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.

My God! Where have I been? Unfortunately, I don't have any solid excuses. For whatever reason, my poor little story got put on the backburner there for a while. Hopefully you haven't forgotten us.

Just a mini rant before we begin. My story 'My Immortal' which was a Lord of the Rings songfic between Aragorn and Arwen was removed for violating the guidelines. I know for a fact it didn't do any such thing, unless songfics are no longer allowed. If anyone could give me a head's up to what went wrong, it would be mostly appreciated. I rather liked that little story.

Chapter: 7/14

Chapter 7- Giving into the Inevitable

London

Sark did not recognize the warm feeling that washed over him as the gates swung open to his manor home. The noon sun was high in the air making the grounds look bright, cheerful and downright welcoming. Something told him the weather had absolutely nothing to do with the excitement he felt upon returning home.

All his life it had been traveling that had excited Sark, certainly not the feeling of sleeping in his own bed. The spy was no longer afraid to admit to himself that it was the presence of a certain CIA agent that was the true reason for this feeling stirring in his stomach. He had made a significant decision on his plane ride home to England. Causing Vaughn pain was no longer his main incentive, though it was certainly an added benefit. He had finally realized that for a while now, his main goal had been wooing Sydney to keep her with him. The car pulled up to the front doors, and Sark pushed the door open before Devon could reach it.

He trotted quickly up the steps to the mansion and pushed open the door eagerly. Upon entrance he felt as though he had already had a full night's sleep. Any worries he had been entertaining over the Guild flitted away and he was not even aware they were gone. For the first time in his life, Sark realized what he had been missing by forswearing any real commitment with women. He could almost laugh at himself for thinking he had loved Lauren. The blonde double agent had merely been a pleasurable sexual and business companion. It was nothing like this constant ache he felt when Sydney was not by his side and the way he felt better just knowing they were in the same house. He had fallen hard and he couldn't be happier about it. This was the sick to your stomach missing her, driving away from her and crying because you've left her behind kind of feeling.

"Welcome home, sir," Lawrence greeted cordially. "You have been greatly missed."

"Thank you," Sark said shortly. "Tell me, Lawrence, where might I find Julia?"

"I'm right here," came the voice of Sydney from where she stood, half way down the hall stairs. Sark whipped around and felt his mouth drop a little. In his absence, Sydney had dyed her hair. It was no longer the cheap platinum blonde, but nor had she returned to her dark roots. She had settled on a caramel blonde that suited her as well as the brown ever had. She was dressed simply in blue capris and a white blazer over a grey tank top. There was an uncertain smile on her face, which he supposed was brought on by his obvious shock over her new look.

Seeing her, he was washed over with feelings of self-consciousness he hadn't been prepared for. He remembered vividly the sight of her running from him and the anger in him as he had overturned the table. Their last parting had hardly been one of happiness. He swallowed hard and allowed himself to drink her in. "You dyed your hair," he finally said blankly.

She bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes, clearly disappointed. "I…hope you don't mind," she said quickly. "I hated that platinum colour…but I figured caramel was close enough to blonde for you. I know you…"

"…like my women blonde," he finished her sentence, half-aware of Lawrence leaving them alone. He wished he could take those words delivered in frustration back. He liked his women whatever way Sydney was looking that moment. He never wanted her to think she had to change to be good enough for him. He climbed the stairs to Sydney and haltingly embraced her. "When I said that…I was just trying to annoy you. Nevertheless, I think you look very good."

"Only very good?" Sydney asked, a little twinkle in her eyes.

"And by very good, I mean breathtaking," he allowed. Conversation died between them as they both took the other in. Sark hadn't realized until that moment exactly how much he had missed every bit of Sydney…the way she smelled, the way she sometimes stuffed her hand into her front pockets and the way she tucked her stray strands of hair behind her ears.

"I'm sorry," she rushed into the silence. "I was such an idiot. I missed you a lot while you were gone and I made you lunch."

He blinked, a little taken back by her quick list of announcements. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Syd," he argued. "All you did was be loyal to your boyfriend. I couldn't expect you to do anything less."

Sydney gave him a sad smile that almost broke his heart. "Could you honestly…still feel the same way about me if I was disloyal to Vaughn?"

"You'll think I'm a horrible person, but I think that I could," he answered honestly. Even sharing Sydney would be better than not having her at all.

Sydney laughed a little and then blushed when she met his heated gaze. They stood together for a moment, unconsciously moving closer together. Sark finally broke the moment, jolting back and giving her a rouge grin. "What was that you said about lunch? I'm famished."

Sydney returned his grin and grabbed his hand, leading him down the stairs and into the kitchen. "I made pizza. Lawrence told us you were on your way so I decided I'd give you a little treat."

"You couldn't give me a better treat than meet me at the door," Sark teased.

"You're so charming," Sydney drawled, but there was a look in her eyes that said he had touched her on some level. She dropped his hand and sauntered over to the oven. "Looks like its ready," she announced, pulling on a pair of oven mitts left on the counter. Sark took up a place on one of the stools at the island and indulged himself by watching her make her way about the kitchen. In his absence, she had acquainted herself with the kitchen. She set out two placemats, two plates and two glasses. She produced a bottle of Pepsi and then served up the pizza. She wouldn't join him until the minimal mess was cleared away and he refused to eat until she was sitting down. The pizza was a little cold by the time they finally dug in, but Sark could still appreciate its delicious taste.

"My little spy is also quite the housewife," he observed. "I suppose I'll have to keep you for the pizza."

"Oh, thanks," Sydney laughed around a mouthful of cheese. "You really know how to make a girl feel wanted."

"But of course," Sark laughed. He reached over to brush the corner of her mouth. "You have some cheese, love." Even the minimal contact between them seemed electric. Sark hastily withdrew his hand and focused on another slice of pizza. They ate in silence, chewing on the homemade pizza.

"I cannot believe you made this," Sark marvelled finally. "You're a wonder. By night you kick my ass and by day you cook up Italian marvels."

Sydney shrugged. "Cooking keeps life normal for me," she reasoned. "I won't always be a spy. Sometime in the future I'd like to start a family…maybe become a house wife."

"With Vaughn?" Sark couldn't help adding sarcastically.

"No," Sydney answered shortly. "I can't fool myself that much. I must accept that I will never have the easy life."

Sark felt instantly guilty over saying anything and vowed to never again mention the agent's name. "You're not a bad person," he comforted her.

"I'm not a good one either," she snapped. She hopped off her stool and crumpled up her napkin, preparing to toss it out. Sark hastily followed her, not wanting a quarrel to dampen their happy reunion.

"Syd…come here…" He stopped dead when she opened the garbage to reveal a flatten down Delisio pizza box. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked flatly.

Sydney bit her lip, clearly hiding a guilty grin. "Maybe," she giggled.

"You know, I actually had this lovely image of you in my kitchen wearing an apron and making me and the children all sorts of lovely treats…only to find you are a fraud, Sydney Bristow!"

Sydney laughed out loud. "You and the children, huh?"

"Yes," Sark nodded with a smirk. "But you've ruined my daydream."

"Well, I'm very sorry," teased Sydney.

"You'd better be!" Sark said hotly. He caught her off guard and swept her up into his arms, tickling her. She was overcome by giggles and was soon squirming so much he had to put her down. They staggered into the counter, their faces a mere fraction apart.

"I guess that means you won't be able to keep me," Sydney said breathily.

"God damn it, Sydney," he whispered, captured by their closeness. "I'd keep you if all you could do was sit and look."

"Well…that's encouraging," she said, dimly.

"It was meant to be," he said quickly. Before she could move, he dipped his head and kissed her. He realized he was pushing her far too quickly and drew back. He withdrew his arms from around her, feeling the heat rise to her face. "Shit…I'm sorry, Syd…I know you want to stay faithful to Vaughn…I just can't help myself around you…"

"Screw Vaughn," Sydney said, very uncharacteristically. She grabbed his face and brought his lips back to hers. Sark's last conscious thought during their make out session was that he may have just died and somehow been let into heaven despite his numerous sins.

About half an hour later, Sark found himself curled up on his couch with Sydney Bristow in his arms. He had been surprised by the amount of restraint he had shown while Sydney threw herself at him time and again. He had accepted her advances more than readily, but had managed to keep a hold of himself, if just barely. He had fallen hard for Sydney, but he was determined they not go any further than kissing until she was fully ready and sure of herself. He had to keep reminding himself that she was far from home and knew no one but himself. These feelings could just be her loneliness and boredom speaking.

He couldn't deny, however, that the sight of Sydney dozing on his chest was one of the best he had seen in quite some time. Even as he watched her, the deep brown eyes he had lost himself in numerous times over the past thirty minutes slowly opened and a slow, seductive smile spread across her lips. "Hey," she said.

"Hello," he smiled. He brushed his finger across her face, revelling in his newfound permission to touch her whenever he wanted. He bent and pressed a soft kiss to her neck, just because he could.

She grinned and stretched languidly. "So now what, Mr. Sark?" she asked, laying back down.

"Whatever you want," Sark said truthfully enough.

"What I seem to want is to cheat on the man who has proved he loved me time and again with the man who has proved he could kill me time and again," Sydney observed. Sark could see the deep guilt flooding into her eyes, threatening to spoil their perfect afternoon. He determined that just this once he could afford to be selfish about those doubts. Vaughn wasn't right for Sydney, and he felt he himself was. And damn any social conventions.

"We could dwell on that little detail," he acknowledged. "Or I could take you shopping."

He sat up, bringing Sydney up with him. "Sark," she laughed. "You know we can't go shopping. I might be seen with you…they'll know where we are. They could come after you…after both of us if I look more than a little willing to be in your company."

"And so what if they do?" Sark shrugged, unable to feel any concern. "I've been on the run from the CIA since I was sixteen. They've yet to build a prison that can hold me. Do you think one little shopping trip with my new girlfriend is going to change that?"

"Your new girlfriend who just happens to be a high ranking CIA field officer," Sydney reminded him.

He leaned towards her and kissed her on the lips. "Frankly, my darling, I don't give a damn." He pulled her to her feet and then swept her up in to his arms.

She laughed a little and then wrapt her arms around his neck. "Sark, we can't! We'll be caught for sure."

"Certainly if you have that attitude!" he agreed. "Come on…I want to buy you things. I want to shout to all of London that Sydney Bristow allows me to kiss her whenever the hell I want."

"You are so ridiculously cheesy, you know that, right? " Sydney observed as he kicked the living room door open. Lawrence was in the front hall and when he saw them, his mouth turned up into a little half smile.

"Lawrence, ring for the car, will you?" Sark asked, putting on a very haughty British accent wholly different from his own Irish lilt. "The lady and I are going into London to do a bit of shopping."

"Yes, sir," agreed Lawrence, not even bothering to hide his grin at his master's obvious glee.

Sark made his way to the stairs, still carrying Sydney. "Where are you going?" she demanded. "You are not carrying me up those stairs! Sark!"

Their laughter rang through the once cold and empty manor that had not known laughter for many of its long days.

The sun was beginning to set when Sark and Sydney started thinking about possibly heading somewhere for dinner. The afternoon had been happily whiled away walking up and down the streets of London popping into whatever store happened to attract them. As usual, Sark had spent quite freely, buying Sydney almost anything she showed interest in, despite her many protests. They finally halted besides a street vendor that was selling Indian jewellery. Sydney browsed the display shelves, sipping on her ice cappuccino. Sark watched her as intently as she looked at the jewellery and happily carried their bags. "Julian, look at this one," she almost gushed, fingering an elegant topaz chain.

Sark felt a grin creep on to his lips. "Julian?" he repeated, perusing the chain.

"Well, I can't keep calling you Sark," Sydney reasoned, kissing his turned cheek. He put the necklace down and kissed her full on the lips, heedless of the passer bys making 'tuhs' in their ears. It wasn't until the street vendor cleared her throat that Sark broke the kiss, pleased to find Sydney blushing. "You're making me act like a teenager," she protested weakly.

He cheerfully kissed her cheek, ignoring the merchant. "I can't help myself." Sark tore his eyes away to shoot the woman behind the displays a charming grin. "We'll take this one and the matching bracelet." The spending seemed to mollify the vendor somewhat and both parties went away quite happy.

Sydney slipped her spare hand into one of Sark's as they made their way up the street. Sark grinned. "What if the CIA sees us?" he teased.

"We've been making out all over London," Sydney shrugged. "It's a little late for concern."

"I think I've been a bad influence on you, Miss. Bristow," Sark shook his head.

"Tell me about it," Sydney laughed. "Somewhere between Club Vorda and London, England risking my life for an afternoon in public with you became perfectly acceptable."

"That's my girl," Sark grinned. He paused, savouring the words on his tongue. "I rather liked the sound of that."

"Me too," admitted Sydney. The conversation was interrupted by the growling of Sark's stomach. Sydney laughed loudly. "I think we'd better get some food into you."

Sark looked around and spotted a small but classy sushi bar he had visited several times during his previously brief stays in London. "How do you feel about sushi?"

"Sounds good," confirmed Sydney. Sark pulled her across the street, dodging traffic with the recklessness he showed in the field and cherishing the sound of Sydney's frightened giggles. Neither was aware of the man standing at the other end of the intersection with a small digital camera focused on their shenanigans.

They entered the restaurant. It greatly resembled the décor in Sark's pool room. There were tables in the restaurant, private booths and stools at the bar so customers could see how sushi was made. Having both undergone that treat several times, Sark and Sydney opted for a private booth- perhaps both realizing they may have flaunted themselves a little too readily.

The kimono-attired waitress left them after providing an appetizer of a green soup. "This place is beautiful," Sydney observed, still taking in her surroundings. Sark tugged the curtain completely closed to ensure their privacy.

"Its one of my favourite restaurants," Sark told her, settling back down in his seat. "This and El Café Cabana in Havana."

"I've never been to Havana…at least, not as a vacation spot," Sydney admitted. "I was there a couple of times for missions and what not."

"We'll go sometime," Sark promised. "I always try to conduct business there. It's very strategic. Loud music, plenty of dancing…and the food is great."

"Always a plus," Sydney agreed, absently browsing the menu.

"What's your favourite restaurant?" he inquired, eager to know anything about her he could.

"It was actually a restaurant my friend had in LA," Sydney answered and he noticed the immediate chilliness in her tone. He mentally kicked himself. Francie.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. He held back a groan. He was beginning to be afraid most of their time together would be spent apologizing.

"I thought we agreed that if we spent our time together apologizing we'd never get anything done," Sydney observed, reverting to a lighter tone.

"Right," Sark nodded. The waitress re-entered their booth and they ordered a variety of dishes. The conversation had barely got started again before she returned with their meal.

"Excellent service," Sydney observed, flipping her chopsticks into hand. She selected a morsel of sushi and dipped it into the wasabi sauce. She popped it into her mouth and chewed it for a bit before swallowing. "And excellent food."

"What can I say?" Sark shrugged. "I've got excellent taste."

"Of course you do," grinned Sydney. "I'm your dinner date."

Sark laughed and kissed her over the table. He settled back into his seat, a slow grin on his face. "You taste like fish," she observed.

"So do you," he snorted.

"I don't mind," Sydney assured him.

"I'm relieved."

"You should be," Sydney retorted, never missing a beat. Sark began eating sushi. It was delicious. So much so that it took him a while to realize he was the only one eating. Sydney was sitting back in her seat, hands in her lap and tears welling up in her eyes.

"Syd, what's wrong?" he asked, alarmed. He got up and slid into her bench.

"I…I can't do this," she sobbed. "I can't do this to Vaughn. He's been so good to me and I'm cheating on him."

"You said yourself there is nothing there anymore," Sark protested, unwilling to lose the hint of happiness he had been given that day.

"That doesn't make this right…not in the least!" Sydney protested.

Sark gently kissed her forehead, realizing pressuring her would do no good. "Then you can go and break things off with him," he said honestly. "I'll be waiting when you get back."

His words shocked Sydney out of her tears. "You'd let me go?" she asked, astonished. "How could you trust I'd come back?"

"For one, you're you and you always keep your word," Sark answered. "But, more importantly, you and I have something here. Even if you're not consciously aware of it, you're emotionally aware of it. Eventually you'd come back."

"You have to stop being so nice," Sydney said, softly laughing through her tears. "I don't know how to deal with a nice Sark."

"You're not dealing with nice Sark," responded Sark. "For you, I'll always be Julian."

Sydney gave him a sad smile and let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. She sunk into his chest and he happily curled his arm around her. "Does this mean you'll stay?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

"For now," she agreed.

Sark sighed in relief and leaned back on the bench. "But I think I'm going to have to get seriously drunk this evening," Sydney announced.

Sark laughed aloud and kissed the top of her head. "Well, lucky for you, my darling, I've never believed a person should drink alone."

Sark glanced over to where Sydney was sprawled on her bed, a half-empty bottle of tequila clutched in her hand. He himself hadn't consumed nearly as much alcohol as she had and his head was positively spinning. Some old black and white movie was playing on the television in Sydney's room, but their brains had long passed the point where they were able to comprehend what was going on. Sark steadied his hands around a bottle of rum and proceeded to empty it into his throat. He lay back on the bed, perfectly content and completely piss drunk.

Sydney unsteadily got to her knees and tottered over to him. She overestimated the distance between them and ended up tripping over him. She giggled drunkenly and then righted herself. She straddled him and tossed the bottle on to the floor. She slowly lowered herself down, pressing hot, clumsy kisses to his neck. Her hands roamed around his body, acquainting themselves with the hard muscles. Still administering kisses, she began to unbutton his shirt. Her fingers shook and she ended up ripping the last few buttons. A grin spread across her face as she pushed the material off of him. Her head moved down and she trailed kisses along his chest.

Sark was quickly becoming aroused under her administrations. He tightly gripped her thighs and unconsciously began moving in rhythm with her. He eagerly sat up, trailing kisses along the back of her neck. The trail of her kisses made their way up to his pectorals. Upon reaching the nipple, she delivered a rather sharp nip. Sark let out a gasp, his head darting backwards and Sydney laughed out loud. "Sydney," Sark said warningly.

"Julian," she grinned, her tone meant to be seductive. She captured his lips in a kiss and he was immediately aware of exactly how much alcohol she had consumed. Her breath reeked of it. While Sark was trying to get his foggy mind to focus on anything besides the incredibly sexy, albeit drunk, woman on top of him, Sydney's liquor soaked brain was focused on one thing only. Her hands slipped down to the zipper of his jeans and were pulling on it desperately.

"No, no!" Sark protested. He gently pushed her off, laying her down on the bed. "We can't do that, Syd."

"Why not?" asked Sydney. "Don't you want to?" Tears welled up in her eyes and Sark had to resist laughing at her pathetic state.

"I want to very much," he acknowledged. "But not when we're both so drunk we'll forget how wonderful it was in the morning. I'm going to my room now and you're going to stay here, yes?"

"Jul-ian!" whined Sydney, trying to push back up. He forcefully pushed her back on the bed, kissing the top of her forehead. He fumbled with the covers, manipulating them so she was underneath them. She was still fully clothed, but Sark suspected any undressing would lead to exactly what he was trying to prevent.

'You are mad for leaving this room, absolutely stark-raving mad!' he berated himself. On any other girl, at any other time, Sark would have been quick to encourage any mention of sex. But he knew with Sydney the first time had to be perfect and they both had to be one hundred percent sure of themselves. "Goodnight, Syd," he said softly, opening the door.

"I hate you!" pouted Sydney, tossing on the bed. "You don't love me!"

Sark resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll see you in the morning, sweetheart."

Sydney's reply was an indistinguishable grunt. Sark made his unsteady way to his room, brutally away of the hardness of his manhood. It was going to be an extremely long night.