"Sit down," Jack commanded, and pulled out a kitchen chair for Sark.
"I'd be delighted," Sark got even cockier when he knew his own suffering was a likely outcome of a situation.
He slid into the seat and Jack sat across from him, his hand on the file where it lay on the tile-topped table.
They stared at each other some more. Jack just glowered at Sark, and Sark kept his amused-bored smirk firmly in place. It was his armor. His "see-if-I-give-a-shit" face.
"Sydney," Jack said at last, "Is not a pawn for you to use in your… operation."
Sark said nothing.
"I can't pretend to understand what your motivations are, for double-crossing her on your bargain," Jack spoke quite slowly, as if Sark were perhaps slightly retarded, "Or for seducing her in the first place. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right decision," he continued, "Keeping you alive for all those months. When we could've killed you, like that—" Jack snapped his fingers.
"I suppose I never thanked you for that," Sark said, ungraciously.
"It's not your turn to speak."
Sark sensed Jack might be ready to deliver on his execution threat at this point, and stayed quiet.
"Now," Jack said, "You can have the intel you wanted on Daniel Wells. It's right here," Jack lifted the folder off the table a bit. "On one condition."
Sark merely raised his eyebrows. What did Jack possibly have to bargain, he'd already wrecked everything between Sydney and Vaughn. Not that it hadn't been a wreck already.
"Obviously we can't undo what's already done," Jack continued. "But I want you to walk away from her. She's been through too much for this."
So Jack WAS going to play the Stay-Away-From-Sydney card. What a load of bullocks.
"I think you're forgetting, Jack," he said, calmly. "She is a grown-up, and can do as she pleases."
"You have no… respect… for anything, do you?" Jack's voice was low, but fairly trembled with disbelief. "You are just like Irina in that regard. She did a good job raising one of you."
Sark shrugged. "You can blame it on whomever you'd like, Jack, but you know Sydney can take care of herself."
Jack glared at him. It fueled him, seeing Jack so angry, so disapproving. Almost the same as when Irina had disapproved of his methods.
"I'm sure she didn't tell you that she was, in fact, the one who seduced me," Sark smiled, "Not the other way around. She dealt the first blow, no pun intended."
Jack stood suddenly, and Sark's insides got a little weak. "The last man who attempted to discuss his relations with my daughter with me no longer walks this earth," Jack's voice was nearly a whisper. "Unless you'd like to join him, I suggest you shut it."
So, Simon Walker had been blabbing to Jack. Which was probably why Sark hadn't talked to Walker any time in the last two-and-a-half years.
"Where do you intend for this to lead," Jack asked, motioning with his hand at the house, at Sark, out at the back patio in general, "You don't love her."
"Yes, you're right about that," Sark agreed readily. "Which is why she keeps coming back."
"I'm afraid you've lost me with your dime-store philosophizing," Jack mocked him. "It has everything to do with it. That she loves Vaughn, and he loves her. And you're wrecking it, without anything to give her in return," Jack's lower lip turned out in disgust, "And that is not how partners do business."
"You're right—she doesn't love me," Sark said, "But you're wrong about him loving her—there is no her to love, Jack."
"Vaughn loves the idea of her, of having someone, a wife, something he possesses," Sark stumbled on the conclusion as it was flowing out of his very mouth. "But Sydney doesn't need that."
They stared at each other.
"Maybe," Sark suggested, cruelly, "You ought to ask her what she has in mind. I'm sure you know trying to read a woman's mind is an exercise in futility."
"She doesn't always know what's best for her, "Jack was utterly convinced of the correctness of this claim.
"Oh, God!" Sark laughed, "How old is she? 33? What, do you and Vaughn have a roadmap drawn out for the two of them? This is the most ridiculous conversation I've had in ages, Jack," his eyes sparkled with amusement, "Spare me."
"I can see that reasoning with you is useless," Jack said, "But remember—pride goes before the fall. And you'd do well to watch your foolish pride in yourself."
Sydney shivered in the cold, her knees drawn up to her chest on the wooden deck chair. What the hell were they doing in there? She decided until she heard gunshots, she wouldn't try to intercede.
A light breeze blew through the yard and goose bumps popped up on her forearms. This shirt really wasn't that heavy, especially considering she wasn't wearing any underwear.
Where will you go when this is over? Jack had asked her, on the bridge.
She didn't know. She wasn't ashamed of what she'd done, not particularly. The fact that she wasn't upset didn't disturb her, either. She felt… free.
Maybe she would get a place of her own, somewhere. She could go into the WPP, and just… start over. Stop being Sydney Anne Bristow and start being someone else for a change. She hadn't actually done anything worthy of prosecution. As usual, Jack's intervention had prevented her from hacking the CIA database above her clearance level and actively stealing information. By using his senior status, he'd garnered the information Sark wanted without involving her or anyone else at the Agency. They couldn't prosecute her for being an unfaithful wife and for having an affair with someone who hadn't really done any noteworthy criminal activity in 3 years.
"Sydney," her father slid open the patio door behind her, "Please come back in."
Vaughn and Weiss lay, side by side on Weiss's leather couch, staring into space. The TV was on, but the sound was muted.
They had been sitting this way for nearly an hour.
"Dude," Weiss said, finally breaking the interminable silence, "I cannot believe that shit."
"I know."
"I mean… Sark?" Weiss made a face like he was smelling some three-week-old leftover ribs in the back of his fridge. "I don't get it, what power does that guy have with women?"
"Yeah, me neither," Vaughn sighed and closed his eyes. "I didn't see this turning out this way."
Weiss stayed quiet. He was waiting for Vaughn to keep going.
"I… I dunno," Vaughn shrugged. "Maybe it's true, what they say—that girls like bad guys."
"Well, Lauren was a bad girl anyway, so I don't think that one counts," Weiss offered.
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"But Sydney's not… like that," Vaughn said.
"Mike, I gotta ask you," Weiss said, sitting up quickly, "And don't get all freaked out, because you know we're cool—you and I—"
"Eric, what? Just spit it out," Vaughn said.
"Yeah," Weiss nodded, "Ok, what if it's not Sark's fault? I mean, you weren't there? What if she was the one who—"
"Weiss, shut up."
"Ok, you know I'm just saying, maybe it's not what you think at all."
"I understand what you're saying, and I don't want to hear it," Vaughn grew slightly irritated, "It's Sark's fault, ok? Let's drop it already."
"Ok."
"Fine."