffly, "and the fact that we have a plan is also quite reassuring." He rises. "You know where to reach me." He turns and leaves.
Once outside the office, he breaks into a jog.
He reaches Sydney on the verge of entering her room. Sark notices her uncertainty under her normal, cold exterior.
"Sydney-" he begins. "I really think there are some things-last night, in particular-that we should discuss."
Clearly she's been expecting this, because she sighs and says, "I know, and I just-there's nothing to say."
"Are you sure?"
Silently she nods.
He knows why-why she wants to forget . . . Suddenly everything comes into perspective. It was a one-time thing, for the both of them. He had Allison- not a certainty, he admits-and Sydney . . .
Sydney had Agent Vaughn.
"Oh, and-here . . . this details a mission to Argentina. It concerns, predictably, retrieving another Rambaldi page." He hands her the copy. "It's not mandatory."
She takes it but continues to look at him, expecting something else.
"That's all."
"So does this involve Sloane?"
Sark considers. "No-well, not directly at least. If you want to prevent him from getting the page himself . . ."
Sydney flips through the pages, taking it in rapidly. Finally she says, "You've forgotten the reason I am here in the first place and that reason is, to take down Arvin Sloane. And as far as I can see, this mission has no relevance to him at all. Assign it to someone else." She holds it out to him.
"As I said, it's not mandatory," he replies coolly, taking it. He strides away, not even bothering to look back at her.
Five minutes later, he is speeding through Madrid, automatically taking the turns and twists of the street.
He needs a glass of Merlot. A large one.
A/N: yeah, very short . . . muse working overtime on allison/escape details . . .
