EPILOGUE
Sydney Bristow, in full tactical gear, sits tensely in a corner of the plane, staring down at the floor. She was sure that her first mission back out in the field since her missing two years would be a slightly more welcoming one. Yet infiltrating a nuclear lab is not the usual nightclub/wig/seduction scenario she has almost come to enjoy.
Agent Weiss sits down beside her and puts his arm around her shoulder. She looks at him and smiles.
"Picture this, Syd. We focus on the mission, get the job done well, and go to my place and order a pizza. Cosmo's Fine Pizza Pies. Sound any good?"
"What about Tasty Joe's?"
"Too spicy."
"You can get the cinnamon sticks."
"I'm supposed to be dieting."
She grins. "Okay. Cosmo's is good."
He nods. "You'll be fine, Syd."
She nods slowly. "I know."
"Really."
She sighed. "We need another lead. I can't sleep at night knowing that I've lost…"
"We'll get there someday, Syd. We'll get there."
Down in the depths of the lab Sydney feels she is finally coming into her element. The familiar wave of coolness settles over her as she slips in and out of corridors in search of one elusive room.
Finally, she comes to it. "Going radio-silent," she breathes into her comm, and steps inside.
Once inside, she finds herself surrounded by tables and tables of chemicals and delicate equipment. Sydney silently approaches the table at the far right, scanning it for any signs of - there it was. She picks up a small brown box, which she finds suspiciously light. But before she can open the box, she hears a slight flick of a door handle. Whipping out her gun, she turns and aims at the figure. "Freeze!"
Sark.
He stops and turns to stare at her. A strange expression has alighted his features… yet she keeps the gun aimed squarely at his chest, approaching him slowly.
"I'm afraid I don't have much choice; the door handle appears to be firmly stuck," he says quietly.
"Sucks to be you, then, doesn't it? Hand over the core. Hand it over!"
"Answer a question first, would you?"
"What's that?"
"Aidan. Have you ever contacted anyone named Aidan?"
"Doesn't ring a bell. Give me the core."
"Think about it. Hard. It's just a simple request."
"I said I haven't, and if I had, I wouldn't tell you. No, I have never had a contact named Aidan. Hand me the core now."
His silence implores her to think. Sydney does.
She has a flash, a glimmer, of a burnt piece of toast. Yet nothing else. Nothing Aidan-related in Sydney's mind. "I haven't, Sark. Give me the core and I let you walk out of here alive."
He looks somewhat tired. "Take it," he says, tossing it behind her. Instinctively she turns to grab it, yet he is already out the door by the time she turns around. A swift kick has repaired the problem of the handle, and Sydney scrambles to reach him – yet she flicks on her comm first. "Weiss, I'm outside room 665. Sark's here."
"Come back to the plane. We just received a transmission – they know we're all here. There's no time to chase Sark."
Inwardly she curses. "Copy that. Moving to extraction point."
Aidan… Aidan, Aidan, Aidan…
She shakes her head, starting up a quick run. What a weird request. Still. She has the core, and that's what matters.
Maybe he knows something about her two years.
Sydney stops short.
"Sydney?" comes Eric's voice. "You've got about a minute left."
"Copy that."
Someday.
Sark's truck, located somewhere behind the mass of trees, takes off.
She really doesn't remember, he thinks.
Yet she now at least has a scrap. She knows a name. His name.
He could swear he saw a hint of recognition in her eyes, but he knows this is just wishful thinking. Maybe someday it will all come back to her, or she'll find a surgery to repair the damage that's been done. Maybe someday she'll come back.
He contents himself with this thought. He'll see her again. The memories will remain.
END
Stockholm Syndrome (n): A phenomenon in which a hostage begins to identify with and grow sympathetic to his or her captor.
