Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot
Rating: PG-13, for language and sexual themes in future chapters
Pairing: Sydney/Sark, suggested Sydney/Vaughn and Sark/Lauren
Summary: When Sydney makes the fatal mistake of trusting Sark with a gun in Man of His Word, Season 4, Sark takes the opportunity to revenge himself on Vaughn for Lauren's murder. However, after spending a prolonged time together, Sark and Sydney begin to develop feelings that neither of them anticipated.
Author's Note: An AU version of the events in Man of His Word. What might have happened had Sydney trusted Sark with a gun during the fight with Anna at the club.Chapter 5- Sanctuary for Two
Sark drew many of the staff's eyes as he entered the English manor carrying a small bag from a popular designer situated in the heart of London's shopping area and whistling. He was half aware of their glances, but couldn't bring himself to disguise his state of contentment. He had only been back at the manor for a week, but already the time spent in Sydney's company had seemed to sooth over any dark memories the old house had once carried. Now he strolled through each room and remembered the moment spent there with Sydney. The kitchen was now filled with her laughing as they had attempted to cook spaghetti last night and the large dining room had been brightened by the memory of a small food fight. Sark found himself unable to make any pretence at keeping Sydney locked up in her room and had given her full run of the house sometime early yesterday afternoon, save his private fourth floor. It made finding her more difficult, but the smile on her face had been more than worth it.
He caught sight of himself in a hall mirror and almost blushed. He was dressed in one of the most casual outfits he owned- a pair of beige cargo pants and a black tee shirt. He had resisted the urge to style his hair that morning, knowing that Sydney would feel more comfortable around him if he appeared less than perfect. Making Sydney comfortable was quickly becoming one of his top priorities. Despite the week they had spent together - one he regarded as being absolutely perfect- he could sense that she was still slightly uneasy around him. He hoped that after more lazy days, he and Sydney would be completely free of any apparent awkwardness.
He finally found his 'prisoner' in one of the sun rooms on the third floor. She was curled up in a wicker chair reading his personal copy of Harry Potter, one in English. Her hair was pulled back in a very messy bun, with several wispy strands hanging over her face. There was a slight smile on her face, showing her clear amusement in the story of the young boy wizard. Sark paused outside the door and leaned against the doorframe, taking advantage of the moment to watch the CIA agent. Not for the first time he reminded himself that his plan involved sending Sydney back to Agent Vaughn. He knew whatever he was feeling was extremely dangerous and that no matter how strong it appeared, he could never let Sydney see exactly how deep it went. He knew that they felt very different things. She was simply taking pleasure in realizing an old nemesis wasn't a complete bastard, and he…well, he was developing feelings that went well beyond friendship.
"What are you doing hiding in the shadows?" Sydney said suddenly, looking up from her book.
He came into the room with a smirk. "Looking at you, of course," he answered.
"What a charming stalker you make," Sydney drawled, marking her page and closing the book. "Where'd you go this morning after breakfast?"
"I told you," Sark said, coming to sit in front of her feet and fighting back the smile he knew would reveal exactly how much he worshiped her. He made sure to place the shopping bag behind him and out of her sight. "I had some errands to run in London."
"I know that," Sydney agreed. "But what errands?" She frowned, an unpleasant thought suddenly occurring to her. "Actually, maybe I don't want to know. It didn't have anything to do with…"
"With whatever organization I'm allying myself with currently?" Sark asked bluntly. They had avoided talk of work and their past like the plague, but Sark knew that Sydney had reasoned out that his business in Innsbruck must have had to do with his upcoming method of employment.
Sydney almost visibly winced. "We don't have to talk about it," she said hastily. "I really don't want to know."
"We don't have to talk about it right now," agreed Sark. "But eventually we will."
"I don't plan to be here long enough to care who you work for," Sydney snapped sharply.
Sark fought back a wince of his own. That had hurt far more than she had intended it to. He again reminded himself that the plan was for her to go back to Agent Vaughn and that, for the moment, that was where she would rather be. "Well, considering who you work for, that's probably in my best interests," he responded, trying to keep his tone light. "But we both know this discussion will only end in you trying to kill me. As I've become selfishly used to being safe in your company, I have an alternative succession."
"Oh, really?" Sydney asked with a raised eyebrow, clearly not planning on letting the conversation go so easily.
"Yes," he said firmly. He drew the bag around him and handed it up to her. "This is for you." She looked more than slightly taken back.
"Sark…you have to stop buying me things," she protested, but began to open the bag.
"No, don't open it here," Sark said quickly, getting to his feet. "Go and try it on in the room next door. Then come here and show me."
Sydney looked at him suspiciously. "Is there a bomb in here?"
"No," he said with an indulgent smile. "Not exactly. Just go try it on."
She grinned and almost skipped into the other room. Sark took up her place in the wicker chair and waited impatiently, knowing exactly what a treat he was in for. He didn't have to wait long. Years switching aliases and disguises had made Sydney a quick dresser. She sauntered into the room, her long silky brown hair hanging free around her shoulders and grinning gleefully at his gift…a decidedly attractive, and not to mention expensive, bathing suit. It was elegant in its simplicity. A black bikini that was scanty enough to satisfy him and modest enough to suit Sydney's ideas of propriety, it revealed her ridiculously toned midriff and the lean legs that went on for miles. The black top was accented by a golden loop between her breasts and he had also added a black sarong to make her feel more comfortable in front of him. He had known Sydney would look stunning, but he hadn't predicted his mouth would go so dry.
He also just managed to not jump on her and attempt to ravish her. Instead he settled for leaning back in the chair and giving her his most lusty smirk. "Agent Bristow, I hope you won't mind me saying that I bought this more for myself than you."
"Oh, shut up," Sydney hushed. But there was a slight twinkle in her eyes that revealed her pleasure at the comment. "You really are the biggest pervert I've ever met."
"Easily when you're concerned," Sark conceded. He rose and took her hand. "Come on. There is one other thing I want to show you." He led her to the little-used elevator. His father had had it installed when his mother became too weak to walk up from her beloved kitchen to her bedroom. If there was one thing Sark could say for Adrian Lazaery it was that he had loved his wife, if not so much his son.
As the elevator made its way down from the first and second floors into the basement, Sydney snuggled up closely to him, undoubtedly chilled by her bare feet on the metal bottom of the elevator. "You didn't need to buy me this, Sark," she chided him. "But I'm glad you did."
"That makes two of us," Sark teased. She shivered a little and he took the opportunity to have an excuse for putting his arm around her. "You're not cold, are you?"
"A little," she admitted. "Not quite as cold as when you shot the ice out from under my feet in Siberia and landed me in freezing cold water."
Sark felt a stab of guilt in his stomach. He remembered running from Sydney's screams at Irina's insistence in his ear. He had almost hoped that she would have begged him for a place in his pod, though he had always known she was too proud for that. "I'm sorry about that," he said stiffly.
Sydney laughed. "If we're both going to apologize for every injury we've ever caused each other, we're going to be here for a very long time."
The elevator doors slid open and Sark gave her a smirk. "Maybe later then." He ushered her out and into a large arena that held a large, indoor pool. Sydney's eyebrows raised.
"Impressive," she nodded.
"Thank you," Sark grinned. "I didn't buy the bathing suit just so I could look at you. That was merely a perk."
Sark was quite proud of the indoor pool that was his favourite part of the manor. The interior had been styled to look like the interior of a Japanese geisha hotel with panelled oak walls and wooden floors. The actual pool itself was on two levels- the upper being a lap pool that flowed into a lower swimming pool. There was also a large hot tub and an enclosed wooden sauna. As Sydney walked away from him and began taking in her surroundings, he self-consciously buried his hands in his back pockets. "I won't be able to stay here with you all the time," he explained, slowly following her. "This might cure you of some boredom."
Sydney stopped on the edge of the swimming pool and peered into the water, her face looking troubled. Sark came to stand beside her, hoping she might explain what was suddenly bothering her. She said nothing, and refused to make eye contact with him. "Sydney…are you going to say anything?" he finally prodded.
Still looking into the water, Sydney blushed. "Sark…you've been so kind…but you have to understand…I'm supposed to be a…"
Sark, sensing what was coming, angrily cut her off. "I cannot believe you're still going to complain about being a prisoner! If that's what you really want, you can give me back the bathing suit and we'll lock you in the…"
In the middle of his rant, Sark was completely caught off guard when Sydney suddenly rammed into him, knocking him backwards into the water. A hundred thoughts ran through his head as he sank, but the foremost was that Sydney had decided to try another escape attempt and was already on her way up the elevator. He kicked furiously back to the surface, cursing himself a fool for becoming attached to a CIA agent. His anger was so consuming, that he wasn't exactly sure how to react when he resurfaced and found Sydney standing on the edge, laughing at him.
"What the hell was that for?" he asked, completely bewildered.
Sydney shrugged. "Nothing, really. Just a laugh."
"A laugh…?" he repeated.
"Yeah," Sydney confirmed, kneeling down by the pool edge. "It was the first time I've seen you not in one of those expensive suits. I wouldn't feel bad about ruining the cargo pants, so I took the opportunity."
Sark tread water, and looked up at Sydney, fighting down a laugh. "You are perfectly ridiculous, you know that?" he demanded.
"Probably," agreed Sydney, still laughing.
Sark glanced to where he knew the security cameras were focused on them. It was a wonder the alarms weren't already blaring. If he did what he was planning to, his staff would all know within the hour. But, looking up at that beautiful woman, he realized it was just another thing he could forget to care about. He lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her into the pool. She shrieked and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as they crashed back into the water. They sank, tangled up in one another, and Sark fought back a grin at the wonderful sensation of weightlessness with Sydney Bristow in his arms. They let go of each other once their feet brushed the bottom and floated back up to the top.
Sydney resurfaced with her long brown hair in her eyes and a grimace of her face. "Thanks," she drawled.
"Serves you right," Sark shrugged. She rolled her eyes and ducked down underwater again, sweeping the hair back.
"I figured it was only necessary that I demonstrate my version of breaking the ice," Sydney teased, floating lazily on her back.
"Oh, very funny," Sark drawled, swimming along beside her. "Really witty."
They reached the shallow end and Sydney relaxed up against the wall, her eyes closed and wearing a smile that Sark had come to recognize as one of perfect happiness. He knelt in front of her, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. She opened her eyes and the smile faded. "They'd all put me in chains if they saw me right now," she observed, her voice low with disappointment. "And I can't say they'd be wrong to do it."
Sark sighed, having suspected that this was a conversation they wouldn't be able to avoid much longer. "You're happy though," he made his own observation as he took a place next to her up against the wall. "Couldn't they appreciate that?"
"Maybe Nadia," shrugged Sydney. "And possibly Eric and Marshall. But Dixon? My dad? Vaughn? I don't think so."
"They can't love you very much if they would begrudge you your happiness," Sark said mercilessly.
"Sark, don't be unfair," Sydney chided him. "Dixon, Dad and Vaughn all have very good reasons to hate you. And they would understand something I keep telling myself, but just don't accept."
"And what's that?" Sark inquired.
"That this…whatever this is…is extremely unhealthy."
Sark said nothing, but he supposed he must have looked hurt or confused, because Sydney let out a groan and sank beneath the water, swimming away from him. Groaning himself, Sark followed her and was waiting beside her when she came up for air. "Unhealthy?" he demanded, anger taking over hurt. "That's how you viewed this week? I don't know about you, but this has been one of the best weeks I've ever had!"
Sydney tried to avoid eye contact with Sark, but he gripped her arm, forcing her to look up at him. She bit her bottom lip and let out an exasperated noise. "It has been a very good week, yes," she finally admitted. "But lets be honest, Sark…it has to end and when it does, the longer we've spent together, the harder doing our jobs is going to be. I doubt these new people of yours are allied to the CIA, which means eventually we'll be ordered to kill each other." She bowed her head, unable to look into his chilling blue eyes any longer.
Sark dropped her arm and moved closer, gently lifting her chin. "Sydney…I am my new employer. I'll control our operations. I can make sure you and I never meet in the field again. And anyways, that's a distance future. Right now, I need this. I've needed a break…a haven for as long as I could remember. And I know you need this too."
Sydney sighed, but stopped arguing, which Sark took as her consent to remain where they were for a while. He swam back from her, smiling happily. "What about you?" she said suddenly. "What would your people think if they knew you were keeping me here, like this?"
"My people?" Sark laughed. "I don't really have people…just business associates."
Sydney swam towards him. "Everyone has people who care about them," she reasoned. "There must be someone."
"There was Lauren," Sark said quietly. "And she would probably do the same thing all my business associates would do…kill me for treason."
Sydney bit her lip again. "I'm sorry…I forgot you're taking bigger risks."
Sark managed a grin and tapped her chin again. "I'm also getting bigger rewards. I get to sit here and look at you."
"Oh, shut up," Sydney laughed.
Sark gave her a smirk and then peeled off his wet tee shirt, annoyed by the way it clung uncomfortably to his chest. Sydney watched him openly and then took in his chiselled chest and the many angry red and white scars that crisscrossed it. She timidly reached up and tenderly laid a finger on one particularly large white mark. "You've really had a rough time of it, haven't you?" she breathed softly. Her warm breath caressed his wet chest, and he barely managed to fight down a shiver.
"You're not much better off," he observed, reaching out and tracing a white scar on her back shoulder he knew she had received from her fight with Allison. He felt her shiver under his touch and he knew that at least some part of her felt what he was feeling. He brought his one hand up slowly, trailing up her shoulder, down across her collarbone and then up on to her face.
She looked up at him and there was an unreadable look in her eyes that he wanted to interpret as disguised passion. He brought his other hand to wrap around her waist and pulled her into him, bending down to kiss her. Their lips had almost touched, when she suddenly pulled back. "Vaughn," she whispered.
Sark abruptly let her go, feeling angry, but most of all embarrassed. "Vaughn," he repeated coldly. "Do you mean to tell me that you actually still care about the man who got married less than two years after he thought you were dead?"
Sydney bowed her head, unable to meet his gaze, and whispered something unintelligible. "What?" he snapped.
She looked up at him fiercely, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I said I love him."
Sark felt as though she had plunged a knife into his stomach. He turned without another word and waded out of the pool. He had to force himself not to run as he reached the deck. He grabbed a towel from one of the poolside chairs and wrapt it around him, silently cursing himself a fool. He had opened himself up more than he had to any female he was unsure about, only to be shut down so fully…it was more than he could take.
"Sark!" Sydney called, sounding pitiful.
He whipped his head up to look at her. "Don't, Sydney," he ordered. "I've really had enough embarrassment today. I don't think I could stand watching you fumble your way through some sort of touching apology."
He was pleased to see he had hurt her with his sharp tongue. He made his way towards the elevator. Hundreds of emotions flooded him- regret, hurt, anger, embarrassment…maybe even something like love. He fought the urge to turn and look at her, afraid he would find himself running back and begging her to give him a chance. But when he entered the elevator, he didn't have any choice. She was still standing in the pool, dripping wet and looking so sad, sad and beautiful. His heart caught in his throat and he stammered out "I'll see you at dinner."
She smiled at him through her tears and nodded in agreement just before the doors closed behind him. He leaned against the back of the elevator as it made its way to his bedroom on the fourth floor.
"Bloody hell."
Sark sat alone in his study for a good three hours, berating himself a hundred times over a fool. He had intended on doing some paper work to calm himself down, but so far he had only managed to spread the files on his desk and click his pen open and close about a hundred million times. He knew that he should be phoning contacts who might have leads on the Covenant or analyzing the data once more to see if there was anything he might have missed. But all he could think about was her. The way the water had made her skin- tan from a life spent in Los Angeles- glisten and the way he longed to kiss her inviting lips with all the passion he could muster. Rather than data, he found himself analyzing her and everything she had said. He knew that he hadn't misjudged the feelings her shiver indicated, and there had mostly definitely been a hint of morose when she had turned down his advances.
He concluded that Sydney felt something for him, whether she liked it or not. But Agent Vaughn had proven to be more of difficulty than Sark would have ever given him credit for. The sickeningly righteous agent, who only defied the rules if Sydney's safety demanded it, was not enough of a man for Sydney. He could only see the perfect, shining figure that she presented to the world. Sark was convinced that only he himself could truly understand every façade Sydney had. He could understand that although he might adore the shining figure like every other person, that there was a human with flaws and emotions behind it. He knew that for Sydney to put herself in the persona of Julia Thorne, there had to be some darkness in her soul that almost mirrored his own. He was beginning to understand that darkness like that required someone alongside you to help face it, and he was determined that he could help Sydney accept hers.
In fact, during those three agonizing hours, the most he accomplished in regards to the data, was indulging in a fifteen minutes fantasy involving sharing the data with Sydney and figuring it out with her, resulting in gloriously taking down the Covenant together and living peacefully on the eight hundred million. Not exactly the most productive fifteen minutes of his life. Every ten minutes or so, he would remind himself that the point was to seduce Sydney…to make her fall in love with him in an attempt to hurt Vaughn. He was beginning to realize that in order to do that, he might have to feel a little bit of affection for the agent…a task that was deceptively easy.
"What's the point?" he finally growled, chucking his pen down on the desk and closing his laptop. He seriously doubted there was anything to be found in his collected data anyways. He had gone over it many times before. For all he knew, the Covenant could have spent all of his money, and not replaced any of it. They were just incapable enough to neglect paying back their support fund.
The ringing of his cell phone gave him temporary relief from his tormenting thoughts. He picked the phone up off his desk, thankful he had chosen to leave it in his office that morning rather than have it go swimming with him. The memory brought a smile to his face, and he answered the phone in a good mood. "Sark," he said shortly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Sark," came the chilly voice of Tai Ichiniwa.
"Ms. Ichiniwa," he drawled, forcing thoughts of Sydney to the back of his mind. "How perfectly lovely to hear from you. You left our last meeting rather abruptly."
"You can hardly blame me," Tai said bluntly. "I hardly wanted to spend an evening with whatever whores Joshua Frou had managed to scrounge up. I'm sure you boys had a lovely time without me."
"I am afraid I was unable to join Mr. Frou and Mr. Poladski," Sark felt the need to make her aware he had not been unfaithful to Sydney, although she knew nothing of Sydney and there wasn't exactly anything for him to be unfaithful to. "I had to return to London to meet with a contact."
"You mean you had to hurry back to your own personal friend," Tai practically smirked. "In the form of a beautiful CIA agent my sources confirm is…Julia Thorne? Or better yet, Sydney Bristow."
Sark felt his mouth dry, but spoke quickly to make it appear as though her knowledge meant nothing. "I am impressed, Ms. Ichiniwa. I must confess, I thought I was being discreet."
"I have a…personal…interest in Agent Bristow," Tai shrugged. "It is not just any agent who can so easily defeat me. I have kept tabs on her since she returned to the CIA. I had men inside Club Vorda. Even if I hadn't, I would have assumed you had abducted her."
"Really?" Sark practically rolled his eyes. "And why is that? Have you developed ESP without informing the Guild?"
"Hardly," Tai said scornfully. "You give yourself far too much credit for discrepancy. Any spy with any dignity is aware of the strange fascination you've always held for Agent Bristow. You gave yourself away during our week in Innsbruck. It was clear to me that there were other places you would rather be."
Sark was growing angry. Not with Tai, but with himself for being so careless as to actually give his counterparts emotions to read into. Sydney was proving to be very bad for business. "I trust you did not call me to discuss my relationship with Sydney, Ms. Ichiniwa?" He winced almost as soon as the words had left his mouth. He had given Tai far too much to go on.
"Your relationship with Sydney?" she repeated with a low, incredulous laugh. "You're on a first name basis, are you? And that righteous bitch has consented to a relationship with the murdering terrorist who kidnapped her? Surely you can't expect me to believe that, Julian."
"Your point of calling?" he reminded her through gritted teeth.
She dropped her mocking tone. "I have received an extremely valuable lead on your assets. I believe we should be able to make a full recovery. I have already contacted Frou and Poladski. I took the liberty of arranging another meeting at your home in Innsbruck tomorrow evening."
"How kind of you," Sark growled. "I suppose I will see you then, Ms. Ichiniwa."
"Will Sydney be joining us?" she inquired dryly.
"Go to hell," Sark growled. He hung up to the sound of her amused chuckles.
He picked up his pen again, clicking it up and down as thoughts ran through his head. This unexpected turn of events was highly unwelcome. Not the discovery of his money, of course, but Tai knowing about Sydney. He would not put it above her to send the CIA a tip or at least blackmail him with the information. Normally his own discomfort would have been foremost in his mind, but instead he found himself worrying about whoever she had tailing Sydney. She could have been in constant danger, and would be once again after she left the safety of his manor. All the more reason to keep her with him.
He frowned, realizing that he would once again be leaving Sydney. He knew it would be next to impossible just as strongly as he knew it had to be done. He rang for a ticket to Innsbruck, and then spent another half hour thinking of Sydney, and how to make up with her before leaving for Austria.
Sydney was in the middle of a lengthy yoga workout when Sark entered her room. After a week spent in Sark's company, Sydney had become used to him barging into her room at any hour of the day unannounced. She had almost begun to expect it, but when he quietly came into her room five hours after their fight by the pool, she was yet again surprised by the terrorist. She had come to know him better than she had ever thought she wanted to, and had assumed they wouldn't actually see each other for at least a day, no matter what he had said before he left. She could admit to herself that she regretted pushing Sark away and had wanted nothing more than his lips on hers. But she knew her duty to Vaughn. Things might not be exactly perfect between them, but she could easily recall that Vaughn had been with her through every up and down of her life and she owed it to him to stay faithful. She would make no advances with Sark- or any man- until everything had been sorted out between them.
But she could also admit to herself that when Sark came into her room, wearing a black Armani suit, a dark purple shirt and an expression that was an attractive mix between humility and affection, she had to concentrate very hard to avoid throwing herself into his arms immediately. Instead she settled for a soft 'hello.'
"Good evening," he greeted formally. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
"No, of course not," Sydney said quickly. He must have been really thrown for a loop if he was sticking to such niceties. He normally acted as though he was in his own home, which, Sydney reasoned, he was. Sark sat down on her couch and Sydney moved from the floor to the other cushion on the sofa. They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other. The awkwardness was so thick that Sydney felt suffocated.
Sark suddenly took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sydney," he said in a rush. "I was acting like a complete idiot. I know what's between you and Vaughn and I shouldn't have tried to cut in on it."
Sydney blinked as he caught her off guard for the umpteenth time. She tried to remember back to a time when she had believed that she understood Sark. "It's okay," she said hastily. "I was probably encouraging you unintentionally." She saw the hurt look on his face and quickened to remedy her slip of the tongue. "Not that I wasn't complimented…I just shouldn't be encouraging anyone." She chose not to add the 'especially not a wanted terrorist' that was on the tip of her tongue.
"Oh," Sark said dully. He stared at his palms for a moment, but then looked up with his smirk back in tact. "Well, serves me right, yes?"
"No," Sydney said firmly. "You didn't deserve that at all."
His look softened and he reached out to squeeze her hand. "Thank you." He cleared his throat and slowly let go of her hand. "Unfortunately, I have to leave to go back to Innsbruck tomorrow. But, please notice that this time, I'm telling you."
"Duly noted," Sydney laughed, fighting down the disappointment in her stomach. She wouldn't blame Sark if he wanted to leave London after what they had gone through, but she knew that his return to Innsbruck meant his return to crime and the end of their temporary haven.
"I wish I could stay here," he said honestly. "But…I was just wondering, if, for our last night together…you would be interested in joining me for a dinner for two on the upper balcony."
"On the fourth floor?" Sydney raised her eyebrows.
"Yes," Sark nodded.
"I'm not allowed on the fourth floor," she reminded him.
"Times change," he shrugged with a sheepish grin. Sydney returned the grin and got to her feet, eager to see the previously forbidden fourth floor. "Wait, before we go," Sark intervened, catching her hand. Sydney raised an eyebrow at him. He jumped up and opened the hall door, retrieving something he had left outside. "You should put this on."
He handed her a dress bag that contained an elegant navy blue dress with straps that crisscrossed all up the back. Sydney estimated that it would fall just past her knees and reveal just the minimum swell of her breasts. She took the bag, with her mouth slightly open in surprise. "Sark…you have to stop…"
"Buying you things, I know," he grinned, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small box from an inner pocket. "But your reaction is just too attractive to miss." He opened the box to reveal an intricate gold necklace that would go perfectly with the dress and matching earrings.
Sydney looked up from the jewellery to Sark, touched. She knew that accepting the gifts was only encouraging him, but she also knew that there was no way she could make herself refuse. "Give me fifteen minutes."
He grinned and let her duck into the washroom with her things. Sydney quickly slid into the dress and wasn't surprised to find that, although modest, it clung to her every curve. She fastened the necklace and earrings into place and then swept her hair up into an elegant bun that left strands of her chestnut hair framing her face. She quickly touched up her make up and gave her reflection a nervous smile before rejoining Sark.
He leaned back in his chair when she came out, a smile on his face that Sydney had thought she would hate seeing from anyone who wasn't Vaughn. "How do I look?" she asked, doing a little spin.
"Absolutely perfect," he said softly.
Sydney laughed and grabbed his hand. "Come on, you. I want to see this fourth floor."
Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't what she got. The fourth floor was decidedly smaller than any of the floors, almost as though it was an attic. If it was an attic, it wasn't like any attic Sydney had ever seen. There were three rooms- an office, a sitting room with a fireplace and a closed door she suspected lead to Sark's bedroom. Sark led her into the sitting room, which was the room the balcony was off of.
The balcony had been transformed. It was a large, marble oval with Romanesque columns on the railing. It looked out over the grounds, which were softly lit by glowing lampposts. The balcony itself was lit by two lamps in each corner and a host of delicate candles placed artfully on the edge of the railing. There were roses entwined in the railings and a soft violin playing in the background. There was a table set for two resting in the middle of the balcony. Sark shot her a smirk and held one of the chairs out for her.
"You should not have done this," she scolded him half-heartedly.
"Probably not," he agreed, pouring her a glass of Chateau Peruse. "But, I did. So, as they say in America…dig in."
"I don't think the term 'dig in' was ever used in the Bristow household," she laughed, although she complied readily enough. Dinner was an excellent steak and chicken alfredo.
"Well, you weren't your all-American family, were you?" Sark teased.
"No, I suppose my mother was Russian, wasn't she?" Sydney agreed.
"I was thinking more of the bit about your father being a CIA agent and your mother being the KGB agent sent to spy on him," Sark said off-handily. "But you know, yours works too."
"Oh, thanks," Sydney drawled. It was strange, she thought to herself. Anyone else who had made such a light tone about her parents would have earned her scorn for a good month. But somehow with Sark, she didn't mind. She was sure he could say anything and still have her laughing.
"Always here to give you your sharp dose of reality," Sark shrugged around a mouthful of steak.
Sydney laughed at his table manners. "Close your mouth," she laughed. "What happened to the classy spy?"
"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but you have been a very bad influence on that spy," he said, voice suddenly serious.
Sydney, shocked by the sudden change of tone, glanced up and her eyes locked with those shocking blue ones. She was caught by the human emotion she saw flooding them. She was used to those eyes being filled with anger or cruel amusement as the owner caused her pain. Unconsciously she leaned into him, unaware that her brown eyes were mirroring the look in his blue eyes. Sark's breath quickened and he suddenly tore his eyes away. "Eat your pasta," he said coolly. "You don't want it to get cold."
The rest of the meal passed awkwardly, with forced small talk. Sydney felt perfectly awful as the last bits of food and wine were cleared away by Lawrence. Their last night together had been underlined by the tension that had been mounting all week despite their best efforts. Sark got up unexpectedly and walked into the sitting room. The violin music turned off and was replaced by a Latin salsa. Sark sauntered back on to the balcony. "Will you dance with me, Sydney?"
Sydney looked up at him, astonished. She was sure she had never mentioned to him her love of dancing. She felt her face light up, and knew the awkwardness of the evening had just melted away. He held out his hand and she took it, letting him help her up. They moved together in perfect rhythm, Sark's hands running lightly up and down Sydney's back as he easily led her through the sensual Latin dance. Dancing was just one of the many talents they had both picked up over the years and their eyes never left each others, each confident enough to let their feet move in muscle memory. Sydney felt her breath quicken and a faint perspiration formed on her forehead, one she was sure had nothing to do with the quick dancing.
Sark wore a smile that was almost a smirk, save his eyes that gave away the earnestness he felt. Sydney had to admit he was easily the best dance partner she had ever had. He never fumbled or hesitated for a moment and she once again felt the undeniable safety of his arms. The music came to an end and they stayed frozen, clutching desperately at each other, hearts still pounding to the music. Sydney knew she was shaking, and she could feel Sark tremble and tense at her caresses that she suddenly realized she was delivering. She saw what he was going to do the moment before it happened and made no move to stop it. He drew her roughly to him and kissed her. Deeply, passionately…it had all the emotion of her most memorable kisses with Vaughn, and something that Vaughn had never managed to capture. There was a desperateness, the desperate need of a man who had found something to live for and knew that it was one thing he could never possess wholly.
Comparisons of Sark to Vaughn brought Sydney crashing down to her senses and she gently broke the kiss, but could not find the strength to pull away when Sark leaned into her forehead. "You cannot tell me…that you feel that… with your Agent Vaughn," he said hoarsely, the wildness still shining in his eyes.
Sydney felt as though he had punched her in the stomach. Of all the things to say in that moment, he had easily picked the worst. "You fool," she moaned, pushing him away. "Why did you do that?"
He grabbed her wrists, gently but firmly. "I am not letting you leave me," he vowed.
"I have to go," she pleaded. "God knows I don't want to, but I have to." She kissed him swiftly once more, and then broke away, fleeing from the balcony. She did not look back, but the unmistakeable sounds of Sark overturning their dining table haunted her down to her room on the second floor.