DECEIVE | PART SIX
NOTES: Okay, okay. I'm evil. I never should have waited this long to post. Hell, I shouldn't have taken this long to write it out. But here it is. Better late then never, right? Have fun with these two stubborn spies, will ya? I know I did.
* * *
She was being suffocated. With a start, Sydney pushed back from the marshmallow that was trying to kill her and opened her eyes. She was in Sark's safehouse, outside of Paris. There was a vase of roses across from her and a white duvet resting atop the bed. Somehow her face had gotten mashed in the pillows, leaving her to dream of being smothered.
She rubbed her eyes and winced. Slowly, she drew her hand down and stared at the platinum ring on her finger. It was just as stunning as when he'd given it to her. And she'd forgotten to take it off last night.
"Damn," she muttered, shoving her hair into place. Out of habit, she reached into the nightstand drawer for a band to ponytail her hair with. What surprised her was that there were several packages of them, just waiting to be opened.
"Creepy."
Since she had been dead to the world last night when they'd arrived and she had no recollection of seeing the room before--Sark must have carried her in from the car--Sydney took the opportunity to scout the room out. The furniture was white, the canopy bed was white, even the marble flooring in her lavish bathroom was white.
There was an antique bathtub, along with several bottles of bubble bath and folded plump towels. Her window--made of glass, unbarred--provided a great view of the grounds and gave her some idea of just how large this safe house was. She was getting the feeling that it was less of a place to hide and more of Sark's place of living.
The manicured lawn spanned acres leading away from the house, so far in the distance it began to hurt her head from squinting. "My god. This isn't a house at all."
It was a mansion.
With a devious grin and playful look in her eyes, she darted to the set of double doors adjacent to the bathroom. "Yes!" She whooped and darted into the huge closet. It totally kicked the CIA's ass when it came to wardrobe. She ran her hands over the silks, drooled over the shoes and couldn't contain her grin when she came to the leather.
This was going to be fun.
* * *
"I see you found the kitchen."
She nearly jumped three feet in the air. Carefully, Sydney set the cup of coffee down and counted to ten, breathing deeply. She would not let him see how much he'd just frightened her. She would not let him see--she turned around and was met with the blinding smirk on his face.
"Jerk," she muttered, preferring instead to glare out the window.
He cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if trying to figure her out, and decided to work around her. "I hope you like eggs," he began amiably, "because that's what we're having this morning. I normally skip breakfast, but we've got a long day ahead of us. And you look like you haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks."
That had her whirling around to face. "What the hell is that supposed to me?"
Sark lifted his cup to her in a salute before sipping. "Whatever you want it to mean."
She rolled her eyes and threw herself into the chair across from his. "I should have just stayed in bed," she grumbled, clutching her coffee like it was a lifeline.
"I agree. It would have been infinitely more fun if I had been there to wake you up rather than spend half the morning searching for you."
She spewed coffee everywhere.
"Honestly, Sydney, must you infect everything with that vile substance? It cuts years off your life, you know." He reached in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She mopped where the liquid was dripping off her chin and stared at the dirty linen before handing it back to him.
Sark's lip curled on one side but he took it anyway. "You missed a spot," he leaned over and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. She was stock still by the time he finished and he sat back with a satisfied little grin. "Ah. Here are the eggs now."
A maid came in and set the food down on the table. She'd been gone well over five minutes when Sark gently inquired, "Sydney? Are you going to eat?"
She shook her head and stared at him. His brow went up in response, as he nodded reassuringly. "Right. Eat," she said stiltedly, reaching for her fork.
Sark hid his smile behind a napkin and glanced at his watch. "Simon said he would call mid-morning. We've got about two hours to talk strategy."
She looked up from her eggs. "Hmm?"
"Did you hear anything I just said?"
"No, I was too busy focused on these eggs. What do you put in them?" Sark gave her a hard look. She blinked innocently. "Was it something I said?"
His gaze fell to her nearly clean plate. "You really *haven't* been eating, have you?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't see what this has to do with Simon's phone call."
Sark's eyes twinkled. "I thought you didn't hear me."
"It's kind of hard to tune you out sometimes. You're like a foghorn in my head."
"Lovely. Just what every fiancé wants to be known as in their beloved's mind."
"Whatever you say, Pooh-Bear," she replied, biting into a slice of toast.
In the amount of time it took her to blink, he was standing over her with a dangerous smile. He brushed the crumbs off her hands and drew up her beside him. "Sydney. . . use that exceptional IQ I know you've got stashed up there. And don't *ever* call me that again."
His close proximity was disconcerting. And he wouldn't take his eyes off her. She shifted again, but he caught her wrists and continued to stare at her intensely. "Do you think you can handle that," he brushed back tendrils of her hair and ran his thumb over her cheek, "Love?"
Hazel eyes fought for solid ground, something to lock onto while regaining strength and failed. She took one close look at his darkened eyes had to lock her knees in place. For some reason, they weren't working.
"Would it be too much to expect a reply?"
What the hell was happening to her? Had he slipped some sort of neuroleptic in her eggs? Why did she feel like she was drowning in the blue of his eyes? She swallowed, looked up at him determinedly and was gratified to see a look of alarm cross his features. As if of its own accord, her hand reached up and she brushed her palm against his hair.
"If your hair was still long, y'know, I could run my fingers through your curls and tug them," she gripped the short little hair between her knuckles, "right here." He kept his eyes on her, daring her to go further. She treated him to a version of his own smirk and winked. "And you can call me Love anytime you want."
She left him momentarily speechless and gathered their plates in her hands. It wasn't until she started frowning, and looking at his kitchen oddly, that he began to regain his speaking facilities.
"What are you looking for, Sydney?"
"The sink. I was going to do the dishes." He chuckled in that calm, infuriating way she hated. "What? Don't tell me there isn't a sink in this place." When he made no move to correct her, she gaped. "You're kidding. How can you not have a *sink*?"
"Because," he smirked, "*I* don't do the dishes. And neither," he deftly took the plates out of her hands and set them on the counter, "Does Julia."
Sark led her out of the kitchen and gripped her hand in a manner that would have been more comforting if they were really engaged, and she was truly in love with him. She really couldn't stand his cocky attitude, and was surprised that it hadn't gotten either of them killed yet. She said as much to him.
He stopped abruptly and she plowed into his chest.
Sark looked down at her head. "If you'd wanted to practice that part of our engagement, all you had to do was ask."
"Shut up," came her muffled reply, as she turned her head to the side to breathe. "My god, what do you have in there, an iron lung? You nearly broke my nose."
"It's not my fault you're clumsy. I find it rather endearing, actually."
She glared up at him. He grinned and kissed her teasingly on the lips. With his arm settled comfortably in the curve of her waist, he continued on to the office.
"And I haven't gotten either of us killed yet," Sark responded to her long-forgotten question, "because I happen to value our lives."
Okay, she'd had enough of his thinly veiled digs. Sydney dug her heels in and forced him to stop awkwardly. "Value this," she murmured hotly, then reached a hand behind his neck to draw his lips to hers.
While the kiss in the hallway had been purely for Simon's benefit, and the one in the car before the op had been purely for Sark, this one belonged entirely to Sydney. As she worked on exploring the texture of his lips, her free hand came up between them to rest against his chest. Her fingers curled, then flattened, and moved even higher to grip his shoulder. Slowly, she traced a pattern on the back of his neck and was rewarded when his hands, suddenly came to rest on either side of her hips. She rocked into him once, twice, a third time, before pulling back and giving him a wide grin.
Not even looking as if she'd just kissed the daylights out him, Sydney smartly replied, "About that phone call?"
He shook his head and struggled on keeping his breathing even. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. He tucked them in his pockets. She grinned and wove her arm through his, once again starting up their walk.
Sark barely had enough brain cells to form a conscious thought, much less direct her to the office and was thankful that she'd taken inventory of the place earlier this morning. When they stood outside the door without further incident, Sydney looked up at him with a tender smile. "Darling, I'm so glad we're in this together."
He was now convinced. Sydney Bristow had lost her mind. There simply was no other explanation.
She flung open the doors and took in the sparsely decorated office. There was a couch near the center of the room and a coffee table with a black phone and folder of papers.
"Ah," Sydney headed for the table, still dragging Sark with her. "Intel. This I can work with, even if you are paralyzed."
He shook himself out of the mental stupor and saw that she was reading over the information. "I may have taken liberties with a few things, but our history remains mostly as it was."
She snorted. "Yeah, except we didn't ride back to your hotel after stealing that antidote and stay in bed for hours."
"I really wouldn't have minded that," Sark gave her a sidelong glance, pleased to see her color briefly.
"I bet you wouldn't have. Too bad for you SD-6 made you sit in coach on the way back home."
He rolled his eyes. "Budget cuts, they said. Budget, my ass. They can spend thousands of dollars so you can be adorned in the latest couture, but they can't spare a mere hundred or so for some legroom. I have longer legs, you know. I should have gotten that ticket."
"Somehow, I have a feeling the flight attendant would have had a problem when she checked you in as Elizabeth Dover."
Silence.
With a quiet dignity she didn't know he possessed, Sark replied, "I'll have you know I can pass for a very convincing Elizabeth Dover."
She giggled. "Whatever. Let's get through the rest of this. I don't want to be unprepared when Si calls."
Sark lifted a brow. "*Si*?"
Sydney smiled at the way the contempt dripped from his voice. "Don't be jealous, Snookums. You should know by now I only have eyes for you."
He growled at her.
She thought she heard the words "Bleeding," "Infuriating," and "Woman," but he spoke Cantonese very well. It had been two years for her and some of her languages needed to be dusted off the shelf and put into use. Mentally, she replayed the statement in her mind.
Yeah. He'd definitely said something along those lines.
* * *
Sark let the phone ring twice before even acknowledging he'd heard it. Sydney looked up from her papers and met his gaze steadily.
"Aren't you going to answer it?"
"I thought it would be a nice touch if you did. And maybe you could throw in a bit of grogginess to your tone."
She paused in her reach for the receiver. "Excuse me?"
He smirked. She really was a sight to behold when she retreated back to her frosty attitude, dripping with disdain. Sark fully believed she actually wound up adopting certain mannerisms of her aliases over time. Which, of course, made you wonder where this one came from. He gestured for her to pick it up and she did automatically, still waiting for his answer.
"After all, we want to give him the impression that we're a very happily engaged couple, and perhaps, just perhaps, we don't see the light of day before 11:30 on Wednesdays."
Her eyes burned into him. "Are you out of your mind?"
::Hello? Anyone there? Hello?::
They barely noticed the distant voice coming from the phone as they settled into a staring match.
::Ah, Julia? You there, Babe? What's going on?::
Sark's smirk widened. "You might want to answer that," he quietly spoke, refusing to take his eyes off her.
"Not until we clear this up," she ground out, gripping the phone so tightly Sark began to fear for its welfare.
::Would someone please tell me what in the bloody hell is going on?!::
Sydney flinched at the warning tone in Simon's voice and calmly replied, "We're going to have to call you back."
She slammed the phone down and was standing over Sark in a matter of seconds. "What the hell is going on here? Ever since that near-kiss in the car, you've been completely not yourself. The you sitting here is not the you I love to hate so well."
"I think we're making great progress. It's not so soon that every woman admits to loving her man."
She let out a muffled scream and turned back to get the phone. He grabbed her by the wrist and she tumbled into his lap. He shifted her until they were snugly resting against the couch and treated her to a genuine smile.
"Allow me to call Mr. Walker back, then. Clearly, you're not in a state of being able to hold a conversation at this point."
Sydney tried to extract herself from his grip and failed miserably. It was so, then, when Simon asked for her, she answered the best she could without focusing on just how close Sark was pressed against her. She was distinctly annoyed to hear the breathless quality of her voice and fell back against Sark with a defeated sigh.
He wrapped his arms around her more firmly and squeezed. "Oh, no, Simon you haven't called us at a bad time. Julia was just waking up, as a matter of fact."
::She always did like her sleep.::
"Well, she didn't do much sleeping last night," he flinched suddenly and nearly flew over the couch as Sydney tried to bite his nipple through the thick cable-knit sweater he was wearing. "You know how it is."
::Julia's a wildcat.::
Sark dodged her teeth again and covered the phone with his arm. "What the hell are you doing, Sydney?"
"Just playing along." She tried to bite him again. "I'm a wildcat, remember?"
"All right, that's it," he decided, bodily lifting her up and resituating her until his one arm was around her neck and the other around her waist. "Try that again, and I'll be forced to beat you."
A funny glimmer came into her eye. "Would this beating involve handcuffs, by any chance? I brought my favorite pair in my suitcase."
Dear god. The woman was trying to murder him.
A muffled voice sounded from between them. He looked over her shoulder and saw the phone resting between their legs. "Be a sweetheart, Julia, and get the phone for me, would you?"
"Certainly," she smiled mischievously, deliberately letting her fingers brush against the inside of his thigh. "I think I've almost got it. . . but I can't see, so it might take me a few more tries before I--" the arm around her neck suddenly flew off and she grinned to herself.
"Just so we're clear, I know what you're trying to do here," he muttered in her ear while she put the phone in the hands-free cradle.
"Do you? Truly?" Sydney queried, unthinkingly coming to rest back against his chest. His arm took back its earlier position about her neck, but this time rested more gently, almost comfortably and allowed her more than one way out if she needed it.
As Simon finished winding down his sales pitch, she rolled her eyes and sighed, tucking her head to rest on Sark's shoulder. He reached up and fingered the tips of her hair, silently cataloging her behavior since their arrival. She'd been more receptive to his advances, had gone as far as to make some in return, and proved that she was not as immune to him as she'd like them both to believe. Of course, her attempts at staying in that mind- frame hadn't lasted a heartbeat when he'd requested her cooperation with a simple matter involving Simon and knew that would have to change.
They needed to be able to rely on one another where Simon was concerned. Like it or not, he reported to the Covenant. And while Sark was slowly being given a bit of leeway, anything too out of the ordinary would no doubt get back to them. There was not a doubt in his mind that Simon was doing more than freelance jobs for the organization, and he'd bet his stolen inheritance that part of Simon's job was to check up on their activities.
Damn the man to hell.
::So, Babe, you up for it?::
Sydney turned back to Sark with wide eyes and he realized that she'd been zoned out during Walker's phone call, too. He shrugged, clearing indicating it was her call.
"Sure," she answered, keeping her eyes on him, not letting a trace of her hesitance give her away to Simon.
::Great, then it's all set. We'll meet up in two days time.::
Neither of them knew what she had just agreed to, or if it was indeed a safe thing to do so. Sark wondered how he could pry this information out of the man without letting him know it. "Shall we meet you directly there?"
For the first time in the entire call, Simon chuckled. ::I don't see how, mate, unless you've sprouted wings. We're flying into Siberia. We meet outside of the ice plains. I'll be in touch.::
Sark cursed.
Sydney picked up his foul statement and added her own thoughts to it.
By the time they'd finished, Simon had been beheaded, castrated, and kicked by a donkey in six different languages.
"We've got a problem," she finally said, as if she called Simon Walker things involving a goat, the offspring of a bar maid, and the firing squad of the KGB every day of the week.
Sark admired her ability to compartmentalize. He also admired her extremely foul language. "Where'd you learn that?"
"Dixon taught it all to me when we were stuck inside a bathroom once, in Korea," she answered offhandedly. "Siberia. Why does he have to pick all the cold places?"
"Maybe he just wants to see you in a white tee-shirt," Sark helpfully supplied.
Sydney elbowed him in the gut. "No, that's not it. I mean, that might be part of the reason, but. . . " Tapping a finger against her lips, she wondered. "What's there that he needs so badly, anyway?"
"The Covenant hasn't mentioned anything in the area," he mused, drumming his fingers on her shoulders distractedly. It was sending chills down her spine. She reached up and grabbed his hand. He stopped.
"I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
"I hate that."
"The wait and see?"
"Yeah."
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not a huge advocate of it either."
"Oh please. You live for the wait and see method. You love to skulk."
He stood up in offense and she fell to the floor. "What? I do not *skulk*, Sydney!"
She snorted and pulled herself up. "Yeah right."
"I do *not*," he frowned, his forehead furrowing attractively. She bit her lip, smiling, and smoothed her fingers over his brow.
"Do so."
Sydney leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. "See you at dinner!"
She left the room and Sark to his thoughts. He sat back down on the couch and put his feet up on the table. Well, this certainly was an odd twist of events, wasn't it? And she was actually warming to him. Fluctuating mood swings aside, he thought it was going rather well.
Until he remembered just why Simon would bring them back to Siberia.
"It's where we first met." Or at least it was, in the distorted history that Simon had gotten, directly out of his mouth. This was a problem, indeed. "Hell."
* * *
NOTES: Okay, okay. I'm evil. I never should have waited this long to post. Hell, I shouldn't have taken this long to write it out. But here it is. Better late then never, right? Have fun with these two stubborn spies, will ya? I know I did.
* * *
She was being suffocated. With a start, Sydney pushed back from the marshmallow that was trying to kill her and opened her eyes. She was in Sark's safehouse, outside of Paris. There was a vase of roses across from her and a white duvet resting atop the bed. Somehow her face had gotten mashed in the pillows, leaving her to dream of being smothered.
She rubbed her eyes and winced. Slowly, she drew her hand down and stared at the platinum ring on her finger. It was just as stunning as when he'd given it to her. And she'd forgotten to take it off last night.
"Damn," she muttered, shoving her hair into place. Out of habit, she reached into the nightstand drawer for a band to ponytail her hair with. What surprised her was that there were several packages of them, just waiting to be opened.
"Creepy."
Since she had been dead to the world last night when they'd arrived and she had no recollection of seeing the room before--Sark must have carried her in from the car--Sydney took the opportunity to scout the room out. The furniture was white, the canopy bed was white, even the marble flooring in her lavish bathroom was white.
There was an antique bathtub, along with several bottles of bubble bath and folded plump towels. Her window--made of glass, unbarred--provided a great view of the grounds and gave her some idea of just how large this safe house was. She was getting the feeling that it was less of a place to hide and more of Sark's place of living.
The manicured lawn spanned acres leading away from the house, so far in the distance it began to hurt her head from squinting. "My god. This isn't a house at all."
It was a mansion.
With a devious grin and playful look in her eyes, she darted to the set of double doors adjacent to the bathroom. "Yes!" She whooped and darted into the huge closet. It totally kicked the CIA's ass when it came to wardrobe. She ran her hands over the silks, drooled over the shoes and couldn't contain her grin when she came to the leather.
This was going to be fun.
* * *
"I see you found the kitchen."
She nearly jumped three feet in the air. Carefully, Sydney set the cup of coffee down and counted to ten, breathing deeply. She would not let him see how much he'd just frightened her. She would not let him see--she turned around and was met with the blinding smirk on his face.
"Jerk," she muttered, preferring instead to glare out the window.
He cocked his head to the side for a moment, as if trying to figure her out, and decided to work around her. "I hope you like eggs," he began amiably, "because that's what we're having this morning. I normally skip breakfast, but we've got a long day ahead of us. And you look like you haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks."
That had her whirling around to face. "What the hell is that supposed to me?"
Sark lifted his cup to her in a salute before sipping. "Whatever you want it to mean."
She rolled her eyes and threw herself into the chair across from his. "I should have just stayed in bed," she grumbled, clutching her coffee like it was a lifeline.
"I agree. It would have been infinitely more fun if I had been there to wake you up rather than spend half the morning searching for you."
She spewed coffee everywhere.
"Honestly, Sydney, must you infect everything with that vile substance? It cuts years off your life, you know." He reached in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She mopped where the liquid was dripping off her chin and stared at the dirty linen before handing it back to him.
Sark's lip curled on one side but he took it anyway. "You missed a spot," he leaned over and dabbed at the corner of her mouth. She was stock still by the time he finished and he sat back with a satisfied little grin. "Ah. Here are the eggs now."
A maid came in and set the food down on the table. She'd been gone well over five minutes when Sark gently inquired, "Sydney? Are you going to eat?"
She shook her head and stared at him. His brow went up in response, as he nodded reassuringly. "Right. Eat," she said stiltedly, reaching for her fork.
Sark hid his smile behind a napkin and glanced at his watch. "Simon said he would call mid-morning. We've got about two hours to talk strategy."
She looked up from her eggs. "Hmm?"
"Did you hear anything I just said?"
"No, I was too busy focused on these eggs. What do you put in them?" Sark gave her a hard look. She blinked innocently. "Was it something I said?"
His gaze fell to her nearly clean plate. "You really *haven't* been eating, have you?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't see what this has to do with Simon's phone call."
Sark's eyes twinkled. "I thought you didn't hear me."
"It's kind of hard to tune you out sometimes. You're like a foghorn in my head."
"Lovely. Just what every fiancé wants to be known as in their beloved's mind."
"Whatever you say, Pooh-Bear," she replied, biting into a slice of toast.
In the amount of time it took her to blink, he was standing over her with a dangerous smile. He brushed the crumbs off her hands and drew up her beside him. "Sydney. . . use that exceptional IQ I know you've got stashed up there. And don't *ever* call me that again."
His close proximity was disconcerting. And he wouldn't take his eyes off her. She shifted again, but he caught her wrists and continued to stare at her intensely. "Do you think you can handle that," he brushed back tendrils of her hair and ran his thumb over her cheek, "Love?"
Hazel eyes fought for solid ground, something to lock onto while regaining strength and failed. She took one close look at his darkened eyes had to lock her knees in place. For some reason, they weren't working.
"Would it be too much to expect a reply?"
What the hell was happening to her? Had he slipped some sort of neuroleptic in her eggs? Why did she feel like she was drowning in the blue of his eyes? She swallowed, looked up at him determinedly and was gratified to see a look of alarm cross his features. As if of its own accord, her hand reached up and she brushed her palm against his hair.
"If your hair was still long, y'know, I could run my fingers through your curls and tug them," she gripped the short little hair between her knuckles, "right here." He kept his eyes on her, daring her to go further. She treated him to a version of his own smirk and winked. "And you can call me Love anytime you want."
She left him momentarily speechless and gathered their plates in her hands. It wasn't until she started frowning, and looking at his kitchen oddly, that he began to regain his speaking facilities.
"What are you looking for, Sydney?"
"The sink. I was going to do the dishes." He chuckled in that calm, infuriating way she hated. "What? Don't tell me there isn't a sink in this place." When he made no move to correct her, she gaped. "You're kidding. How can you not have a *sink*?"
"Because," he smirked, "*I* don't do the dishes. And neither," he deftly took the plates out of her hands and set them on the counter, "Does Julia."
Sark led her out of the kitchen and gripped her hand in a manner that would have been more comforting if they were really engaged, and she was truly in love with him. She really couldn't stand his cocky attitude, and was surprised that it hadn't gotten either of them killed yet. She said as much to him.
He stopped abruptly and she plowed into his chest.
Sark looked down at her head. "If you'd wanted to practice that part of our engagement, all you had to do was ask."
"Shut up," came her muffled reply, as she turned her head to the side to breathe. "My god, what do you have in there, an iron lung? You nearly broke my nose."
"It's not my fault you're clumsy. I find it rather endearing, actually."
She glared up at him. He grinned and kissed her teasingly on the lips. With his arm settled comfortably in the curve of her waist, he continued on to the office.
"And I haven't gotten either of us killed yet," Sark responded to her long-forgotten question, "because I happen to value our lives."
Okay, she'd had enough of his thinly veiled digs. Sydney dug her heels in and forced him to stop awkwardly. "Value this," she murmured hotly, then reached a hand behind his neck to draw his lips to hers.
While the kiss in the hallway had been purely for Simon's benefit, and the one in the car before the op had been purely for Sark, this one belonged entirely to Sydney. As she worked on exploring the texture of his lips, her free hand came up between them to rest against his chest. Her fingers curled, then flattened, and moved even higher to grip his shoulder. Slowly, she traced a pattern on the back of his neck and was rewarded when his hands, suddenly came to rest on either side of her hips. She rocked into him once, twice, a third time, before pulling back and giving him a wide grin.
Not even looking as if she'd just kissed the daylights out him, Sydney smartly replied, "About that phone call?"
He shook his head and struggled on keeping his breathing even. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. He tucked them in his pockets. She grinned and wove her arm through his, once again starting up their walk.
Sark barely had enough brain cells to form a conscious thought, much less direct her to the office and was thankful that she'd taken inventory of the place earlier this morning. When they stood outside the door without further incident, Sydney looked up at him with a tender smile. "Darling, I'm so glad we're in this together."
He was now convinced. Sydney Bristow had lost her mind. There simply was no other explanation.
She flung open the doors and took in the sparsely decorated office. There was a couch near the center of the room and a coffee table with a black phone and folder of papers.
"Ah," Sydney headed for the table, still dragging Sark with her. "Intel. This I can work with, even if you are paralyzed."
He shook himself out of the mental stupor and saw that she was reading over the information. "I may have taken liberties with a few things, but our history remains mostly as it was."
She snorted. "Yeah, except we didn't ride back to your hotel after stealing that antidote and stay in bed for hours."
"I really wouldn't have minded that," Sark gave her a sidelong glance, pleased to see her color briefly.
"I bet you wouldn't have. Too bad for you SD-6 made you sit in coach on the way back home."
He rolled his eyes. "Budget cuts, they said. Budget, my ass. They can spend thousands of dollars so you can be adorned in the latest couture, but they can't spare a mere hundred or so for some legroom. I have longer legs, you know. I should have gotten that ticket."
"Somehow, I have a feeling the flight attendant would have had a problem when she checked you in as Elizabeth Dover."
Silence.
With a quiet dignity she didn't know he possessed, Sark replied, "I'll have you know I can pass for a very convincing Elizabeth Dover."
She giggled. "Whatever. Let's get through the rest of this. I don't want to be unprepared when Si calls."
Sark lifted a brow. "*Si*?"
Sydney smiled at the way the contempt dripped from his voice. "Don't be jealous, Snookums. You should know by now I only have eyes for you."
He growled at her.
She thought she heard the words "Bleeding," "Infuriating," and "Woman," but he spoke Cantonese very well. It had been two years for her and some of her languages needed to be dusted off the shelf and put into use. Mentally, she replayed the statement in her mind.
Yeah. He'd definitely said something along those lines.
* * *
Sark let the phone ring twice before even acknowledging he'd heard it. Sydney looked up from her papers and met his gaze steadily.
"Aren't you going to answer it?"
"I thought it would be a nice touch if you did. And maybe you could throw in a bit of grogginess to your tone."
She paused in her reach for the receiver. "Excuse me?"
He smirked. She really was a sight to behold when she retreated back to her frosty attitude, dripping with disdain. Sark fully believed she actually wound up adopting certain mannerisms of her aliases over time. Which, of course, made you wonder where this one came from. He gestured for her to pick it up and she did automatically, still waiting for his answer.
"After all, we want to give him the impression that we're a very happily engaged couple, and perhaps, just perhaps, we don't see the light of day before 11:30 on Wednesdays."
Her eyes burned into him. "Are you out of your mind?"
::Hello? Anyone there? Hello?::
They barely noticed the distant voice coming from the phone as they settled into a staring match.
::Ah, Julia? You there, Babe? What's going on?::
Sark's smirk widened. "You might want to answer that," he quietly spoke, refusing to take his eyes off her.
"Not until we clear this up," she ground out, gripping the phone so tightly Sark began to fear for its welfare.
::Would someone please tell me what in the bloody hell is going on?!::
Sydney flinched at the warning tone in Simon's voice and calmly replied, "We're going to have to call you back."
She slammed the phone down and was standing over Sark in a matter of seconds. "What the hell is going on here? Ever since that near-kiss in the car, you've been completely not yourself. The you sitting here is not the you I love to hate so well."
"I think we're making great progress. It's not so soon that every woman admits to loving her man."
She let out a muffled scream and turned back to get the phone. He grabbed her by the wrist and she tumbled into his lap. He shifted her until they were snugly resting against the couch and treated her to a genuine smile.
"Allow me to call Mr. Walker back, then. Clearly, you're not in a state of being able to hold a conversation at this point."
Sydney tried to extract herself from his grip and failed miserably. It was so, then, when Simon asked for her, she answered the best she could without focusing on just how close Sark was pressed against her. She was distinctly annoyed to hear the breathless quality of her voice and fell back against Sark with a defeated sigh.
He wrapped his arms around her more firmly and squeezed. "Oh, no, Simon you haven't called us at a bad time. Julia was just waking up, as a matter of fact."
::She always did like her sleep.::
"Well, she didn't do much sleeping last night," he flinched suddenly and nearly flew over the couch as Sydney tried to bite his nipple through the thick cable-knit sweater he was wearing. "You know how it is."
::Julia's a wildcat.::
Sark dodged her teeth again and covered the phone with his arm. "What the hell are you doing, Sydney?"
"Just playing along." She tried to bite him again. "I'm a wildcat, remember?"
"All right, that's it," he decided, bodily lifting her up and resituating her until his one arm was around her neck and the other around her waist. "Try that again, and I'll be forced to beat you."
A funny glimmer came into her eye. "Would this beating involve handcuffs, by any chance? I brought my favorite pair in my suitcase."
Dear god. The woman was trying to murder him.
A muffled voice sounded from between them. He looked over her shoulder and saw the phone resting between their legs. "Be a sweetheart, Julia, and get the phone for me, would you?"
"Certainly," she smiled mischievously, deliberately letting her fingers brush against the inside of his thigh. "I think I've almost got it. . . but I can't see, so it might take me a few more tries before I--" the arm around her neck suddenly flew off and she grinned to herself.
"Just so we're clear, I know what you're trying to do here," he muttered in her ear while she put the phone in the hands-free cradle.
"Do you? Truly?" Sydney queried, unthinkingly coming to rest back against his chest. His arm took back its earlier position about her neck, but this time rested more gently, almost comfortably and allowed her more than one way out if she needed it.
As Simon finished winding down his sales pitch, she rolled her eyes and sighed, tucking her head to rest on Sark's shoulder. He reached up and fingered the tips of her hair, silently cataloging her behavior since their arrival. She'd been more receptive to his advances, had gone as far as to make some in return, and proved that she was not as immune to him as she'd like them both to believe. Of course, her attempts at staying in that mind- frame hadn't lasted a heartbeat when he'd requested her cooperation with a simple matter involving Simon and knew that would have to change.
They needed to be able to rely on one another where Simon was concerned. Like it or not, he reported to the Covenant. And while Sark was slowly being given a bit of leeway, anything too out of the ordinary would no doubt get back to them. There was not a doubt in his mind that Simon was doing more than freelance jobs for the organization, and he'd bet his stolen inheritance that part of Simon's job was to check up on their activities.
Damn the man to hell.
::So, Babe, you up for it?::
Sydney turned back to Sark with wide eyes and he realized that she'd been zoned out during Walker's phone call, too. He shrugged, clearing indicating it was her call.
"Sure," she answered, keeping her eyes on him, not letting a trace of her hesitance give her away to Simon.
::Great, then it's all set. We'll meet up in two days time.::
Neither of them knew what she had just agreed to, or if it was indeed a safe thing to do so. Sark wondered how he could pry this information out of the man without letting him know it. "Shall we meet you directly there?"
For the first time in the entire call, Simon chuckled. ::I don't see how, mate, unless you've sprouted wings. We're flying into Siberia. We meet outside of the ice plains. I'll be in touch.::
Sark cursed.
Sydney picked up his foul statement and added her own thoughts to it.
By the time they'd finished, Simon had been beheaded, castrated, and kicked by a donkey in six different languages.
"We've got a problem," she finally said, as if she called Simon Walker things involving a goat, the offspring of a bar maid, and the firing squad of the KGB every day of the week.
Sark admired her ability to compartmentalize. He also admired her extremely foul language. "Where'd you learn that?"
"Dixon taught it all to me when we were stuck inside a bathroom once, in Korea," she answered offhandedly. "Siberia. Why does he have to pick all the cold places?"
"Maybe he just wants to see you in a white tee-shirt," Sark helpfully supplied.
Sydney elbowed him in the gut. "No, that's not it. I mean, that might be part of the reason, but. . . " Tapping a finger against her lips, she wondered. "What's there that he needs so badly, anyway?"
"The Covenant hasn't mentioned anything in the area," he mused, drumming his fingers on her shoulders distractedly. It was sending chills down her spine. She reached up and grabbed his hand. He stopped.
"I guess we'll just have to wait and see."
"I hate that."
"The wait and see?"
"Yeah."
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm not a huge advocate of it either."
"Oh please. You live for the wait and see method. You love to skulk."
He stood up in offense and she fell to the floor. "What? I do not *skulk*, Sydney!"
She snorted and pulled herself up. "Yeah right."
"I do *not*," he frowned, his forehead furrowing attractively. She bit her lip, smiling, and smoothed her fingers over his brow.
"Do so."
Sydney leaned up and pecked him on the cheek. "See you at dinner!"
She left the room and Sark to his thoughts. He sat back down on the couch and put his feet up on the table. Well, this certainly was an odd twist of events, wasn't it? And she was actually warming to him. Fluctuating mood swings aside, he thought it was going rather well.
Until he remembered just why Simon would bring them back to Siberia.
"It's where we first met." Or at least it was, in the distorted history that Simon had gotten, directly out of his mouth. This was a problem, indeed. "Hell."
* * *