Disclaimer: See Prologue.
A/N: Thanks to Verity Kindle, Claire, c j tiesto (btw, that's an excellent question), and alexx for the reviews! And also to my cousin Jan who doesn't review here, but goes through the whole story and nit picks through it, IMing me every little detail. Thanks for everything, even if you don't really watch Alias. No one's perfect.
"I've always admired you, Agent Bristow."
She smirked, a mirror image of his own signature facial expression. "You like girls who can kick your ass, Sark?"
"I like girls who can send an ice-pick through my leg without flinching."
"I always knew you were a masochist."
"I've never hid the fact that, at times, I absolutely love my job."
"As what? A glorified messenger boy?"
He raised an eyebrow. "At least I've always known who I worked for. I never suffered quaint little delusions that I was somehow making the world a better place."
"Of course you didn't," she snapped. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."
"And at the end of the day, I'm satisfied with the knowledge that I've served my master well and faithfully."
"Then I'm glad this cell suits your master's standards," she hissed,"because I'm sure you'll grace its walls for quite some time."
"….Ouch. I can't remember the last time one of yourverbal darts actually caused casualties."
"Don't pretend to have feelings, Sark. You're not good at it."
In mock outrage, "Of course I have feelings! I felt that ice-pick in my leg, didn't I? I have a splendid scar now, thanks to you."
"I do feel terrible about that leg."
He shrugged. "You did your job. Besides, I was kind of a bastard about breaking up the ice while you were still on it, so we're even."
"We are in no way close to even, Sark."
A short laugh. "So, who's ahead, then? You or me?"
"I don't know."
He shook his head, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Haven't you learned anything, Sydney? In this game we play, no one ever does."