Hours later, Sydney found herself sitting on the floor of the empty room with no idea how to get out of it without hurting any chance she had of deciding whether or not Connelly had any knowledge that she wanted to have. The twisty-ness of her predicament was starting to make her head hurt.

"And I am so alone on this one," she murmured, standing up and brushing the dirt off the back of her pants. She took a quick, visual sweep of the room for the hundredth time and saw that nothing had changed. There was no way out unless someone unlocked that door for her. As much as she hoped and prayed, there was little chance of that happening.

Almost on cue, the door lock clicked open. "Connelly," Sydney said, nodding to her captor.

"How are you holding up?" he asked patronizingly.

She shrugged. "All things considered."

"Are you ready to give me your answer?" he asked.

She shot him a blank look. "And what answer would that be?"

"I want you and me to become colleagues in the workforce. That was what you were supposed to be mulling over in your time in this room."

"I must have forgotten. Sorry." Sydney sat back down on the ground with her legs crossed beneath her. "So, what do we do now? Are you going to abandon me for a longer, seemingly more excruciating length of time while I contemplate your offer again? Or are you going to physically pummel me into agreement? I just want to know if I should be bracing myself for pain or not."

Connelly leaned his body up against the open doorway. "Are you trying to think up a way to distract me and get free?"

Sydney smirked. "Is it working?"

"Obviously not. Listen, Sydney. This is a good offer. I'm offering you job security and a purpose that you can fight for. The Rambaldi descendent holds the power in almost every political equation."

"If I have the power, then why should I work with you? Nothing's in it for me."

"No, from my point of view, you're pretty much untouchable. But your friends? Your family? Dear Julian? They aren't so safe."

Sydney sent him a hurt look. "That was not very original. I would have thought you could do better, Peter. I mean, you were the one that taught Julian all he knew, and he always came up with very unique and effective threats to send my way. I'm surprised that you can't seem to do the same. "

"There's one thing you're missing." Connelly pulled a packet out of his suit coat and threw it in front of her. "My threat is not an empty one."

Sydney's heart froze as she stared at the envelope lying in front of her. Suddenly, she was quite afraid to reach out and grab it. Connelly wanted her to. She could tell that without even looking at him. "Why should I play your game?"

"Because you don't have an option, Miss Bristow."

Sydney reached forward and picked up the envelope. It felt incredibly light and yet way too heavy at the same time. She slid her hand along the edge and ripped one side open. A photo fell out in front of her and made her freeze. Licking her lips, she leaned down to get a closer look at the woman in the photo. "Carrie?" she choked out.

"It looks like your friend Marshall will have to raise that young boy all on his lonesome."

It chilled her blood to hear Connelly talk in such a cold, calculating voice about being responsible for the murder of an innocent person. Knowing that having an emotional breakdown would not help anything, Sydney rubbed her eyes to stop the stinging pain of tears forming. "You are one sick bastard," she finally managed to hiss out, flinging the envelope at the man standing in the doorway.

"I admit that you were never close with Mrs. Flinkman there. But I just wanted to prove that I'm serious in telling you that there's really no option. And now that you know I'm serious, we can move on with our next plan."

"There is no us." Sydney stood up abruptly and rushed at the door.

"I don't negotiate, little girl." The door slammed shut in her face.

"Prick," she screamed, punching the door hard.

The throbbing in her hand did nothing to sooth the anger and pain she felt inside of her. It was true what Connelly had meant when he said that Carrie's death would not hit her as hard as some of the others, but she still was deeply upset by the completely unnecessary loss.

It might be slightly selfish, but the thought ringing through her head that was causing so much pain focused more on Sydney than on Marshall and his family. She was certain that this was all because of Carrie's connection to her. Her life always seemed to be putting others in danger. It left her with feelings of self-pity that she knew shouldn't be going through her head at a time like this.

Frustrated, she punched the wall again even though it caused more pain to ring through her body. The physicality of it cleaned out her head and let her focus. She just needed to compartmentalize the hurt raging inside her for just a little longer until she could get away.

Again she scanned the room for something, anything, to use to escape.


Connelly only waited half an hour before coming back. Obviously, he wanted the pain of being responsible for someone's death to stay fresh in her mind. Sydney really was surprised at how much he underestimated her. If he had done the research he claimed that he had, he would know that she had a resounding ability to work through pain to get the job done.

When the door opened, she punched him hard in the face before he realized it was her fist coming at his face. She went running past where he had doubled over in pain and straight down the corridor, praying that his bearings took an abnormally long time to regain. She needed to put as much distance between herself and Connelly as she could.

Deciding that she had to get out of the building as soon as possible to send word to her family and friends that they might be in danger, she tried to acclimate how Connelly lead her to that torture cell of a room in the first place. She could remember taking a couple rights and then a left, but from there, the memories were hazy.

"Story of my life," she muttered, continuing to run down the hallways in search of escape. The worst thing she could do was stop moving. She knew that for sure.

After a couple minutes of running and only one or two stops to try to figure out where she currently was and where she was hoping to go, she found herself in front of an open door. It was the door to the very room she had just escaped from. There was no sign of Connelly where she had left him a few minutes earlier.

It was at that moment that she realized this penthouse apartment was really very much like a maze. Every turn she made seemed to lead her back to where she was before. She wouldn't put it past Connelly to have made specific renovations to make it exactly that way.

"He really wants me to stay," she said, turning around and going back the way she came. Again, the only thing that made sense was keeping in motion.

As she turned the corner, a fist connected to her face. "An eye for an eye, Sydney," Connelly whispered into her ear as he picked her up off the ground by her hair. She managed to bite back the gasp of pain. "Now, let's get down to business."

Even though her head was ringing from both the punch and the tug on her scalp, she could comprehend that Connelly was not returning her to small windowless room she had been calling home for hours. They were going somewhere else.

"Sit down," Connelly said after leading her into yet another sparsely dressed room. He shoved her forcefully onto a couch.

Sydney glared at him as he threw another envelope at her which hit her squarely on the chest. "What is this? Did you kill another person for me, Connelly? You really shouldn't have."

"You sound prettied hardened to the fact that Carrie Flinkman's death sits solely on your shoulders."

"Newsflash. My life has hardened me to the point of not caring," she lied rather convincingly. "Death does not hurt anymore."

"Your death would hurt."

"You can't kill me. You need me on your side," Sydney reminded him, leafing through the material. "What is this stuff?"

"This is your assignment."

"You want me to kill this man?" Sydney held up a photo of the newly elected leader of Lithuania. "I hate being an assassin for hire. I did that for two years against my will. I've pretty much moved past that chapter in my life."

"I don't want you to kill him, Sydney. I just want you to go talk with him. He has information that he said he would only give to the Rambaldi descendent."

She leaned back on the couch. "How important is this information?"

"It should answer all of your questions and most of mine."

"So it has something to do with Julian's rationale in wanting to kill me all those years ago?"

"Yes. You can leave in the morning. Once this is done, I won't be bothering you for a long while. Not until I need you again."

Sydney flung the papers at where Connelly stood. "I never said I was going to work for you, you asshole. I just wanted to get some information. Seems like you just told me where I can find all the answers I've been looking for the past couple mouths, you arrogant bastard."

"When will you stop calling me names? We have a job to do, and it's the only way you can stay alive in this scenario. So stop fighting and let's get down to business." Connelly smirked at her. "And before you start arguing again, you won't be able to get any of those answers without my say so. You need me as much as I need you."

Sydney rolled her eyes and got up off the couch, intending to walk out of the room. Connelly grabbed her forcefully by the arms and flung her back down. "You're starting to irritate me, Sydney."

She kicked him hard in the jaw with her right foot. "How's that for irritating?"

Connelly pulled a gun out of his pocket. "Effective. You're alone in this game now. I don't understand why you keep fighting me, your only ally."

"I have many more allies than you."

"None that can help you now. I'm the only one."

"You're not helping me. You're just threatening those I love. That's not helping."

Connelly grabbed her forcefully up off the couch and pushed her against the wall, pressing the gun into her side. "When will you get this through your thick skull? I am the only thing keeping you alive. You can't just banter and argue with me forever. My temper is going to get the best of me, and then you're dead. I'm going to give you ten seconds. If you haven't made a decision on whether you want to live or die by then, I'm going to shoot you. And you will bleed to death here, all alone, knowing that no one you cared about was smart enough to find you."

Sydney stiffened as his words bit into her. There was really nothing she could do. She was either going to have to compromise her integrity and agree to work with him or he would really shoot her on the spot.

Before she could answer, she heard the closed door burst open, and footsteps indicated that someone had come barreling inside. Connelly's body was pushed into hers hard, and she felt the gun break one of her ribs as the weight of his body flattened her into the wall. She slid to the ground when the pressure alleviated and tried to compartmentalize the pain and focus on what was going on around her. She could hear scuffling and struggling, but her eyes just wouldn't focus. Everything was blurry. Her head must have slammed into the wall a little harder than she had first realized.

After repeated blinking and under-breath swearing for a few minutes, she heard the struggle end abruptly. "Connelly?" she asked hesitantly.

She felt someone's hand grasp hers and lift her up off the ground. Reaching out with all her sense, she touched an all too familiar cheek. "Julian?"

"I'm here, Syd. Just focus on my face."

Sydney tried to do as she was told and was surprised to see everything clear up within seconds. Some of the blurriness must have been due to her being over stressed and excited. "What are you doing here?" she whispered.

Before Sark could answer, there was some movement over in the corner of the room. Connelly was slumped against the wall with a gaping head wound. "Excuse me," Sark said. He pulled a gun out of his pants and cold cocked Connelly upside the face. "Hurts to see the student surpass the master, doesn't it, Peter?"

"We'll see about that," Connelly said, kicking Sark in the kneecap.

Sark fell hard to the floor, and Sydney stared in shock halfway across the room as the two men engaged in a fist fight. She silently prayed that both men wouldn't realize that it would be a lot easier and quicker to just start shooting one another rather than punching the living daylights out of each other.

Watching them tussle, she wondered if maybe she should do something. But then, in her mind, there was no real debate about who would win, which is why she didn't move to help her fiancé. What she didn't expect was all the pent-up rage Sark seemingly had. Once he gained the advantage, the fight turned into him straddling Connelly's body and repeatedly punching him as hard as he could in the face without pause.

"Stop it!" Sydney screamed running over to try to pull Sark off of his old mentor.

"Why?" Sark said, shrugging off her attempts and continuing to punch Connelly hard in the jaw. "Why shouldn't I just kill him right now? He tried to blackmail you into ruining your life for him. And you better believe if you had said no or tried to stall him any longer, he would have killed you. So give me one good reason why that shouldn't be a good enough reason to end his miserable, pathetic existence."

Sydney stood up and crossed her arms in front of her. "Because it wouldn't serve any purpose except to give your bloodlust some reinforcement. You haven't hurt someone for your personal satisfaction in so long. I thought you had gotten over that phase in your life, Julian."

Sark paused in mid-punch. He looked down and saw that Connelly had been knocked unconscious by his fists a long time earlier. "You want me to spare him?"

"He'll be useful to us in some way. And you're not a murderer anymore, Julian. You can't tell me that you wouldn't feel guilty killing him." Shifting positions, she put her hands on her hips and stared him down. "And you know that there was no way I would be going as far as you are if I were in your position, Julian."

He sighed and stood up off of Connelly. Looking at her, he shook his head, "I get all my bad habits from watching you."

"You consider showing mercy a bad habit?"

"The worst." He held out his hand to her. "How are you holding up?"

"Let me see. Connelly killed Marshall's wife in his attempts to prove to me his threats are not empty. I have a broken rib from you shoving him into me and therefore shoving his gun into my side." She pulled his hands up to take a closer look at them. "And my fiancé's hands look like they've been through a meat grinder."

"They'll heal."

"How did you find me? Wait. No. How did you know that I needed you?"

"I just got tired of pretending that you and I were on rocky terms. When I went to find you and no one knew where you were, I got worried."

"And how did you know I was being held hostage here?"

"I'm the best at what I do."

"And what is that?"

"Rescuing you." He pulled her towards the door. "It's time for us to make our exit."

"What about Connelly?"

"I let your friend Weiss know what I was about to do. My guess is the CIA will be sending a task force in any minute now."

"I should call them and let them know they shouldn't mention Nadia."

"You're too tired and beat up to be on the job right now," Sark corrected her. As her words sank in, he couldn't help but ask, "Why shouldn't they mention your sister?"

"Because as smart as Connelly is, he doesn't know that I have a sister. He thinks that I'm the only descendent of Rambaldi. I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

"Understood. If you promise you'll get some medical help for that broken rib and the bruises, I promise to let the CIA know they shouldn't mention her."

"Agreed." Sydney let herself be lead down the hall. "You realize you eventually do have to tell me the truth about how you knew I needed your help."

"I know. I promise I will once you get some care for those ribs. Now lean on me."

Smiling, she did as she was told without arguing. She let Sark direct the way out while she thought of how wrong Connelly had been. He had told that her personal rescuer would not be saving her this time. "Never doubted it," she whispered to herself.

"What did you say?" Sark asked her.

She smiled up at him. "Nothing at all. Let's go home."