MIRROR IMAGE

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

Part IV, Act 4

Sydney strode up the walk to Cole's St. Petersburg facility, eyes shielded behind the large-lensed sunglasses Sark had provided her along with two aspirin and a glass of tepid tap water when she'd awoken that morning. How he knew she'd need them had been beyond her, until she saw the rows of tiny, empty liquor bottles perfectly arranged beside the television . . . and, of course, the night before.

He had been sitting beside the bed, already impeccably dressed: linen suit, jacket open. His expression was cool and unapproachable. He looked the way he used to before she'd gone missing, and it gave her a visceral sense of security—the way pictures of Francie did, and the neighborhood where Sydney used to live—but also fear, because this was not the Sark who she had been with the night before, the Sark who'd kissed her stomach, who'd let himself go beneath her, head thrown back as he groaned out his release.

"Cole's expecting us in a few hours," he'd said as she set the glass on the nightside table and tucked her hair behind her ears.

She looked up at him, and tried a smile. "All right."

But he only nodded curtly, and stood. "I'll wait for you downstairs. There are fresh towels by the sink."

So she'd been left alone to wash the evidence of the night before from Lauren's thighs, to soak the residual soreness from Lauren's body. She dressed mechanically in muted blue gray and low black heels, and pulled Lauren's hair back into a low ponytail. She felt heavy.

She'd thought . . . well, there had been a number of things she'd thought. That Sark had absurdly lovely hands, and that his voice in the dark was one of the most erotic things she'd ever heard. That her life couldn't possibly get any more bizarre than this. That she was lonely. But swirling among these others, the one that she used to justify her actions, was that being with him would make him trust her.

She'd done some thinking while Sark was gone—before the drinking. And after. With Sloane's revelation, which she believed mainly on the strength of how ludicrous it was, came questions she knew she could never answer on her own. Sark, she thought, she might be able to use. "I almost think of her as a mother myself," he'd said of Irina once. He knew so much about her that Sydney did not. And about the disk, and it's purpose. So she'd used him: professionally, personally. The two were, as he'd implied, the same for her now. She couldn't keep the one from bleeding into the other. Her life had been hemorrhaging ever since Danny's death, and nothing she did seemed to stop it.

Except Sark seemed more distant than before. She'd miscalculated. The discomfort of being wrong, of feeling stupid, made her irritable, clotted her with guilt.

Sark had coffee for her, black—the way her mother liked it—and her coat, when the elevator opened. She accepted both. Neither of them spoke.

And hadn't spoken since. A few clipped instructions, confirmation that Sydney knew her part. The silent agreement between them seemed to be to finish this as quickly as possible. They were awkward in the small space of the plane, and Sydney had retreated behind the relative privacy of the sunglasses as soon as she was able. If he wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened, well, that was fine with her. She'd tried to seduce him, callously, for her own devices—and she'd failed. He'd been right—she wasn't Lauren. She couldn't be Lauren. The thought hurt more than it should have.

She was going in alone. She understood why, and agreed, but it felt insanely vulnerable. It was testament to years of agency missions that it made her wish she was wearing something tighter, lower cut. She'd grown so used to using her body to achieve her objectives that she felt naked in someone else's. Though she'd certainly used Lauren's well enough the night before.

"I'm early," she announced herself in Lauren's clipped tones. "I need to see Cole immediately."

She was accommodated, as Sark had known she would be. Cole met her in the hallway leading to his inner sanctum, the overfurnished hodgepodge of pattern and period she hoped she would never have to see after this ever again.

"Ms. Reed!' he greeted her in the hallway. He was wearing a suit which, as well as it was obviously tailored, looked awkward on him, made his shoulders look like a scarecrow's and his face somehow that much more pinched. "Where's your partner in crime?"

"I left him asleep in bed," she said flippantly. "He should be here eventually. I wanted to speak to you before arrived."

"By all means," he replied, with a smirk that made her skin crawl. She glanced at the men who followed a discreet few feet behind them.

"If you don't mind, I'd prefer to discuss this privately." She garnished her words with one of Lauren's secret little smiles, the kind Sydney used to watch her give Vaughn across the rotunda conference table.

"Well now." Cole paused and looked her up and down. "You and Julian have a lover's tiff?"

His voice was light, but with an ominous undertone that made her recall Sark's earlier implications: that Lauren's job was to keep an eye on him, and report back to Cole.

"We had a disagreement, yes." Sydney chose Lauren's words carefully. "Nothing . . . professional."

"Mmm." Cole tapped his mouth in a thoughtful manner. "Then what did you need to speak to me about?"

Sydney put on a pout. "You aren't happy to see me?" That she'd used the very same ploy with Vaughn—and more successfully, judging by the indifference in Cole's eyes—made her sick.

"I'm always happy to see you, baby," Cole said congenially, but made no move toward her. It figured—he only wanted what he couldn't have. Lauren apparently held no interest for him, at least not at the moment. And that didn't help her at all.

So she gave that tactic up, and moved to the next one. "Julian told you about last night." She gave the impression of probing him for information, but she knew exactly what Sark had told him—and what he had not. "That we were compromised. That my cover was blown."

"Yeah, tough break with Mr. Vaughn."

Sydney hoped that wasn't his version of compassion. He sounded distracted, and mocking. But he always sounded mocking.

"He didn't tell you, did he, who captured us."

Now she had his attention.

"He said he didn't see."

"He didn't." She folded her arms. "But I did."

"And, Ms. Reed?" The menace he was suddenly projecting was startling, and somehow familiar. But she couldn't remember where from. Certainly not his failed attempt at taking down SD-6.

Sydney raised her chin, then said the magic words. "It was Sloane."

Cole shifted abruptly to their escorts. "You can go." Then, "My office," he said to her before turning tersely down the hall, leaving her to keep pace.

"Sloane," Cole repeated, yanking off his suit coat and pushing up the sleeves of his white button down as he shut the door behind her. She barely shifted out of his way before he slammed his first into the wood. His face had been contorted with pure, undiluted fury, but when he faced her, his expression was absolutely even, absolutely controlled. "Tell me."

"He wanted one to help him get the Rambaldi disk," Sydney said, giving him the story she and Sark had agreed upon. "He said if I didn't cooperate he'd expose me to the CIA. But I don't believe that was ever his real intention. I managed to escape and retrieve Sark, but the CIA was waiting at the exit. He set us up. He set me up." Her fury wasn't hard to manage, not when Sloane was involved.

"Sark doesn't know any of this."

"None," she confirmed. She risked moving a step closer to him, praying he was to distracted to pay attention. She shift the ring with which Sark had furnished her until the gem's façade was pressed firmly against the palm of her clenched fist. "He believes that I managed to free myself as they were locking me up. I told him I didn't recognize the men escorting me. That I had no more answers than he did."

"Good work." Cole's hand was already moving to the inside pocket of his jacket—to his cell phone. That wasn't good. She couldn't have a witness, even if only on the other end of the phone line.

He pressed a few buttons, and Sydney caught the sound of the first ring. "So Sloane's working with the CIA. For real. That bastard. I knew he wasn't worth trusting, not even in—Yes? Get me—" He paused, put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Ms. Reed, can you excuse me for a moment?"

Shit, she thought. And then again for good measure: Shit.

She smiled, using one of Lauren's most disingenuous. She flipped open the top of the ring. "Of course," she said—and laid her hand on his bare forearm.

"What—" he began, doubtlessly feeling the prick. She followed it up with the heel of her left hand to his face, and hoped she'd shoved the cartilage of his nose right into his brain. Between that and the drug the ring had injected into his system, he dropped, and she was standing, staring down at McKennas Cole's prone body, breathing heavy, hands trembling.

She'd taken satisfaction in hurting him, more than she'd expected. And she hadn't been thinking of Lauren, of being Lauren; she'd been thinking of Julia.

She bent and retrieved the phone where it had fallen out of Cole's hand.

"Cole's been called away," she said, completely calm, professional. Deadly. "There was a perimeter breach."

Cursing on the other end. She didn't recognize the voice. Male, though. And Russian. "Do you know why he called?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Have him get in touch with me," the man said curtly, and the call was disconnected. She dropped the phone on top of Cole's limp form.

She took the ear piece from her jacket pocket and slid it into her ear. "Sark. I've taken care of Cole."

"Already?" He sounded startled, and slightly impressed. She heard the clatter of computer keys.

Banter, she decided. Banter was familiar; it reminded her of herself. Not Lauren. And not Julia. Julia was always serious.

"Turns out there are worse things than kissing you," she told him, and already she felt calmer, clearer.

"I'm flattered," he responded, and she could almost hear the smirk.

It seemed as if he'd gotten over whatever had kept him cool and silent that morning, and Sydney was glad. She'd take last night's Sark over that morning's any day. Last night's Sark seemed . . . human. Which didn't matter, really—the choices he made, the things he did, were the same no matter how human he appeared—but it comforted her all the same. And she'd take comfort anywhere she could get it these days, the night before being a prime example.

"The disk?" she asked, tucking the ends of her hair into a loose bun.

"Vault 6627. It's in the fourth room on the right in the northern wing."

"The blue one?" She was already shedding the skirt, revealing a pair of black lycra pants, and replacing her heels with black ballet slippers.

"The vent above the door should take you there directly. I'll meet you there."

No good luck, she noticed. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

Already she felt the rush of adrenaline in her veins, limbering up her muscles, readying her for whatever came next. Braced on the edge of the table she'd pulled over in front of the door, she used the silver disk of her right earring to unscrew the vent plate before lowering it to the table. Then she pulled herself up, Lauren's muscles screaming, and into the ventilation system. Familiar surroundings: silver, square, barely large enough for her to comfortably crawl. Once safely inside, she paused to get her bearings and let her eyes adjust to the diminished light.

Not much longer, she thought, and took a deep shuddering breath.

Then she steeled herself, and started to crawl.

-

A/N: That last author's note wasn't supposed to be a cry for attention, but though I now feel guilty, I appreciate the reviews all the same. :P

Adalon Ithilriel: Reviewing should definitely not be a duty! But thank you for stopping in and letting me know you're still there. :)

Annie: I try to update them both at the same time, but I'm happy to have you reading wherever you like best. I just happy to have you reading period. :) The threads have taken some getting used to for me. And on Syd's sudden change in behavior towards Sark . . . you know, originally I was really done with the sex for the fic, but then there were these plot elements that really worked better with it, and everything's really clicked into place for the rest of the story, I think . . . . Anyway, eventually I'll be done with all of it and you'll have to see for yourself. :P