MIRROR IMAGE

Rating: R. Just in general.

Timeline: Mid-season 3, after "Blowback."

Part III, Act 5

"Be smug." Sark muttered the reminder as they approached the door. "Almost insufferably so—but never smarmy. Charming. You have both Cole and I precisely where you want us, but you realize it's a delicate balance to keep us there."

"Got it," Sydney said in Lauren's clipped accent, and Sark could tell she was biting back some choice remark about his lack of help, or his faith in her espionage skills, or perhaps where, exactly, Lauren had him—or where Sydney would like to. As they were two-thirds of the way up the walk to the compound—inside the exterior walls but outside the entrance proper—he appreciated her restraint.

He took her hand and kissed it through the leather glove, taking full advantage of Sydney's inability to stop him. "Good luck," he said, quirking his eyebrows in challenge.

"Thank you," she said with a great deal of dignity, and murder in her eyes, and his lips curved in a smile.

They were at a bit of a disadvantage, it was true, since Cole was aware that such a physical swap was possible and would be more likely to suspect Sark had lied if Sydney slipped, but Sydney had spent more time studying Lauren—a false face of Lauren, but Lauren nonetheless—than even he had these past few months. And Lauren had after all crafted herself in Sydney's romanticized image. That crafting was for Michael Vaughn's benefit, it was true, but over time (as she'd confessed in a rare moment of honesty) she'd been unable to keep Vaughn's wife from creeping into her own identity. Her attempts to banish the woman—her speech, her mannerisms, her susceptibilities—had only highlighted her presence.

Sark occasionally wondered who Lauren had been before, but never dwelled on it. It was who she was now that was important. Their identities, as spies, were an ever-shifting synthesis of their aliases, always fluid, always changing. It wasn't only his loyalties that were flexible. Which was one of the things that had always fascinated him about Sydney—both her ability and her insistence to return to what she considered herself. Allison had gleaned a similar insight from the surveillance she'd carried on in Sydney and Francine's apartment. Sark suspected it was more difficult since she'd returned from the dead, with few of the stays on which her identity had previously hinged. He also suspected that, despite her memory loss, that there was more of the Covenant's Julia in her now than she cared to think about. Some fictions marked themselves more indelibly on one's psyche than others.

He should know. He'd been living this one so long it had become nearly rigid around him. It was a shame how little alternate personas had been necessary in his recent . . . situations. He was so good at them, and he so rarely was in a position to employ that skill. He much preferred working with someone else, someone whose abilities he respected and who respected his in return, to working on his own—too much necessity for honesty that way, less opportunity of subsuming himself in a role, a job, a well-crafted plan. His strength was execution; his plans had an unfortunate tendency to go horribly awry, and it was often only his considerable skill in self-extrication that saved him when they did.

He understood his strengths, something which was invaluable and often neglected in his line of work. He recognized talent when he saw it—Sydney had it, with the potential to someday rival her mother; the leadership of the Covenant did not. He was constantly surprised they continued to get anything done. If only Irina had not been forced to expend so many of her resources tracking down her wayward daughter, he thought. If only K-Directorate had ever been able to recover more quickly from his summarily executing their leadership several years previous. If only Sloane had not found himself forced to dismantle the Alliance. If only, if only. The Covenant had benefited from a particular dead space in international espionage. They excelled in ferreting out and exploiting opportunity. Their handling of his extraction to finance their operation proved that. But they wouldn't have the benefit of his inheritance for much longer.

Sydney was all business as they were escorted through halls Sark remembered from his last, unpleasant but ultimately profitable visit, her movements economical, brisk. He followed leisurely just behind her, admiring the lines of the black leather jacket where it curved along her hips.

He touched her arm once, inclining his head towards a specific vent under pretense of pulling her in for a kiss—a bit unprofessional for his taste, but not entirely out of character. He had taken pains to appear as besotted as possible in Cole's presence without actually compromising his professionalism, when he normally would have chosen to downplay their association. It benefited him to appear under her thumb. It was why Cole had made them co-chairs, after all—Lauren, though competent, was still new to this particular game; he brought experience to the position, and she brought security to his appointment. She was the check to his balance. She would never become so attached to him that she would betray the Covenant on his behalf. If he attempted anything, she would report to Cole, and Sark would be removed. It was smart—but then, Cole had worked under Irina as well.

Sydney turned her head, and he managed only the corner of her lovely lips. "Later, darling," she drawled, and pushed through the door their armed escort indicated. She had the domineering bit down, at least; he hadn't even had to coach her on that.

"We're going to have to make this quick, kids," Cole said as he entered mere moments later, before Sark had managed a thorough survey of the space. He'd been too preoccupied last time, though that was hardly an excuse. No help for it now; he raised his eyes to Cole and regarded him with brows raised.

"K-Directorate's looking to make a comeback in the international arena." He chucked a thumb under Sydney's chin as he passed, and Sydney looked at him with precisely the right mix of amusement, pleasure and adoration. Good girl. "Intel puts a top operations officer in a nightclub a few hours south tonight. I need you two to figure out what the agent's doing there."

"If you don't mind me asking," Sark said casually, "why us? Surely this is someone else's jurisdiction." And beneath both of our abilities, he thought, resisting the urge to press his lips together in consternation. There was something he wasn't quite grasping here. The Covenant hadn't sent him on these kinds of chases in weeks, not since he and Lauren had been put in charge of the North American cell. So why now?

"That's a great question," Cole said, leaning back on his desk. "You ask great questions."

It would be imprudent to thank him. Sark held his tongue, and simply waited.

"Neither of you have had a run-in with the agent before. Most of our people in this area have. Most of our people in this area used to work with her."

"Who is this agent?" Sydney asked.

"Ana Espinosa. Hell of a woman. Very efficient operative, very dangerous. And hot. Man is she hot. Hard to get to know, though. She shot me down." Cole shook his head, and looked almost fond for a moment, to Sark's mild disgust. But it was lucky he was distracted, as Sydney's currently-lily complexion had gone deathly white. He and Lauren may not have ever crossed Espinosa's path, but Sydney Bristow obviously had.

"In the literal sense as well, or just the figurative?" Sark inquired with a bit of a sneer in his voice. It accomplished the desired task—drew Cole's attention away from his temporary partner while she pulled herself together. A little sloppy, Sydney, he thought, and wondered at her reaction.

"Bullet to the guy," Cole specified. He was ignoring Sark's insult, which made Sark not the least bit wary.

"Lovely."

"Hell of a woman. You'll report back to me here on anything you discover. I've got some business to attend to in the meantime, but I'll be back tomorrow." He stood, and looked as if he were going to dismiss them—then paused. "Oh, and Sark?"

Ah. Here it came. The things he did for Sydney. And to save his own life, of course. He cocked his head and prepared himself for whatever snide remark the man would leave him with.

"That thing outside in the hallway, with Lauren?"

Had he seen his gesture towards the—But no, of course not. The failed kiss. He meant the failed kiss.

"That was cold, man." Cole looked patiently amused, and a little pitying. Sark hated pity.

"Miss Reed," Sark observed, mouth quirking, "has her moods."

"She does, but it looked to me like maybe you weren't giving her what she needs." He held his hand out to Sydney, and she went to his side. It was almost brotherly, except for the way their bodies fit together, and the way his arm went around her familiarly. Lucky for Sark he wasn't a jealous man. Well, that wasn't precisely true. Lucky for Sark that his own jealousy more amused him than distressed him.

"I like a challenge," Sark replied, stiffening his posture and infusing his tone with irritation.

"Feel free to give me a ring if you want any pointers, Julian." Cole smirked, and turned to Sydney. "We'll talk when you two get back, baby doll," he said as he slapped her on the rear back towards Sark. "Good luck."

"Does our plan involve knocking Cole unconscious?" Sydney muttered once they were out of earshot of the building. "And if not, can we change it?"

Sark laughed, genuinely amused. "Your bloodthirstiness is dually noted," he responded. "I'll see what we can do to alter the plan accordingly." Pretending thoughtfulness, he added, "Though I'm not entirely sure I shouldn't be the one to do it, seeing as though he insulted my ability to," he paused, assessing the ramifications of finishing the sentence the way he wanted, and decided on the safer answer; no use spoiling the temporary truce they appeared to have entered, "please Miss Reed."

"He just wants to make sure you know where you stand," Sydney said—and was that sincere compassion he heard in her voice?

"He likes that I'm cocky," he protested, faking offense.

"Trust me, Sark. Nobody likes that you're cocky."

He smirked, and earned an eye roll. Remarkable woman, consummate spy, but she did persist in being ridiculously childish at times. Still, he found himself rather enjoying it in this particular instance.

"After you," he said to her graciously, pulling open the door of the car in which they'd come.

Sydney looked like Lauren at her haughtiest as she slid into the backseat.

Sark shook his head, perfectly able but not in the mood to conceal his smile.

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A/N: Apologies for the delay, but expect another update by the end of the week. In the meantime, there's always Once Was Lost, my answer to the aforementioned SD-1 Holiday Sarkney Challenge, available here at or at SD-1. (Supplies limited, order yours today. . . .) Hope you all had a lovely Christmas/Capitalism Day (my family's holiday of choice for Dec 25th), and a fantastic New Year's!