Author's Note: For those of you confused about this story, there is a backstory to it. I wrote a piece called "The Safety of His Arms" set during Syd's missing two years for a challenge at So, if anyone has questions as to why Sark and Syd seem so uncharacteristically nice to or happy around each other, the answer lies therein. Also, the story does occur in "real time." My first story could have actually happened without altering any of the events in Season 3. So, the point that all the characters are at is the point at which we last saw them, aka the Season 3 finale. From then on, it goes into an alternate universe (unless J.J. sees the genius in my story and decides to make it fact. Sadly, I don't think that's a feasible option...). I hope that clears up any confusion that might have been going on.
Her life returned to a relatively normal state of being after her late night run-in with Sark. Sydney still couldn't believe how much their conversation had satisfied the questions in her mind and made her put the whole situation behind her. Well, mostly behind her, considering she still thought about it at least once every ten minutes. But that was an improvement from every other minute.
What unnerved her most now was that it just wasn't right for her known enemy to have this "power" over her. To be able to put her at such ease without really even trying.
Frustrating didn't even begin to describe it.
The dynamic around the CIA facility was just as frustrating. Since Marshall had made his "slip-up", if she even wanted to call it that, there had been a general sense of something being a little off. She couldn't tell what, but there was something hanging in the air that she had never noticed. There was something she didn't know that she had a feeling she should.
She tried to ask Vaughn if he noticed the strange vibe, but every time she got him alone, he never really answered her question, at least not quite in the way she wanted him to. It was painfully obvious that Marshall would have been an easy target to corner and get the truth out of. Too bad he seemed to always be walking in the other direction whenever she saw him. Subtlety had never been his strong suit, and it still wasn't something he was good at now.
Once she could have sworn she would have gotten him trapped in the copy room, but miraculously her father swooped in to distract her for just long enough to let Marshall escape. This was the first time her father had approached her in the office since she found out how he had been "controlling" her life. The situation had conspiracy written all over it.
She tapped her fingers lightly on her desk and scanned the Rotunda. Everyone seemed rather busy for a Thursday. Suspiciously busy...
"And I'm becoming a paranoid freak," she muttered to herself as she sat up in her chair. Sighing, she flicked her mouse so that the screen saver popped off her screen. The Uplicore files were still there. It infuriated her when she wasn't out in the field on a mission, it seemed she was always stuck with the busy work.
"I mean, who honestly cares if this damn paint company might have ties to the Russian mob? What has the Russian mob done lately?" she muttered to herself.
"The question is what has the Russian mob done lately that we haven't known about," Weiss said as he took a seat on the corner of her desk. He threw a brown paper bag at you. "Lunch. I took the liberty of getting you a Turkey and Swiss."
She beamed and ripped into the bag. After a second, she looked up at him in shock. "No pickle?"
"I got hungry on the walk over to your desk."
"It's twenty yards."
He came up with another excuse. "I needed the energy."
"Whatever." She smiled again while she tore into the sandwich. "Thank you, by the way."
"No problem. It seems this is what my official job has come to include. Just call me the Sandwich Man."
"At least you're not stuck with the busy work on the computer. I would kill to be the Sandwich Man."
Weiss smirked at her. "You don't have what it takes, sweetheart. It's a lot of responsibility. Someday, though, if you work hard enough..."
Sydney laughed. "So, what did you really want? Besides making sure I'm still eating and keeping up my strength?"
He got a serious look on his face. "I wanted to ask what's been going on with you. You've been acting a little different the past couple days. And I don't recall the usual office memo that goes around when we've discovered another life-changing Bristow family secret."
"Are there really memos?' she asked, stopping mid-bite.
"Tragically, yes, there are. Your personal lives always seem to affect national security, so there's no way around it. Office memos are the only clear method of communication. Too bad the CIA hasn't learned about the downfalls of leaving paper trails. You think they'd watch a few more of the movies about their organization, but, no, they think they are above that. The CIA would be a well-oiled machine of world domination if they only learned from the fictional CIA's mistakes. " Weiss stopped talking and looked at her for a moment before changing the subject drastically. "So are you going to tell me what's up or do I have to torture it out of you with more mindless babbling?"
"Nothing is up," she answered shortly.
He looked at her again for a moment, trying to find a crack in her currently cool exterior. "Does it have something to do with Sark?"
She choked on her sandwich and had to take several gulps of water before she could talk. "What the hell made you say that?"
"Well, you've been acting strange since Spain. The usual Sark-apprehending mission never seems to bug you, so I just figured he might have said something that made you think twice about something."
"There was a lot of vagueness in that sentence. You really think something's wrong but have no idea what it is, don't you?"
"That's my general feeling towards you most of the time. One thing I've learned about you is you are a very hard girl to get a handle on, Syd."
"I'll take that as a compliment." She took a bite and set her sandwich down. "Listen. I'm working through a few things right now. Something Sark said to me threw me off. But I'm pulling myself back together. I'll be acting normal again real soon. So stop worrying."
"There's only one problem with that. I asked Vaughn what was wrong with you earlier, and he said nothing. How could something be upsetting you so much and your own boyfriend doesn't know about it?"
Sydney hung her head so she didn't have to look Weiss in the eye. "I didn't tell Vaughn."
He sighed and took a few deep breaths before speaking. "I thought your parents might have taught you this valuable life lesson, but it looks like you may need a refresher. Lying never helps a relationship become stronger, Syd. You and Michael are on shaky ground right now. You can't be hiding things like this from him already. It only leads to someone getting hurt in the end."
"I know that. I meant to tell him."
"I'm sure that you did," Weiss said, showing that he wasn't doubting her intentions. "But you're going to have to tell him soon. And hey! I think now is a perfect time to practice. Tell me what Sark said that upset you."
"No," she said firmly.
"Whoa. A little anger doesn't do a body good."
"It's not important," she said standing up. She threw the leftover paper wrapper from her sandwich into the trashcan next to her desk. "Thanks for the sandwich, Weiss. And the talk. But I'll be fine."
"You promise?"
"Yeah," she said with a smile.
She was happy to see that Weiss seemed to buy her excuses. Telling him that she was constantly remembering a time where she was incredibly happy with Sark was not something she ever wanted to go through. Especially not when she was still trying to convince herself that the situation was confusing rather than eerily straight forwarded like it seemed.
Not actually intending to go anywhere but now not wanting to return to her desk, she wandered down into the forensics section of the facility. It was fairly deserted, and she recalled overhearing something about their being a big crime scene somewhere in the city that had to deal with the Covenant or some other evil organization trying to take over another evil organization. For once, she was happy that something evil had happened. It gave her a much needed moment of peace and quiet.
Sydney was staring at a rather strange inscription on a book underneath a plate of Plexi-glass when her head started to pound. Before she had time to even lift her hand up to her temples, her eyes had become cloudy and she could feel herself lose her balance.
Within seconds, she could feel that she had fallen to the floor, but she couldn't get herself to stand up. Her head was pounding with such precision that she had to do everything in her power just to focus on the images flashing through her brain.
She was lying on the floor of her old house, barely conscious. Allison Doren was pulling herself up to lay against the opposite wall. This confused Sydney a little bit. Hadn't she just shot her three times? Who got up from that kind of a thing?
Sydney watched in horror as a team of masked men walked into the room and began to pour some kind of liquid over everything in sight. She reeled back as the smell of gasoline permeated her nose. Trying to move, she realized that she couldn't. She was just too tired.
Without any sign that she was conscious, she watched as one of the men walked over to where Allison was leaning. He pulled off his mask, and she saw the familiar blond hair of Sark. This confused her. He was supposed to be in a CIA prison cell, not scavenging for survivors at her house. She had personally apprehended him in Stockholm with Vaughn. They had hand delivered him to the CIA. This didn't make any sense.
She watched him touch Allison's cheek with affection, and she saw Allison look back at him with the same emotion. She wished she could just lose consciousness now. She knew at the time it probably hadn't felt this way. But in her heart at that moment, she felt a small pang of pain, something like heartbreak.
And it was at that moment that Sark turned and locked eyes with hers.
She could tell immediately that he knew she was conscious. There was really never any fooling him.
He dropped his hand away from Allison and began walking towards her. "I never thought this would be the way I died," she thought to herself. Sark bent down and felt for her pulse underneath her chin.
Any second now she was expecting to see him pull out a gun to finish her off. Which is why she was so surprised when he stood up and started yelling that someone needed to get her some medical attention right now.
If she had energy, she would have asked what he was doing. Her eyes locked with Allison's from across the room. The jealousy was plain to see. For whatever reasons, Sark was abandoning her to make sure that Sydney was all right.
Not knowing what else to do, she felt herself finally let go of her grip on consciousness as Sark lifted her up in his arms.
And with that last bit, Sydney sat up with a start. It took her a moment to realize that she was lying on the floor of the forensics wing where she had been taking a brief walk to avoid doing work. She had no idea what happened.
"Just another strange memory to file away with the others," she said, standing up and dusting herself off with conviction.
There was a voice in the back of her head, nagging her relentlessly. It kept saying that this memory wasn't as strange as she wanted it to be. It made sense. It fit right in nicely with all the other images she had been trying to suppress for days.
In fact, this new development actually gave her a more certain feeling that her other memories were true. If Sark hadn't been in the CIA's custody during her missing two years, that could provide for the time frame in which her other memories occurred.
Marshall's comments from a few days before rang through her head. "He said second attempt," she mumbled to herself as she began to make her way back to her desk before someone noticed she had been missing a long time. "Maybe he wasn't referring to evading me. Maybe he was referring to the fact that it was the second time Sark successfully got out of the CIA's custody. Which would support these new memories I have."
By the time she had pieced this little bit together, she had reached her desk. Sitting down, thoughts still kept racing through her head connecting more and more pieces to one another.
"And if he wasn't here in CIA custody for those two years, then everyone must have known. Which would mean everyone in this building has been lying to me for the past year." Realizing her mistake, she corrected herself. "No not everyone, just those that had a hand in the whole business with Sark. Like Marshall. Dixon. Vaughn."
She shook her head as she recognized a second mistake. "No, Vaughn probably wouldn't have known. He was distraught with my death. It would have killed him to know that Sark had also escaped. Dixon would have made sure to keep it a secret from him and most of the office. But that would mean he'd need some agents who knew the full situation. People he could trust. Like Weiss. And..."
She stared across the office at where Jack Bristow was talking to one of the tech guys. "...my father."
