"Sark, where were you hit?" Sydney asked as she pushed the wounded man to his feet.

He winced in pain. "I can suddenly feel my left shoulder all too clearly, so I assume that

would be the spot."

Carefully, Sydney cut a hole in his form-fitting black turtleneck and sighed in relief at the

results of her investigation.

"Just a flesh wound."

Sark winced once more as she tore his left sleeve off and fashioned a makeshift bandage.

"That should hold you until we reach the safe house. Do you think you can make it?" There

was t looked just like every other place of dwelling in

the surrounding area. The wonders of Suburbia.

After checking every room and securing the perimeter, Sydney retrieved a medical kit from

under the kitchen sink.

"Take off your shirt and sit down," she said while selecting specific items from the white

box.

Sark complied without so much as a peep, though wincing was quickly becoming his least

favorite exp3B

The safe house was small, box-like, and it looked just like every other place of dwelling in

the surrounding area. The wonders of Suburbia.

After checking every room and securing the perimeter, Sydney retrieved a medical kit from

under the kitchen sink.

"Take off your shirt and sit down," she said while selecting specific items from the white

box.

Sark complied without so much as a peep, though wincing was quickly becoming his least

favorite expression.

Using a wet cloth to clear away some of the blood, Sydney made a more thorough

inspection of the wound.

"The bullet grazed the top of your left shoulder. Looks like it went completely through.

This will just need a few stitches."

As soon as she was through closing up the wound, Sark looked her in the eyes and said,

"Thank you." Their faces were but a few inches apart.

Uncomfortable with his sudden nearness, Sydney stepped back and said, "Kendall would be

angry if you died because of me," as if trying to condone her recent actions.

Sark stood up slowly. As he spoke next, a smirk began to form on his pale face.

"Once you get past your open hostility, Sydney, perhaps one day we could be friends."

She looked straight at him, eyes burning with fire and rage.

"Never. You ruined my life," the harsh whisper came through clenched teeth.

"A life recently saved by yours truly."

She visibly flinched at the reminder.

"Saving my life only means that one day I must return the favor. It doesn't require that I

tolerate you any more than I already do."

Sark closed his eyes, appearing to ponder her words. A moment later, the blue orbs were

unveiled once more.

"You believe I am responsible for the destruction your life? On the contrary, I believe you

are the one who ruined mine."

Sydney Bristow's willpower was stretched to the maximum.

"What? How do you justify that statement?"

"You killed not one, but two of the people I have loved. I'm sure you are in no position to

say the same."

The tension between them could be felt, maybe even plucked, much like a taut rubber band.

"What a cocky bastard you are, Sark. You deserved the misery, if in fact their deaths caused

you any pain at all." She failed to point out that Will had actually killed Alison. "I've had

enough of this conversation, shallow as it is." Grabbing a shirt from the closet, Sydney

tossed it in his direction.

"Get dressed, we meet at the extraction point in 3 hours."

"What of the painting?" Sark asked as he carefully slipped on the shirt made of Egyptian

cotton. The CIA definitely kept the place well-stocked.

"What about the painting?"

"Perhaps you didn't notice, but Anna Espinosa relieved us of that priceless burden."

"Actually, I threw it away," Sydney replied as she walked into the bedroom en route the

bathroom.

"You can't be serious."

The bedroom door was slammed in response.