Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC and the people at Bad Robot
Rating: R, 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: 11/14
Chapter 11- Falling Apart at the Seams
Vienna
The shouts of the paramedics rang in Nadia's ears as she rushed after the gurney carrying an unconscious Vaughn into a CIA-run hospital. "He's bleeding internally!" cried a dark-haired nurse, checking his pulse for what seemed like the hundredth time.
"Doctor Von Mieux is ready for him," a tall male with glasses informed Nadia. She nodded vaguely, worry for Vaughn affecting all of her senses. Without waiting for any of her partners, she had radioed for one of the helicopters waiting on standby. They had flown to the nearest CIA hospital in Vienna and immediately rushed Vaughn into emerge. The paramedics in the helicopter had looked grim and those in the hospital even more so.
Nadia took several deep breaths, trying to fight down the bubble of fear welling up inside of her. She knew that Vaughn was in the best hands in the country and there was nothing she could do for him now besides pray. Unconsciously, she cracked her knuckles, blinking away furiously the hot tears that were forming in her eyes. Cries of 'he's lost too much blood' echoed back to her through the white, swinging doors Vaughn had disappeared behind.
"Miss, would you like to sit down?" inquired the dark-haired nurse Nadia had noticed before. "I'll go and get you a cup of coffee."
"Thank you," Nadia said tightly, forcing herself not to take her anxiety out on the woman who was just trying to do her job. The nurse led Nadia to a waiting room and promised to return shortly with a strong cup of coffee. The waiting room was very typical and seemed identical to any of the thousands of hospital rooms one might find in America. The white walls were very sparsely decorated with a few cheap prints of local artists. Plastic orange chairs were sporadically sitting around the room, and a few end tables had a collection of outdated Austrian magazines. Nadia settled uneasily into one of the chairs and took out her cell phone. She punched in Eric's phone number, knowing her boyfriend must be worried sick by now.
"Weiss," he answered the phone by way of greeting. She could hear the worry and irritation in his voice.
"Hey," she smiled, his voice bringing some semblance of calm to her agitated body. "It's me…Nadia."
"Nadia!" he exclaimed. "Thank God. I…I mean, we…have been worried sick. Where the hell are you?"
"In the Vienna hospital."
"What? Why?" Weiss asked.
"Sark shot Vaughn," she informed him, trying to keep the quake out of her voice. "He's in pretty bad shape. The doctors say he's lost too much blood and he's bleeding internally. The idiot wasn't wearing his vest."
"Oh fuck," Weiss cured, and Nadia could visualize him going pale. "Did you get Sark or the Ichiniwa woman?"
"Sark got away," Nadia admitted. "But I shot Ichiniwa. She's dead…a bullet in the back of the neck. What about you? Are you all right?"
"More or less," he shrugged. "I got shot in the leg, so I'm currently inactive. But Dixon and Jack got off without a scratch. And I got Igor Poladski."
"Any sign of Frou?"
"No," Weiss admitted. "He wasn't in the meeting room when we barged in, so its possible he wasn't even in Innsbruck. Or he may have defected."
Nadia bit her lip. Two out of four really wasn't all that good. She tried desperately to remember what direction Sark's helicopter had left in, but she had been too distracted by Vaughn's crumpled form. She supposed it didn't really matter. Sark would have been quick to abandon the identifiable machine, or at least change direction once out of sight. He could be half way around the world by now. They had lost him again.
"Any chance of getting a little company?" she inquired. "I'm feeling…pretty low. I don't know if Vaughn's going to make it." Tears sprung into her eyes again and she cursed at them inwardly.
"Don't worry, baby," Eric said soothingly. She thought it might have been his first use of a term of endearment that made her tears cease and a watery smile twitch at her lips. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
"'Kay, thank you," Nadia said gratefully. "I hope your leg heals well."
"Meh," Eric scoffed. "I've had worse. Did I ever tell you about the time I got shot in the neck?"
"Only about a thousand times," Nadia giggled.
"Oh…well then," Eric grunted. His tone quickly softened, however "It may take us a while to get there. Sloane recalled the helicopters, so we're temporarily trapped in Innsbruck. But I'll see you soon."
"Yup, take care, Eric."
"You too," he cautioned. "Bye."
Nadia hung up and slipped the cell phone into her bag just as the nurse returned with her coffee. She took the paper cup gratefully and slurped at it greedily, eager for the caffeine jolt. "Is there any news on Michael Vaughn…the man I came in with?" she asked, hopeful for more news.
The nurse shrugged unhelpfully. "The doctors are doing all they can," she assured Nadia. "But he has been terribly wounded. We'll let you know immediately if there is any worsening or improvement."
Nadia nodded, looking down at her cup of coffee, suddenly wanting to go to sleep and wake up when all of this was over. The nurse took this as a sign to leave, and Nadia was grateful, for the tears were finally starting to slide down her cheeks. Worry for Vaughn, fury at Sark and disappointment in Sydney were completely overwhelming her. How could Sydney do this to them? She knew she shouldn't blame her sister, especially after standing up for her in front of the others, but now things were becoming ridiculous. Her actions might have cost the man she had once loved before all others his life. Wiping away the teardrops angrily, Nadia drained her coffee and leaned back in the plastic chair, knowing she could do nothing but wait.
Almost nine hours later, Nadia was still sitting in the plastic chair. She had picked up a magazine and was engrossed in translating the German into English in her head. German was not one of her best languages, so she appreciated the challenge. At least it was something to drive her thoughts away from Vaughn. About an hour ago the same dark-haired nurse had come to tell her Vaughn was still unconscious and they believed he had become comatose. She admitted he was still bleeding internally and would not or could not answer when Nadia demanded to know if he would live.
People had come and gone in those hours, and now, close to eleven o'clock at night, the waiting room was empty of anyone save Nadia. Her eyes were beginning to hurt from the small German print, so she abandoned her attempt. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. She curled her legs around her and was about to attempt sleep in the uncomfortable chair, when a very welcome distraction burst in through the door. Jack Bristow, Marcus Dixon and Eric Weiss, on crutches, entered the waiting room. "Hello, Nadia," Marcus greeted with some semblance of a grin.
"Hey, Dixon," she smiled back, though she suspected it was a very weak grin. Eric hobbled over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking the seat next to her. Marcus sat across from them, but Jack continued to pace about the room.
"Has there been any news?" he demanded.
"None worth knowing," Nadia shrugged. "About an hour ago they told me they he was comatose and that he was still bleeding internally."
"Do they know if he's going to survive?" Dixon inquired.
"I don't think they have any idea at this stage," Nadia replied wearily.
"You're tired," Jack noticed. "The CIA safe house is only a few minutes away. We can wait here in shifts. Those of us at the safe house can attempt to locate Sark or Joshua Frou."
"No," argued Nadia, though surprised and touched by Jack's concern. "I want to stay here. It's what Sydney would have wanted to do."
There was a dark look in Jack's eyes. "We can no longer know what Sydney would want." Nadia hadn't realized until that moment exactly how furious Jack was with Sydney. She suspected he would welcome her back into the CIA, but she would have a lot of explaining to do before her father would forgive her. Nadia supposed in some ways Sydney's actions and choices must have reminded Jack of their mother, Irina Derevko. Jack visibly got his emotions under control before continuing. "Please accept my offer, Nadia. We have all had the opportunity to sleep, but I doubt you got any shut eye in this place. You'll need all your strength in the coming days and you do Vaughn no good by collapsing from exhaustion."
Nadia could not argue the relevance of this argument. So, saying good night to Dixon and Weiss who agreed to take the night watch, she and Jack departed for a nearby CIA safe house. The house turned out to be located in a street of town houses- number 347. Jack typed in the password on a panel outside the door and entered the darkened hallway. Jack made his way into the kitchen and Nadia followed wearily.
Jack was rummaging around in the cupboards and pulling out some boxed pasta. "You should eat something," he informed her coolly as she slumped on to a high stool by an island counter top. Nadia watched silently as he brought a pot of water to boil and dumped the box into it. As he was waiting for the noodles to soften he turned to face her. "Vaughn is in the best hands," he said, in what she assumed was his assuring voice. "If anyone can save him, it's the doctors he's with right now."
"Well, maybe no one can save him," Nadia pointed out bitterly.
"Maybe not," Jack admitted, not one to deny the obvious facts for false hope. "But Vaughn has an unwelcome habit of surviving any illness or wound he sustains."
Nadia remembered Vaughn and Sydney telling her tragic stories full of mysterious illness and even an angry stab wound given by Sydney herself. "But every time he had Sydney with him," she pointed out, as Jack drained the pasta and added sauce and seasoning.
"Yes, well, my daughter doesn't seem eager to show up to urge him to recover, does she?" Jack asked bitterly, slamming down Nadia's pasta a little harder than necessary.
"I can't believe Sydney would stay with Sark if she knew what he had done to Vaughn," Nadia said firmly, refusing to believe her sister could have sunk so low so quickly. "Sark's not likely to just pop out that little tidbit when she asks him where he went, is he?"
"Well, two months ago I wouldn't have believed Sydney would ever forgive a man as vile as Sark his trespasses," Jack pointed out dryly. "But she certainly appears to have done that rather quickly. Then again, I'm the man who fell for the old sleeping with the enemy ruse. Seems to be a Bristow family trait."
Nadia remembered her harsh insult on Vaughn and Jack back in Sark's mansion. "Jack…when I said that…I didn't mean it," she stumbled. "I was just trying to defend Sydney."
"Oh no, it was quite right of you to say it," Jack said honestly, with a look Nadia couldn't read. "I have never seen you look quite so much like your father than you did at that moment."
Nadia knew that wasn't a compliment. The remainder of the meal passed in awkward silence and it was with great relief that Nadia finally made her way to a bedroom on the top floor. She stripped down to her undergarments and sank thankfully into the covers. Sleep quickly overtook her.
The Argentinean was only allowed a few precious of hours of sleep, however. At three o'clock in the morning, Jack banged on her door. "What?" she demanded sleepily, barely awake.
Jack poked his head in the door and Nadia could see the worry etched in his face. "Dixon called," he answered. "Vaughn's condition is quickly deteriorating. The doctors say we should come in. Just in case it's…the end."
Nadia let out a cry of anguish before she could silence it. "I'll be down in a minute," she assured Jack. He left and she quickly pulled on yesterday's clothes, which were laying wrinkled in a pile on the floor. The drive to the hospital was swift and silent. Jack kept the petal to the metal, and Nadia made no attempt to make friendly conversation. The air was filled with the awkwardness brought on by Jack's comment. They pulled up to the hospital and hurried inside.
Dixon was waiting for them in the waiting room. He stood up to greet them. "How is he?" Nadia asked worriedly.
Dixon frowned. "Its not looking good," he admitted. "The doctors have done all they can, but they doubt they can keep him alive for another twenty-four hours. They say he's not giving them anything to work with. Its like he doesn't even want to fight to stay alive."
"Can you blame him?" Jack asked coldly.
"Are we allowed to go in and see him?" Nadia asked, ignoring Jack's bitter comment.
"Yes," Dixon answered. "That's where Eric is right now." He pointed Nadia in the direction and then sat down next to Jack. "Second door on your right."
Nadia pushed open the swinging white doors and made her way to Vaughn's room. Vaughn was laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to at least three complicated looking machines. There was a doctor and two nurses hovering around him, but when Nadia entered they withdrew. The doctor clasped her shoulder. "There's nothing more we can do for him at the moment."
Eric was sitting in a chair by Vaughn's bed, looking more haggard than Nadia could ever remember seeing him. Vaughn himself was extremely pale. The wound was hidden under the white covers, but his lips were bloodstained, no doubt from the blood that had been leaving him internally. His breathing was laboured, and barely detectable at times. "Eric?" Nadia questioned, hurrying to her lover.
Weiss looked up, and Nadia could see his eyes looked rather bloodshot. She hugged him tightly. "I can't believe it," he said hoarsely. "Every single time, I just knew he was going to pull through. There was never any doubt in my mind. But the doctors say he's not fighting. He needs Sydney, Nadia."
Nadia frowned, for that thought had also been in her mind. "Just Sydney being here isn't going to fix anything, Weiss. You know that."
"I do," Weiss admitted. "But I also know that it can't hurt. Furthermore, she'd want to be here."
"How can you know that?" Nadia demanded, anger bubbling up inside her. "Sydney abandoned us, Weiss! She left all of us and betrayed her country for some fucking British assassin! I don't think she deserves to be here!"
"You don't believe that anymore than I do," Weiss sighed, his voice calm. "I don't know why Sydney's done what she's done, but it could be her way of rebelling. She hasn't exactly had an easy time of it. No vacation time, you understand?" When he saw his feeble attempt at a joke wasn't working, he grew more serious. "I've known her longer than you have, Nadia. Even if she doesn't love Mike anymore, she'd want to be here for him, if it is the end."
"We don't know where she is," Nadia complained. "How are we supposed to find her and get her back here in time?"
"If anyone could tell us, it would be your father," Weiss pointed out. "I'm not one to want to ask favours of Sloane, but I think he'll tell us all APO has managed to get since we've been gone." He handed Nadia his cell phone. "Make the call, Nadia."
Nadia sighed and snatched the phone away. Eric was right. Sydney needed to be here if Vaughn really was dying. She punched in the number of her father's private cell phone. After three rings, he picked up. "Arvin here," came his cold voice.
"Dad…it's me…Nadia," she said.
"Hello, sweetheart," Sloane's voice lost a considerable amount of coldness. "I'm so glad to hear from you. Jack wasn't sure of your whereabouts when we last spoke."
"I'm fine," she assured her father. "But Dad, Michael Vaughn is dying. We're all at a hospital in Vienna. The doctors aren't sure if he'll last another twenty-four hours."
"Is Sydney with you?" Sloane asked hopefully.
"No," Nadia admitted. "Sark got away. He was the one who shot Vaughn. We need to know where she is, Dad. I think she'll come back if she knows it'll be the last time she sees Michael. Do you know where she is?"
"We don't know an exact address," admitted Sloane. "But we've recovered surveillance photos of Sydney in the Havana shopping district."
"Havana, Cuba?" repeated Nadia in disbelief. Her sister certainly was getting quite a vacation out of the entire situation.
"The very same," nodded Sloane.
"Well, I guess that's where I'm off to," Nadia sighed in resignation. "I'll talk to you soon, Dad."
"I'll have a plane ticket waiting for you at the Vienna International Airport. But be careful, sweetheart," cautioned Sloane. "We don't know what Sydney's allegiances currently are. And we have no idea how Sark will react if you just show up."
"Don't worry about me," Nadia grinned. "I've been doing the whole breaking and entering thing longer than I should have. Love you, Dad."
"I love you too," Sloane returned, and she could hear the emotion in his voice.
She hung up the phone and exchanged victorious grins with Weiss. Her side of the conversation had given him all the information he needed. Nadia paused a moment, taking Vaughn's limp hand in hers. "Hold on, Vaughn," she begged. "I'm going to get Sydney. You're going to be okay."
Vaughn made no response that he had heard her. Nadia tried to not look too disappointed as she gave Weiss a quick kiss on the cheek. She dared one hopeful glance at Vaughn, and then turned, practically running out of the room. Every single second could be crucial.
"Nadia! What are you doing?" asked an alarmed Dixon as she crashed into the room. "Is it Vaughn?"
"Vaughn's the same as always," Nadia answered quickly. "I'm going to Havana."
"Havana?" snapped Jack. "Why?"
"To bring Sydney back," replied Nadia smartly. "I'm taking your car to the airport, Jack."
"Nadia Santos, don't you dare!" cautioned Jack, but she was already gone, fumbling with the keys she had swiped out of the immobile hands of Jack Bristow. She didn't know how much time she had, and she was determined to get Sydney back in time to say good bye to Vaughn.
Havana
Sark felt rather than heard Sydney re-enter their bedroom in his Havana villa. He rolled over languidly, the light white covers falling a bit to reveal his bare chest. The sunlight was filtering in through the north facing window, meaning it had to be well after dawn. He lazily opened his eyes, searching for Sydney. "Morning, love," he drawled, unable to find her with his head on the pillow.
"Good morning, sleepy head," Sydney smiled. "Why don't you sit up and see what I've brought you? Your little girl worked her butt off this morning!"
Sark struggled up to find Sydney standing at the foot of the bed with a tray set with breakfast for two. A grin broke on his face, but he felt the guilt in his stomach churn, making the thought of food almost unbearable. Sydney was happily making him breakfast and joking with him while Michael Vaughn's life was surely draining away, if not already spent. He lifted his eyes from the tray to her, hoping to take solace. It certainly worked. She was dressed in a light blue, silk nightgown that fell just above her knees. Her long brown hair had been pulled up in a very sloppy bun and she wore an anxious smile.
"There's excellent variety," she promised. "So there should be something you like."
"I'm sure I'll love it all," Sark said, trying to be hungry for her sake. "Come over here and sit beside me."
Carefully balancing the tray, Sydney slipped into bed beside him and lay the tray between them. It was full to the point of overfilling with Belgium waffles, sliced melons and oranges, bacon, scrambled eggs, two empty glasses and a pitcher of orange juice. "I wanted to prove that I can actually cook," she explained, popping a piece of perfectly done bacon in her mouth.
"I suspect you could have ordered this all from a nearby restaurant and put it on my dishes," Sark accused her jokingly.
"Our dishes," Sydney corrected him. "And don't think I didn't think about it. But I've had plenty of opportunity to practise cooking the last month."
Sark felt another pang of guilt. He had always had some sort of business to attend to during their relationship, but Sydney was being forced into the old fashioned concept of a woman, simply waiting around for him to have time for her, both in London and now Havana. He knew that he had made a gallant effort to give her all his time, but very often he had things that simply needed to be done. It could not be easy for a woman used to flying around the world every week to protect her country. He shovelled a mouthful of egg into his mouth, but found it tasted like ashes. Sydney was eating eagerly enough, so he knew her culinary talents were not to be doubted. He put down the fork in frustration.
Sydney looked up, somewhat concerned. "Isn't it any good?" she asked, a little hurt.
"No, its delicious," he assured her. "I'm just feeling a…a little guilty."
Sydney raised a curious eyebrow, and swallowed the piece of melon she had just consumed. "What do you have to feel guilty about? Recently?"
He looked into those unsuspecting brown eyes and tried to imagine the anguish and disappointment that would come into them if she should ever find out what he had done to Vaughn. And he found he couldn't do it. A part of him knew that eventually Sydney would find out, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her. Especially not now that they had confessed their love to each other. He pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. "I just feel bad for having to keep you locked up in here."
"You don't though," Sydney pointed out, snuggling into his arms. "I'm allowed to go wherever I want."
"You know what I mean," Sark sighed. "You're not working. You've just had to sit around and wait for me to come home. I know that can't be easy for you."
"I'm not going to lie," Sydney admitted easily. "Sometimes it really sucked. But it doesn't matter anymore, Julian. The Guild is over. You can stay home with me. Right? Julian?"
"I think you should go home," he blurted out. He needed to get her to Vaughn before he died. Forgiveness for his deed could be worked on later. She would never forgive him if she didn't get a chance to say goodbye or apologise to her old handler.
"What?" Sydney cried. "Why do you say that? I…I thought you loved me."
"I do, I do," he said quickly. "More than life itself. But I can't ask you to share this life with me."
"I've found this life pretty satisfactory," Sydney argued. "And if you're worried about not working and me getting bored, well…I can start teaching. I've got my license. Or…I don't know…we could start our own organization! Work with the CIA or even against. I don't care, Julian. Just don't ruin what we have here."
Sark watched her distress in amazement. Even though she had told him she loved him and had showed him in more ways than one, he had never dared hope he meant as much to her as she meant to him. "All right, love, calm down," he grinned, kissing her lips softly. "You don't have to go. I just thought you might miss your friends…your old life."
"I do," she acknowledged. "But I think my place is here for now."
"What makes you so sure?" Sark asked, still not entirely willing to believe his own ears.
"Well, for starters, I highly doubt APO or the CIA is going to welcome me with open arms after I've spent close to two months on the run with the highly wanted assassin." She paused, looking down and playing with her sliced Belgium waffle with her fork. "And besides, if I went back and regained their trust, they'd never let me see you again. I don't think I could do that."
Sark pulled her lips to his greedily, passion fuelled by her innocent and compassionate confession. "I love you," he whispered against her lips after breaking the kiss.
"I love you too, Julian," she grinned.
Sark picked up his fork and returned to his eggs with renewed vigour. Suddenly they didn't taste like ash. The guilt in his stomach subsided greatly. Sydney loved him, and she wasn't willing to leave. He even managed to convince himself that knowing about Vaughn wouldn't change any of that. "Lawrence sent me a feed from surveillance tapes of the London mansion," he informed Sydney, starting in on some slices of bacon. "If you don't have anything to do this afternoon, maybe you could take a look at the ones from the main floor? It would be good to know if we could return there any time soon."
"I think I'm quite content to stay here forever," Sydney teased, looking fondly around their room. Sark had to agree with her. "But I will look at them. I'm sure the household staff would like to get back inside."
Sark spontaneously kissed her again, just because he could. Life was suddenly being very good to the cold British spy.
Sydney unlocked the door in the cellar of the basement that Sark had directed her to before he had left for town. He claimed he had a few errands to run, but Sydney suspected he was going to meet a contact to see if he could discover any more of the fall out of the Guild. Not long ago his or anyone's dishonesty might have hurt or irritated her. But recently, Sydney had begun to realize that sometimes it was just kinder to hide the truth from the people you loved. She was perfectly content not knowing.
The room she entered was fairly dark and dingy. There was a table and two desk chairs. On the table sat a small television and VCR. And piled around the table and on one of the chairs were what looked like hundreds of video tapes. Sydney let out a small groan when she realized the enormity of her task. "Trying to keep me busy, love?" she asked dryly. Resigning herself to spending at the very least the rest of the day in the cool cellar, she settled down on the empty chair and picked up a cassette at random, searching for anything that would mark it as surveillance of the main floor. It was marked 'Mr. Julian Sark's office, 18 November- 25 November.'
Sydney cocked her eyebrows in interest. Unless she was mistaken, that was the week in which Sark had murdered his mentor, Ichino Chow. She had always felt that there had been something in that meeting that Sark had concealed from her. Perhaps at the time he had done so intentionally, but now that their relationship had changed so significantly, surely he wouldn't mind letting her in on what had happened that fateful afternoon. She popped the tape in, turned the television on and pressed Play.
Retrieving a remote from on top of the television, Sydney fast forwarded through long hours of the office sitting empty. Occasionally Sark would enter the room, work for a while at the desk or read a book, but most of the footage was just empty space. After a good ten minutes of fast forward, Sydney finally reached the footage she was looking for. She pressed Play again, and waited with bated breath. The conversation was in Korean, but apparently she was not the first to view the footage. Someone, probably Lawrence, had subtitled in English.
Sark ushered Ichino through the office door and motioned for him to sit down. "How have you been, Julian?" inquired Ichino upon taking his seat. "I have been worried. It seems you spend more time in CIA custody than out."
Sark shrugged and offered Ichino a glass of mulled wine. "The CIA has yet to build a cell that can truly hold me."
"Your boasts are all very well, but it could not have been as easy as you would like me to believe," Ichino chided fondly. "How did you escape?"
Sark shot Ichino a rogue grin and sat down beside him. "First the CIA traded me to the Covenant. And then they made the rather grievous mistake of trusting me in the hands of only one CIA agent in the field."
Sydney grimaced, having not entirely forgiven Sark for shooting her with a tranquiller when her back was turned. But she could not deny being almost touched by the exchange. There was clearly a great fondness between the two men. She felt a cold ice in her stomach when she remembered that in mere moments they would have turned firearms on each other. Over her, what's more. Sark had at least revealed that much- he had killed Ichino to keep her protected.
"Yes, I have heard rumours of your daring escape from Agent Sydney Bristow," Ichino smiled almost proudly. "You are to be commended, my boy. Not many could have done it."
"You taught me well," Sark shrugged. "But…that brings me to the reason I brought you here. I didn't exactly escape Sydney Bristow."
"What do you mean?" Ichino asked sharply.
"I brought her with me," Sark replied, trying to keep his tone light. "She's here in this very house."
"What? Are you mad?" exploded Ichino, eyes dark with rage. "What could have forced you to take such foolish risks? The CIA will be eager to retrieve her and they will make sure you burn in hell for your stupidity!"
"Don't get angry," Sark begged. "Just let me explain myself."
"Angry? I am not angry…I am furious!" growled Ichino. "But yes, please…attempt to explain your ridiculous actions."
"Sydney Bristow, I have reason to believe, is the lover of Agent Michael Vaughn," Sark said as though it explained everything. And to Ichino it seemed to have done so.
"Who was the husband of Lauren Reed?" he asked wearily, though his face showed he needed no confirmation.
"Exactly," nodded Sark. "Imagine his torment when he thinks of his darling girl here with me, unprotected and possibly every day edging closer to her painful death."
"You mean to kill her?" Ichino exclaimed, eyes very wide.
"Well, perhaps not," conceded Sark. "My revenge will be more…complete. I intend to seduce her. Make her fall in love with me."
"This is madness," Ichino said hoarsely. "Even you cannot be this foolish over the loss of one of your female play things."
"This one was real," Sark protested, pain evident through his bad Korean accent. "I loved her."
"You always say that," Ichino argued, reaching for his cell phone. "Here's what we're going to do. I'll call a friend of mine, he'll come and take her. We can kill her or send her anonymously to the CIA. Just get rid of her before she is the end of you."
"Put down the cell phone, Ichino," Sark cautioned, reaching for his gun. "She stays here."
Sydney couldn't take any more. She jammed the Stop button, and angrily pitched the remote away from her. Before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face. She scrubbed at them angrily. She should have known. She should have known that Sark could never actually change, and certainly not for the love of a woman he had once leapt at the chance to kill. That fucking bastard! How dare he treat her like this? How dare he break her heart?
Before she knew what she was doing, she had overturned the table the television rested on, smashing the screen beyond all repair. She sobbed dryly, unable to cope with the hurt and betrayal threatening to wash her under. So this was how Vaughn had felt when he had found out Lauren was working for the enemy. But she did not have the innocence Vaughn could claim. "Vaughn," she whimpered, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Vaughn…what have I done?" Another dry sob racked her body. She had knowingly betrayed him, and slept with the enemy.
She was very tempted to slump against the wall and sit there sobbing until Sark found her. Perhaps he would have an explanation that would make everything better? She shook her head angrily, refusing to listen to the part of her that was in love with him. There could be no excuses, no apologies and certainly no forgiveness. He had used her. Used her as a petty way of revenge against Vaughn, the one man who deserved her love. She forced herself to her feet, and attempted to brush away any sign of tears. She would not shed another tear for the cruel, heartless British spy. "From now on we stick with our first impressions," she promised herself.
She tore up the stairs to the main floor and bolted for the door. She didn't stop to gather anything, lest Sark should return before she was gone. She never wanted to see him again. She only paused long enough to call for a cab. Then, unwilling to wait inside in the house that was a reminder of her stupidity, she left Sark's home for what she hoped was the last time.
Even as she stepped out into the heat of a Cuban afternoon, a black jeep pulled into the driveway. The driver killed the ignition and remained parked at the very end of the long dirt driveway. Sydney peered at it, sure that it was not a form of public transportation in Havana. The door opened and a dark-haired, light built woman jumped out. She shaded her hands and took in her surrounding with a long sweeping glance. Her gaze landed on Sydney, and her look became even grimmer. Sydney stood on the doorstep. It couldn't be. There was just absolutely no way she was here.
"Sydney!" Nadia Santos called out in a strange voice. It was an odd mix of happiness, relief and intimidation.
"Nadia!" Her half-sister's name was ripped from her throat and she was sobbing again. The sisters ran towards each other and embraced. Nadia immediately saw Sydney was upset. And while she was tempted to begin demanding answers and accusing her sister, all she did was let her older sister cry on her shoulders. "Oh, thank God you've come," Sydney cried. She pulled herself together and pushed herself to stare back at her sister's mournful expression.
"Then you found out about Vaughn?" Nadia asked, apparently surprised. "I admit, I didn't think Sark would tell you that. He must really love you, Syd."
"He doesn't love me," Sydney said, half-dazed. She frowned at Nadia, picking up on another crucial point of her sentences. "Found out exactly what about Vaughn?"
Nadia bit her bottom lip. "You'd better get in the jeep," she sighed. "It's not exactly the type of conversation you have outside Julian Sark's house."
Nadia turned to go back to her vehicle, but Sydney grabbed her arm. "Nadia, what's wrong with Vaughn?"
"Maybe you should ask your new boyfriend," Nadia asked, bitterness in every syllable.