DISCLAIMER: Me not own Alias, but me do love Alias.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For all the short chapters previous to this, now it is all made up for. This chapter is like 8 pages long! Please read and review, I hope you enjoy it.

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Chapter Eight

"Why hello Ms Smith if that's your name, is it not?" Julian Sark said. Sydney and Sark weren't exactly best pals. Well, if anything, they were basically each other's nemesis'.
"Yes, that is me … and you are?" Sydney's heart skipped a beat. SD-6 didn't know Sark was here.
"Julian Sark, nice to meet you Miss Smith. But please, Sark will do." he said while shaking Sydney's hand. She noticed his hand was rather soft. Sark was a pretty boy; there was no doubt about that. He probably spent more time in front of the mirror then actually on missions. Sydney noticed how sharp he looked in his Armani suit, with his blonde hair looking all messy yet neat. There was definitely something about him.

"Please excuse me Mr Sark as I'm rather…busy at the moment." Sydney said as she turned around. She quickly darted into the female toilets and checked herself over in the mirror.

Sark looked at her as she walked away with a glint in his eye.

Her bright blue silk dress looked stunning on Sydney's figure. The fabric hung in all the right places. Sydney adjusted her handbag on her shoulder and checked that she hadn't lost any of SD-6's op-tech items. Nope, everything was there. Good. She turned to walk out again, ready to avoid Sark at any cost when …

"Testing, one, two, three … testing …"

"Ow!" Sydney put her hand to her ear. She wasn't expecting to hear the sharp pain of Marshall's voice just yet.

"Sydney? Sydney, are you OK?"

"Marshall! What are you doing?" Sydney hastily checked to make sure no one was in the cubicles. Lucky, no one was there.

"Sorry Sid, I was just checking it was working. Is it a little loud?"

"Just a bit." Sydney winced.

"Sorry."

"Can you just erm … wait 'til I am in the vault? I'll hook into you if I have any problems, ok?"

"Ok. Good luck. Stay safe. All that."

"Thanks, Marshall. Be careful too."

"What? In the van? Have there been instances where people have stolen the van? The van I'm in?"

"Bye Marshall."

Sydney clicked the earpiece off. She sighed heavily. As she opened the door she walked straight into a blonde haired, blue-eyed man.

"Tonight must be our night, Ms Smith. We can't get enough of each other." he paused. "Sorry to be so rude, Ms Smith, but we need to talk about the mission your supposably on. I am as well here to steal the painting and, I was wondering…if you would trust me enough to work together in stealing it."

Sydney's mind felt like it has turned to mush. "Ex-excuse me?" she managed to stutter out. "What did you say?"

"Me, work with you. I know you need this painting and I wish to help you."

"Look, I don't know what you're on these days, Sark, but if you think for one second I would want to work with you,"

"I believe I have some piece of information that you acquire rather urgently, Annabelle." Sark cut in.

"What would that be?" Sydney asked.

"Some information on your missing two years. I know where to find it. Let me work with you on stealing this painting and I will tell you the information. You can go ahead and hand over the painting to your corporation, Ms Smith, that does not worry me. All I ask is to work with you."

Sydney couldn't believe this, at all. Sark, who worked on and off for KGB, sometimes SD-6 – all the bad guys, actually wanted to work with someone else … and co-operate? This couldn't be good. He must be planning something. Sark would not do this – he was an evil, English … very attractive man.

"Please, Ms Smith?" his baby blue eyes begged Sydney. She noticed his lower lip cocked to one side when he talked.

She watched his mouth instead of looking into his eyes. "Why do you want to help me? Why?"

He sighed and looked down at his feet, before looking up again. "This is not the time, nor place," he signified to the toilet door, "for me to tell you. I believe there is a private room upstairs …"

Sydney laughed out loud. "You think I would want to … with you? What are you, mad?"

"I can only hope Annabelle." he said earnestly.

Sydney raised an eyebrow in surprise and bewilderment before looking down at the bottom of her dress. She lifted up the hem all the way to above her knee, where a small, silver gun sat, tied to her leg. She unhooked it from the rope and checked for bullets. When she was satisfied she met Sark's eyes again.

"Sure."

Sydney walked hand in hand with Mr. Sark all the way to a room two floors up. She assured herself they were only holding hands to keep in character, but something inside her didn't really believe her.

When they reached the door, Sark let go off her hand and reached into his pocket until his hand enclosed around a key. He pulled it out and inserted it into the keyhole. The door opened to reveal a lavishly furnished room. There was a double bed in a corner, a bathroom to the right, a veranda, mini-bar … this room was like a small home.

"Very nice." Sydney said.

Once they had both entered, Sark turned and closed the door behind them.

"You know if you try anything, I'll kick your ass." she said.

He smiled his sweet smile. "Of course. Now, please have a seat." He raised his hand to a comfy looking leather couch. Sydney walked over to it and sat down, it was indeed comfy. Sark sat beside her and turned to face her.

"Tell me. Why do you really want to help me?"

Sark looked down at his feet awkwardly. That was odd; Sark was always such a cocky bastard.

"Out of the kindness of my heart, Ms Bristow."

"You don't have a heart – or any trace of kindness in you, Sark." Sydney reminded him.

He looked hurt. "Some think so." he said slowly.

What was that supposed to mean?

"Now, please tell me, what is your plan? That is considering Mr. Sloane is intelligent enough to ensure that his agents know what they have to do."

Sydney felt no offence at Sark's shot at Sloane; she hated the guy's guts.

"I will firstly gas the room with a sleeping agentwhich will be deposited to the dining hall through the air vents. Then I was planning on shutting out the power, turning off all the cameras and scrambling the access code to the door so I can get to the painting. After that, running away madly into the black van where Marshall is now most likely freaking out about being hijacked."

"Interesting. Clever. Very. What would you like me to do?"

"I'm not sure about this, Sark. I mean …" it hit her like a rock. "Do you know who Lauren Reed is?"

"No. But I can find out, if you wish."

"Find out anything you can on Lauren Reed. Previous work, sightings, plane flights – anything. Give it to me as soon as you can and we can work together on this mission."

Sark smiled. "It's a done deal, Ms Bristow."

"Still, I don't know why you're being so nice to me. What are you hiding?"

It triggered something in his face. His eyes glazed over, he looked guilty. Sydney couldn't believe it, possibly the best agent she knew, and he was showing a sign of weakness. He mumbled something about getting back at the CIA.

"What?" Sydney snapped back. Did he know about her being a double agent?

"They are apparently here too, Sydney. And, frankly, I'll do anything to shut down those goody two shoes." he lied.

Sydney sighed. "Ok. But if you tell anyone about this Sark, I mean anyone …"

"Of course, Ms Bristow, client confidentiality."

There was the cockiness again.

As long as he worked with Sydney, he shouldn't hurt any CIA agents. Well, it wouldn't hurt if he injured Lauren … Sydney thought.

"Are you ready to do this?" he asked.

Sydney nodded, coming out of her daze. Out of her handbag she grabbed the bottle of gas. A murky green mist floated around within the tube.

Sydney moved a chair from a desk near the window and placed it directly under the vent. She then stepped on to it, opened the air vent and lifted herself into the vent.

"You look up my dress and I'll kill you."

"Wouldn't dream of it Ms Bristow."

Sydney crawled through the squashy air vent as quietly as possible. She hoped no one could hear her thudding around in the roof; it would be a simple sign someone was trying to get the painting.

What the hell was she thinking, working with Sark? He was probably going to steal the painting for the KGB in the end anyway. Why had she told him yes? After all he had done to her?

A bullet flew through the air vent and missed Sydney's foot by a centimetre. They knew she was here – she had no choice. When she had reached the vent above the hall, she unfolded a gas mask Marshall had miraculously fitted into her small clutch and pulled it on. She raised the gas can, opened it and dropped it into the room, with success. Sydney turned around back to the room where Sark was quietly waiting for her signal by the door, moving as quickly as she could. Bullets sprayed around her. A sharp pain shot through her thigh. She turned and saw blood pumping out of it – she has been shot. Once she had jumped down from the vent and had heart sudden thuds on the floor below them, she signalled to Sark while she pressed her diamond ring to turn all the security cameras off. Darkness surrounded her suddenly. She reached for her leg and felt the searing pain she had felt before. Tough luck, she would have to live with it for the next hour or so.

She pushed in the pearl on her handbag and heard a click. Darkness. She reached for a torch Sark had bought with him. She turned it on just in time to see Sark jump from the railing – he was heading for the painting, She ran for the staircase as fast as she could with a wounded thigh and grabbed a curtain draped fancily over a coffee table. She hastily wrapped it around the rail twice before taking a giant leap. She felt the air rush past her until she fell, sprawled on the dance floor. She grinded her teeth in agony, she had landed oddly on her wounded leg.

She was going to be caught, like this.