Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot
Rating: M, for coarse language and somewhat graphic content
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.
I've decided to raise the rating of this story up a notch for a scene in this chapter…I'd appreciate if you guys could tell me if you think that's a good idea.
Chapter: 8/14
Chapter 8- Invaded Havens
Sydney tried to watch Sark inconspicuously as he played around with Lawrence's lab, Max in the back yard. She was laying down at the pool, wearing the bikini from Sark and fighting back a hang over still left over from last night. Sark had refused to tell her what she had said, leading her to believe she done something ridiculous. She was almost thankful she couldn't remember anything. Sark turned to look at her after throwing a ball for Max to go and fetch and caught her looking at him brazenly. She fought back a blush that only deepened at the wide grin he shot her. He blew her a kiss, but then had to turn back to amuse Max, who had begun bumping into his leg. Sydney laughed loudly as the lab brought the classy assassin to a hard thump on the ground. She rolled over to gaze dreamily up into the sky. Despite her outward languidly, her mind was racing at uncomfortable speeds to her headache. What the hell was she doing?
She tried to remember all of her promises to stay faithful. When making them, she had been determined to keep them. Vaughn deserved nothing but the best from her. She wasn't petty enough to try to form some sort of plan for revenge for his marrying Lauren when he thought she was dead. When they had re-entered their relationship, she had wanted nothing more than to get on with their lives together. She had thought they were soul mates and had truly thought she was settling down with the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Although she had admitted on some level that things weren't what they had been, she still felt a deep love for her old handler. But when Sark had suddenly crashed into her world in a whole new way, the relationship with Vaughn had become harder and harder to see as something long term. Maybe it was time to accept that she and Vaughn were no longer the power couple they had once been. But did that mean that she and Sark were? No, that was impossible. Even if it were, she was a horrible person for what she was doing. Holding hands and kissing Sark was committing adultery until she had officially broken things off with Vaughn. And wasn't she the one who had sworn to Vaughn that she would never be the 'other woman.' Sark didn't seem to have a problem with being the other man. This would be the second time that Vaughn had lost a woman to the cold British spy.
Sydney felt deep pangs of guilt in her stomach. She couldn't do this, not to Vaughn. He was so good and Sark was so completely opposite. This passion she felt for the spy was sure to fade eventually. What she had with Vaughn was true and tested. She had called him her soul mate. What kind of awful person threw away their soul mate for the man he despised beyond all others? That was it then, she would tell Sark immediately. She couldn't be in any sort of a relationship with him. She was going home to Vaughn. That afternoon if she had anything to do with it. After all they had been through, she knew Sark wouldn't stop her if she tried to leave.
"Good morning, sleepy head," Sark greeted, sauntering up to her. Max had run off to torment some unsuspecting squirrels and Sark had come up unheard through the gate. He sat down on the bottom of her chair and gently ran a finger up her bare calf. Sydney sat up quickly, pulling her leg away from him. Hurt flitted across Sark's face. "No need to be so friendly," he growled. "Perhaps you gave me the wrong impression last night."
Sydney bit her bottom lip, but was resolved to her course of action. "Don't be an idiot, Sark," she said coldly. "If any female ever gave you the indication of having sex with you, you'd be on her like Max on a bone."
"Back to Sark, are we?" Sark asked, his chill tones ripping at something inside of Sydney. She knew she had to hurt him, because if he even asked her to stay, she would. As long as he was angry enough that seeing her go made him happy, she would leave freely. "What happened to Julian, Syd?"
"You and I both know I was drunk when I was calling you that," Sydney said, standing up and pulling a towel around her scantily clad body. "I wasn't thinking properly."
"You weren't drunk all afternoon," Sark argued, following her. She continued walking away, but he caught up to her. Roughly grabbing her arm, he spun her around and kissed her roughly, with none of the gentleness of yesterday. Despite her best intentions, Sydney felt her knees weakening. Angrily, she pushed away.
"Get off of me," she said in a low voice. Her eyes locked with his, and beneath the anger, she could see the betrayal and hurt she was causing. It almost broke her heart, knowing the emotion and feeling that were behind the cold façade that she was slowly shredding. "And let me go. I'm going home."
"That wasn't the song you were singing last night," Sark said in an equally low voice. But he let her go and stalked away.
Unfortunately, those words caught Sydney's interest, and she felt a flutter of panic in her stomach. They hadn't slept together, had they? Surely she hadn't been so drunk to forget something that momentous? "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, following him. He ignored her. "Sark? Julian!" She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he whipped around, a thousand emotions playing on his face.
He grabbed the hand that had been on his shoulder and squeezed it so hard she thought he would shatter the bone. "So you're allowed to walk away, but I'm not?" he shouted. "Bit of a double standard, isn't it, love? But if you're so interested, I suppose I'll humour you. Last night you offered yourself to me…hell, threw yourself at me! But I stopped you, though God knows I wanted nothing more than to fuck you right there. I stopped it because I knew you wanted to remain faithful to your precious Vaughn!"
Sydney felt as though he had slapped her. "Julian…I…I'm sorry," she stammered. "I had no idea…"
"Save it, Syd," he practically spat. "I don't need a woman who is going to sit here and play mind games. If you want to go home, then just go. But don't you dare come back to me when you realize you went back to a relationship that's already over!"
He started to walk away again, but Sydney called after him. "Look, I'm sorry!" she cried, her voice on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry I can't just accept this the way you can! Unlike you and Lauren, I feel guilty about things- I have some sort of conscience. I can't just be happy about betraying someone I loved. Vaughn wasn't just my lover, he was also my best friend."
"You don't think I have a conscience?" Sark almost screamed. "You don't think I lay awake at night and think of all of the people I killed? You don't think I don't hear the screams of the people in that church every time I dream? Do you know what its like to kill the man who taught you everything you know?"
"Then why did you kill him?" snarled Sydney, memories of exactly how distraught Sark had been after murdering Ichino.
"To protect you!" Sark exploded. Sydney found she had nothing to say to that statement. They stood in silence, both breathing heavily. For long minutes nothing happened. Finally Sark staggered forward, reaching for her. She allowed him to take her in his arms and he rained kisses on her forehead and cheeks. He pulled her back down on to the chair and she found herself curled in his lap. Sark began to talk, his voice occasionally breaking with emotion.
"I called Ichino to the house, because, frankly, I didn't know what to do with you. I thought he could help me. I'd never really been one to take prisoners, unless I needed them for interrogation. I had never planned to capture you, Sydney. I just knew I had to escape from the CIA and a part of me, even then, couldn't bear to see you come to harm. I didn't want to think what Anna would do to you if she caught you. I knew, somehow, Ichino would have the answer. I guess it was the little boy in me, who had always found some sort of answer in Ichino."
"But Ichino didn't have the answer I was looking for. He was furious with me. After I explained the situation, he could see only one option that would be safe for all of us. You would have to be terminated. I argued with him…something I had never even considered doing. He got tired of it quickly though, and resolved to kill you himself. I tried to stop him, but…he was so determined. I had no choice…I pulled out the gun…and…well…you know…"
He trailed off, two tears slipping down his pale cheeks. Sydney didn't know how to take the man she had always thought of being strong and untouchable suddenly so shaken and broken. She could sense there was some part of the story Sark had left out, but she knew she couldn't pry. She cupped his face and kissed away the tears, tasting their saltiness on her tongue. Sark lifted his eyes to meet hers and she gently pressed a kiss on his lips. He wasn't responsive, but his arms tightened around her waist. "Don't leave," he begged silently.
"I'm not going anywhere for now, Julian," she assured him, softly stroking his curls. She closed her eyes in resignation. She could not even pretend she wasn't overjoyed he had convinced her to stay.
"I've got a surprise for you," Sark announced a few days later while they were sitting on his balcony. Sydney was curled up on a chair, reading Harry Potter. He was sitting at an easel, painting a watercolour of something he wouldn't let her see. Painting was one of the arts Ichino had taught Sark, and for the past couple of days, Sark had been refining his old talents in one of the more peaceful arts he was taught as a child.
Sydney put the book down and crossed over to him. She rested her chin on the easel and regarded Sark solemnly. "What's the surprise?"
Sark quickly covered the painting, and then pulled her into his lap. "Well, I can't very well tell you, can I?" he asked. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise."
"It wouldn't by any chance have anything to do with dinner reservations you made a little while ago?" Sydney asked, mimicking his signature smirk.
Sark went a little slack jawed. "What…when…how did you know about that?"
"Please," Sydney rolled her eyes. "Do you think I got into the CIA on my looks alone?"
"I'd let you join the Guild for nothing more," Sark shrugged, nibbling on her neck.
"The what?" Sydney frowned, pulling away from him. "What's the Guild?"
"Nothing," Sark said, his eyes darting away from hers. "I put a dress in your room…I thought reservations at Delta's was appropriate."
Sydney's eyes bulged. She knew he had been planning a dinner of some sort, but she'd had no idea it was that big of a deal. Her father had taken her and her mother to dine at Delta's once while on vacation. Although she had only been seven at the time, she could still remember the perfectly outrageous prices, though looking back her father hadn't batted an eye. "You know, I'd be fine with just grabbing some Chinese take out food before going," Sydney reminded him.
"Oh, I know," Sark nodded. He stood up, but still didn't let her leave. He kissed her gently. "I, however, would not be. Some of us have class, love."
She gently swatted him, and received a pinch on the butt for her troubles. "Oh, yes, really classy, Julian." She blew him a kiss and then hurried inside, knowing they'd never make it out on time if one of them didn't make the conscious decision to leave the other.
As the manager of Delta's led Sark and Sydney through the famous restaurant to Sark's customary table, Sark happily felt the eyes that followed them. He knew they made an attractive couple. All worries seemed to have left him and he wanted nothing more than to take Sydney out and show her off. Sydney was dressed in a deep red dress that fell to her ankles and clung to her every curve. Her long brown hair was swept up into an elegant bun that Mrs. Beresford had done for her. The woman, who had apparently many talents Sark was unaware of, had left a few strands of hair down to artfully frame Sydney's face. The house keeper had taken care of Sydney's make up as well, leaving her looking more beautiful than Sark had ever imagined possible, which was certainly saying something. His own treat to Sydney, a diamond necklace that fell to lightly graze her minimal cleavage, sparkled in the candlelight. He knew he wasn't looking his worst either- dressed in a sharp black suit with a red shirt that matched Sydney's gown.
They sat down and, after Sark had ordered wine and dinner, sat back to take everything in. "I've only ever been here once before," Sydney informed him, glancing around. "My dad took mum and I while we were on vacation to London."
Sark raised an eyebrow. "Your father does very well for himself, CIA agent or no."
"By then he would have started working for SD-6," Sydney answered. "I think the payroll is slightly better when everything is illegal."
Sark shrugged. "I won't deny it. I do much better than you, though skill-wise we're even."
"Even?" Sydney said incredulously. "Please, Julian, I could kick your ass any day of the week."
Her statement drew the attention of several elderly patrons, but Sark couldn't be embarrassed to be in the presence of this woman. Besides, who didn't enjoy making a scene every now and then? The waiter came with wine, momentarily interrupting the conversation. Sark took the chance to look around while he poured. The Delta was everything he had remember- elegant and refined. All the surfaces were polished and shone with the lighting provided by the candles and one great chandelier over the dance floor. A few couples were waltzing close together to the accompaniment of several violins and cellos.
"We have a while until the meal arrives, Syd," Sark observed. "Will you dance with me?"
"I'd love to," Sydney grinned. Sark stood and took her hand, leading her on to the dance hall. They paused for a moment, and then joined in on the appropriate beat. One, two three. One, two, three. The slow beat was easy to follow and Sark found himself concentrating more on the woman in his arms. They seemed to fit perfectly together, his shoulder just high enough for her to comfortably rest her head on. He unconsciously ran his hand up and down her back, unable to fight back images of what could have happened the night she had offered herself to him.
He looked down at her face, resting peacefully against him. Her cleavage swelled with each easy breath she took, tempting him beyond belief. But even more arousing, was the way she was looking at him right now. Her brown eyes were shining as they reflected the candlelight and there was the sweetest smile playing on her lips. She took her hand from his shoulder and traced his cheek, pressing a kiss on his lips. A strange realization came to him. He would die for this woman. It was a feeling he had never felt before. The idea of putting someone before himself had never occurred to him. But if Sydney said the word, he would throw himself in front of her firing squad. His face must have showed his shock, for Sydney gave a little laugh. "What are you looking at, Julian?" she inquired.
"You," he said softly. "And I'm thinking about how perfectly beautiful you are."
"You look pretty good yourself," she teased.
Sark wouldn't be diverted into light banter, however. "I want this night to be perfect," he whispered into her ear.
Sydney paused momentarily before answering. "It already is."
But the perfection was slightly marred by an interruption during dessert. Sark was in the process of feeding Sydney her apple crisp with whipped cream, when a waiter brought Sark a telephone on a tray. "For you, sir," bowed the waiter.
He left the tray on the table. Sydney regarded it with a bemused expression on her face. "I didn't realize that actually happened," she observed.
"It doesn't," Sark said, angrily. "This is someone's idea of a joke." Three guesses who, he thought bitterly to himself.
He lifted the receiver. "Sark," he said shortly.
"Good to hear your voice again, Julian," Sark wasn't surprised in the least to hear the icy voice of Tai Ichiniwa.
"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.
"You, of course," she laughed. "I thought I made that perfectly clear at our last meeting."
"I don't have time for games," Sark responded, brutally aware of Sydney's curious eyes on him.
"I do though," Tai laughed. "Tell me, how is darling Sydney? Not much of a prisoner, is she? Tell me, is she enjoying her whipped cream as much as you are enjoying feeding it to her? I must say, I overestimated her call of duty to her country. I don't even want to know what you did to make her forget Agent Vaughn."
Sark's eyes darted around, realizing Tai was in the restaurant with him. He finally spotted her at a table on the far side of the dance floor, talking into her cell phone. "What would you do if I shot her right now?" Tai asked.
"Kill you," Sark answered easily.
"What about our little coalition, Mr. Sark?"
"Screw the coalition," he said in a low, threatening tone.
"That's not a very nice way to treat the woman who rescued your eight hundred million dollars!"
"What do you want?" Sark almost shouted.
"Sark, who is it?" demanded Sydney. He waved her into silence.
"The Guild is meeting two days from now at my home in Tokyo," Tai informed him. "You're presence is expected."
"Well, don't hold your breath," Sark hissed. "I have other matters to attend to."
"Fucking a CIA agent doesn't count as business," Tai scolded him with a laugh. "I begin to seriously question your loyalty, Mr. Sark."
"Don't," he suggested. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to eat dessert."
"So I see," Tai said dryly. "See you in two days, Mr. Sark."
Sark hung up in her ear. There was no way he was going to Tokyo. A generous pay check should be enough to mollify the Guild for his absence. He watched as Tai left the restaurant without paying her bill. "Hello? Julian?" Sydney said in a tone that suggested she'd been trying to get his attention for quite some time.
"What?" he snapped. Realizing he had been harsh, he took a deep breath and reached for her hand. "I'm sorry, Syd. You…that wasn't your fault. I just lost my temper."
"What the hell was that about?" she demanded. "Who was that? What coalition have you done something to?"
"You need to believe me when I tell you I can't tell you," Sark said softly as the waiter returned to retrieve the telephone and give them the bill.
"No, I don't!" Sydney argued, not bothering to keep her voice down. "I'm the one who is risking being named a traitor to her country for being seen with you, Sark. The least you can do is let me see a little of what goes on in your life that doesn't involve me. Maybe I could help you…because it did sound as though you need help."
"I don't need your help, love," Sark promised her. "I was taking care of myself long before I met you."
"What's going on?" Sydney persisted.
Sark laid out money and tip on the table and then crossed to Sydney, helping her stand. He wrapt his arms around her waist and gave her the most passionate, emotion-filled, desperate kiss he had ever given any woman. When he drew back he had expected to see her looking embarrassed or touched, instead she had a sad, knowing expression on her face. "When we first started to think Lauren might be a mole, my Dad gave Vaughn some advice. He said that when he used to ask my mum about her day, sometimes she'd distract him with a kiss. What he thought was an expression of spontaneous love, but looking back knew was just a way to get him to stop asking dangerous questions. And I can't help thinking that that's what that just was."
Sark held her gaze for a few minutes before dropping his eyes to look at their hands, clasped together. He was unable to look at the pain in her brown eyes. "I'm not going to lie to you, Sydney," he said. "There are going to be times when I won't be able to tell you what's going on. But I swear to you, I care for you too much to ever use you like your mother used your father."
"My mother cared about my father too. But she loved her work more than she could ever love Dad," Sydney shrugged. "I just…can't believe you, Sark."
"Don't call me that," he begged. "I hate that name."
"But its your name," Sydney frowned. "Its who you are."
"It doesn't have to be," Sark said fiercely. "Not anymore."
Sydney followed Sark up the stairs to her room in silence. He stopped outside her door and turned to face her. They had spoken very little on the way home and now the pregnant silence seemed to be smothering them. "So much for our perfect evening," Sark finally said bitterly. "I ruined that quite effectively."
Sydney didn't bother to correct him. She opened her bedroom door, not planning on saying goodnight. But suddenly she saw herself curled up alone in bed, knowing Sark was only a few floors away and just as lonely as she was. She hesitated and turned to face him. He was still handsome in his black suit and the red shirt that went so well with the blonde curls she had come to love. His blue eyes were looking at her despairingly, but when she turned there was a half-flicker of hope in them. "It's late…" she observed lamely.
"It is," Sark agreed, hope in his eyes dying. "I'll see you in the morning." He daringly came forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. Pushing any reservations away, Sydney pulled his head down and kissed his mouth.
His arms snaked around her waist and she clung to him, desperate to have him completely. They broke the kiss simultaneously, Sark breathing heavily. "Syd," he whispered.
"Don't leave," she begged. "Stay with me tonight."
He hesitated, watching her carefully. Then slowly, as though he was almost unsure, he followed her into the room. They left the lights off, the moonlight creeping in through the windows giving more than enough light. Sydney held his hand and led him into the bedroom. Her lips found his in the dark and the realization of what they were about to do hit them both at the same time. Sark easily lifted her up and carried her to the bed.
"Are you sure about this?" he inquired.
"Yes," she said firmly.
"Thank God," Sark breathed, trailing kisses down her neck and shoulders. He laid her down and straddled her, pulling her upper body up to him so he could unzipper her dress in back. He hesitated, as though unsure, his lips pressing on the skin just above her cleavage.
Sydney reached down and pulled his head to her, kissing him passionately. His mind resolved, Sark pushed her dress down. It came off easily enough, despite the way it clung. Sydney was left in her bra and underwear, her skin shadowed tantalizingly by the moon. Sark was surer of himself now, running his hands over her body and kissing every uncovered inch of it. "You are so beautiful," he breathed. "And you're mine."
His deft fingers easily undid her bra, exposing her breasts to him. His mouth became fascinated with them. His tongue flicking in and out around the nipples. With every moment under his ministrations, Sydney felt herself grow wet and the hardness of his arousal was become more and more apparent by the moment. Though she wanted nothing more than to let him continue, Sydney also wanted the chance to bring him a little pleasure.
She once more guided his head to her mouth and he was easily distracted. He kissed her again and again, hands bringing her hair out of its bun to fall about her bare shoulders. Meanwhile, Sydney pushed off his jacket. Her fingers clumsily unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down off his shoulders as well. Although she had seen his chest several times, it was even more erotic now. She trailed kisses down it, tracing the many angry scars lightly with her tongue. Sark's breathing was becoming irregular under her touch, a thought that prided her greatly. When she first bit his own nipple, a gasp of pleasure was torn from him.
"You are so good, you know that?" he grinned, repeating words he had once used in the field.
Sydney moved suddenly and flipped him on his back. "Yes, I do," she teased. Her fingers ran down his chest until they reached his pants. Bringing her kisses lower and lower, she pulled the zipper off his pants and helped him out of his pants and underwear. Seeing him before her naked, she wanted him inside of her immediately, but she was still determined to have control over the situation. Her fingers ran up the inside of his calves, but before they could reach his manhood, he had flipped her again.
"Oh, no you don't," he scolded her. One hand cupped her breast, massaging it, while his lips drew kisses down her sculptured midriff to just above her own underwear. His spare hand found its way into the band of her underwear and he began to slowly work them down her legs. Feeling his hand so close to her vagina, Sydney relinquished control, figuring they had all night to pleasure each other.
"I like a man who takes control," she shrugged, knowing her eyes must be just as glazed as his.
"And I like you," Sark observed. "And you're mine."
"All yours," Sydney agreed breathily, feeling his hand creep up his inner thigh. She knew she was just about to experience the best sex of her life.
Los Angeles
Vaughn allowed Jack to lead him into a private room. When the older spy had approached his desk wearing a grim expression, Vaughn knew there was something horribly wrong. His mind had become to come up with its own conclusions. That somehow Jack's fail proof plan had gone wrong and Sydney was lost to them again. Or, even worse, Sark had actually done serious harm to Sydney, perhaps even killed her. But when he had questioned Jack, all the man would say was that they had found Sydney and that she appeared safe. "But there is…something you should see," Jack had finished off with. It was then Vaughn had noticed exactly weary Jack looked and the expression of confusion on his face.
Jack flicked on a wide screen television and handed Vaughn a remote. "Watch this. I'll give you some privacy. When you're through, I will be waiting for you outside."
"What the hell is going on?" Vaughn demanded. "Where's Syd, Jack? I want some answers!"
"All of the answers are on the tape, you little fool!" Jack exploded. The agent visibly took control of himself. "You'll understand when you see the footage. Just…watch it!" Jack exited the room, leaving Vaughn alone and confused. So he did the only logical thing. He obeyed Jack Bristow and pressed play.
The television flickered on to reveal a scene taking place on a street in what Vaughn thought must be London. The street was crowded, but the camera seemed to be focusing in on a young couple, both blondes, both with their backs facing the camera. They were browsing a street vendor selling jewellery of some type.
"Julian, look at this one," gushed the woman. Vaughn frowned. There was something too familiar about that voice.
"Julian?" asked the man, amusement evident in his voice.
"Well, I can't keep calling you Sark," the woman replied, kissing his cheek. Vaughn leaned forward. Sark! Perhaps the conversation following would be about Sydney. Sark grabbed the woman and kissed her passionately. They were turned so that the woman would be facing the camera, if only Sark would stop sucking her face. When they finally broke apart, Vaughn felt his entire world come crashing down. It couldn't be. Impossible. It had to be a double. Nothing else made sense. There was no way Sark was kissing… "You're making me act like a teenager," Sydney protested weakly.
By the time Vaughn was able to focus on the tape again, Sydney and Sark were on the move. The man following them was having trouble keeping up, but Vaughn could still make out their conversation.
"What if the CIA sees us?" Sark teased as Sydney grabbed his hand.
"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.
The footage ended and Vaughn was left staring at an empty screen. For the first time in his life he actually remotely understood how Sydney's world had come crashing down when he had told her he was married to another woman. He could finally understand what she had meant when she had said when she was ripped apart. But soon anger took over Vaughn's feeling of betrayal. Not anger at Sydney, though he admitted on some level she did not look altogether unwillingly, but at Sark. This time would be the last time. Next time he got a chance to fire at Sark, he wouldn't let CIA protocol stop him. He'd just kill the son of a bitch.
He stood up and left the dark room to find Jack, Weiss and Nadia waiting for him outside. Weiss and Nadia both looked as though they wanted to say something, but were at a loss for words. "Are they in London?" asked Vaughn coldly.
"Yes," Nadia answered timidly, not meeting his eyes. Vaughn wondered if she was embarrassed by her sister's infidelity. Another jolt of rage shot through Vaughn. When he had married Lauren, he had thought Sydney was dead. She had no such excuse.
"Do we have an address?" Jack nodded confirmation. "Then I suggest you get your things together," Vaughn announced. "I'm going after them." He only wished that he knew if he meant 'going to kill Sark' or 'going to get my Sydney back.'
London
"Sydney! Sydney, wake up!" Sark shook her awake, hating to disturb her peaceful slumber and wishing they could have been left to wake up together after their first night spent together.
Sydney's eyes opened quickly, her reflexes not at all dimmed by her time in 'captivity.' "Julian," she smiled, thinking he was only waking her to speak to her. She kissed him, and he felt all will to hurry drained out of him. Before he could control himself, they had both leaned back on to the bed. Let the CIA catch them, he thought lazily, at least he would have her one more time. That disturbing thought brought him back to his senses and he broke their kisses.
"Hmph," she pretended to pout.
"There is nothing I would rather do then spend the morning…hell, the entire day…in bed with you, Syd," he said quickly. "But if we do that, we may both find ourselves in the custody of the CIA. You for fraternizing with the enemy and me…well, me, for being said enemy."
Sydney pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. "What are you talking about?"
"A contact of mine…Joshua Frou…just called with a tip. One of his contacts who plays for both sides was contracted to spy on us in London. They saw us shopping, Syd, and he gave the footage to your father," Sark explained quickly. "By now they'll know where we are and may already be on their way. I have to get out of here."
"Where will you go?" Sydney asked, her face openly torn.
"I can't tell you," Sark said, though he wished he could. "I can't be sure the CIA won't use certain tactics to get it out of you."
Sydney nodded briskly, her mind clearly spinning out a thousand scenarios. He couldn't help it, he cupped her face and kissed her again. She threw her arms around his neck and crushed him to her. "Its so unfair," she whispered into him.
"I know," Sark sighed. "But it's the risk we took." He untangled himself from her and began digging in her closet, bringing out the old white nightgown. "Get into this. I'll lock you in one of the spare, empty rooms. I know how well you can do this, baby. You can convince them the footage was false, or something you were forced into. I may have to…rough…you up a bit, but you'll be safe."
"But you'll be guilty of something else," Sydney said unhappily.
"A drop in the ocean," Sark shrugged. Sydney crossed to him, still naked, and kissed him.
"When will I see you again?" she asked.
He shrugged. "You'll probably be married to Vaughn and trying to kill me." He tried to say those words lightly, but he couldn't deny it just about killed him. "Get changed," he instructed. "We don't have much time." He pushed the nightgown into her hands
Sydney looked down at the white flannel, and back up at him. "I'm coming with you," she announced.
Sark was floored. "If you come with me, Syd, there'll be no going back," he warned. "They'll know you came on your own free will."
"There was no going back after last night," Sydney observed softly, her eyes on the bed- covers still tangled from their numerous love makings.
"You're coming?" Sark asked, still in disbelief.
Sydney grinned. "I'm coming."
Sark grabbed her and kissed her roughly. "You're amazing."
"And dirty," Sydney observed. "Do I have time to take a shower?"
"If it's a quick one," Sark replied after taking a look at his watch. "I'll pack for you." They kissed one last time before Sydney dashed into the bathroom. Sark began tossing Sydney's clothes into a suitcase. He was down before she was and, with a little time before the helicopter that was taking them to a private airport arrived, he sat down to wait. He took an envelope out of the breast pocket of his grey Armani suit that he had paired with a deep silk blue shirt.
Sydney had clearly made her decision about Vaughn, he reasoned. Sark had won out. But, despite that victory, it wasn't enough. He still wanted the man who had killed Lauren to feel the pain he had felt when he had seen her lying dead in a coffin in CIA possession. He took a pen out of his other pocket, contemplating what he was about to do. The water in the shower turned off and Sark hastily scrawled 'Agent Michael Vaughn' on the outside of the envelope. He told himself he was doing the right thing. Sydney had made her decision…nothing wrong with burning her bridges for her.
Sydney emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a light grey sweater, her wet hair pulled back in a messy bun. "You're beautiful," he declared, hiding the envelope behind his back.
"We'll make a funny couple," Sydney teased. "Me in Gap, you in Armani."
"Doesn't matter," Sark shrugged. Sydney grabbed the hand that didn't hold the envelope.
"You're right," she grinned, picking up her packed suitcase. "Let's get out of here."
"Couldn't have said it better," Sark agreed. She began dragging him out of the room, and he barely managed to lay the envelope on her dresser before they were running to the waiting helicopter and safety. As they ran across the back lawn, Sydney with a grin on her face, Sark suddenly wished he could be back in her room, ripping that envelope to shreds.