DISCLAIMER: As much as I'd like to, I don't own Alias or its characters. It is the property of ABC, Touchstone and Bad Robot Productions.
SUMMARY: The guilty one with reddened hands....
6th in the Cry of Orphans series
RATED PG-13
GENRE: Angst! Angst! And more angst! Did I mention Angst?
SPOILERS: None. This is a Future-Fic
DISTRIBUTION: I'd rather this is not distributed anywhere without my permission. I'll put it where I want it. But you're still welcome to contact me and try to convince me that my story should be in your fine archive.

The next phase....

BLOOD OF ORPHANS
By Aliasscape
Copyright 2004

She looked so peaceful.

He had directed they secure her in a seat on the airplane for takeoff, but as soon as they leveled out he moved her so she could sleep flat on the seats. He noted she was slightly tall for her ten short years, but she was light to carry. She'd been light to lift from the cupboard in her bedroom. It had been a clever design. It might have worked if there hadn't been trail of blood droplets leading to her hiding place. He'd pulled apart her hiding place and dragged her trembling form out of it. She'd looked up at him with terrified eyes, ready to scream and he knew he couldn't allow that. He'd covered her mouth and readied his syringe.

It'd been hours since he'd given her the injection. It was nearing time for the drug to wear off. He brushed her hair away from her face to get a good look at her features and noted the silkiness of her hair between his fingers.

Sydney, totally and completely Sydney.

The hair, the shape of her eyes, her mouth. The facial structure of her cheekbones. Even the size of her hands. She was her mother's daughter.

He stepped back a moment, but immediately noted the blood seeping from the wound in her arm. He retrieved a first aid kit, cleaned and redressed the wound. As he tightened the gauze, she seemed to wince. He watched her carefully

Her face creased with painful discomfort, but she didn't stir. He loosened the gauze slightly and settled in a seat only a foot away, taken with watching the child. Her face fluttered through a mix of emotions. Pain. Innocence. Confusion.

It reminded him of the first time he'd seen Sydney nine years previous. It had been raining. She'd stepped from the shadows of a warehouse in St. Petersburg and directly into his path. And for the first time ever, he saw her unprepared for the gun he pointed in her face.

"Sydney Bristow, what an unexpected surprise."

Her hands flew up in surrender, not even going to attempt to knock the gun from his hands, even though she probably had a good chance of doing so.

"Sark, I need you to tell me where my mother is."

Her expression had held none of the contempt he was used to. Her tone of voice couldn't have been described as anything but desperate. She was somewhat shaky.

"I don't see why I would be inclined to do that. Who else knows you're here?"

"No one. Listen, if she doesn't want to see me, she doesn't want to see me. But at least tell her that I'd like to talk to her."

He had reacted more skeptically than he truly felt necessary, but he had refused to completely rule out that this was some sort of deception.

"How exactly did you come to know I'd be here?"

"You're not as hard to find as you'd like to believe. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

A hint of annoyance this time. There was Sydney Bristow.

Whether he contacted Irina or not, he couldn't just let her leave without finding out how she'd found him.

"Turn around and kneel."

"What?"

"You heard me. You want me to contact your mother; you'll do as I say." He tried not to look surprised as she hesitantly did as told. "Hands behind your head."

Again, she listened.

He had scanned their surroundings carefully, looking for her to have backup, but none was visible. He moved forward, secured her hands, and directed her to stand again. He turned her around and patted her down thoroughly but she looked tired rather than annoyed by this action. She carried no weapon.

He had stepped back and really taken in her appearance. Her skin lacked color. Her face looked clammy and waxen. And he found himself wondering when she'd last slept or eaten.

He had taken her by the arm and guided her to his car. Before he allowed her to climb in the backseat, he blindfolded her. She sighed, but didn't protest. The facility he took her to was nearly an hour away but she was quiet the whole drive. He had her wait in the car while he talked to the guard at the gate.

"You brought a CIA agent here?!"

"No, I brought Irina's daughter here."

"So she knows all about this?"

"She will."

"She'd better."

He'd taken Sydney inside, still blindfolded and taken her down to a room. He removed the handcuffs and blindfold. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to light again and she took in the sparse furnishings of the cell-like room.

"If I truly am to talk to your mother on your behalf, I need to know why you need to see her."

"I'd rather talk about that with her."

"What are you doing here, Sydney? Last I heard, you'd quit the CIA and were living the fairy-tale life in L.A."

Sydney sat down on the bed and just shook her head. "Apparently, fairy tales aren't for everybody."

He looked down at her. "And what do you expect your mother to do?"

She started to look frustrated. "I don't know what I expect. Maybe for her to listen to me."

She looked small and lonely and nothing like the Sydney Bristow he was used to.

"You have to wait here," he finally said.

She nodded.

"I have to lock the door."

"I understand."

He had glanced back at her once more before exiting the room. As he closed the door, she laid down on the bed. He found himself hoping she'd sleep.

"Irina is on business. She left this morning. She cannot be reached for the next 48 hours."

Sark ended the call, abruptly, annoyed by the timing of Irina's business trip. He made sure the guards gave Sydney meals as he finished the negotiations for the weapon sales transaction he'd come to St. Petersburg to complete. He was informed she hardly touched the meals and spent much of her time sleeping.

48 hours elapsed and he called Irina.

"I expected you back by now."

"There was a complication."

"Did Ivan try to decrease the order?"

"Sydney is here."

There was silence.

"She caught up with me two days ago. I've detained her. She says wants to see you, talk to you. She hasn't been specific as to what about."

"How is she?"

"She seems...despondent."

Again, brooding silence on the opposite end.

"She complied with the procedures for me to bring her here without argument. She hasn't complained once about being locked up for two days."

"I'll see her."

"We'll be there by late tonight."

He opened the door to the cell and Sydney hardly looked up at him. He dangled a blindfold in front of her and she gave him a questioning frown.

"We're going to see your mother."

He hadn't been expecting cartwheels, but he thought perhaps a smile or some other small indication that she was pleased. She'd only stood and turned her back to him so he could secure the blindfold.

He hadn't removed it again until their plane was in the air. She glanced around momentarily then just sat stiffly in her chair.

"You still haven't told me how you found me."

She sighed.

"Did you use the services of the CIA?"

"I don't work for the CIA anymore. You know that."

"But your father does."

"I think you know enough about my family dynamics to know that my father would not like me to be here."

"What about your husband?"

"I'm not having this conversation."

He'd seen pain, guilt and sadness rush to her eyes before she turned her head away from him and stared out the window. There was nothing out the window, but she managed to concentrate on it the rest of the flight. She refused refreshment. Her hands fiddled seemingly pointlessly in her lap, until he realized they were actually twisting her wedding ring on and off.

He had demanded her attention once as they neared their destination to return the blindfold to its place. A car awaited them at the airstrip and drove them to Irina's compound. He walked them briskly through the security into the interior habitat that ceased to be structured and sterile.

He had let her stand in the middle of the sitting room and told her to wait. He headed into Irina's study to announce their arrival, knowing the guards would watch over Sydney.

Irina rose from her desk immediately. "Right on time."

"She's in the sitting room."

"Has she given you any clues as to what this about?"

"None specifically. From the way she's playing with her wedding ring, I'd say there's trouble in paradise."

Irina exited her study and he followed.

He walked over to Sydney and as Irina took up a stance in front of her daughter, he removed the blindfold.

He recalled Sydney blinking as she looked at her mother. Then, her face had mutated to fill with emotion that had been absent much of the time he'd been with her. He wouldn't forget the tears that had immediately started down her cheeks. She'd known that at that moment she had to explain what she was doing there and why. But for a good minute she only managed one word.

"Mom."

Irina had remained two feet away from her, looking at her expectantly.

"I didn't know where else to go. I didn't have anyone else to go to..." She looked down and clasped her hands together trying to hide how shaky she was. "I left Vaughn. I left... everything. I couldn't stay there anymore. I couldn't-I couldn't be her mother." Her last word disappeared into a whisper.

He'd felt like an intruder on the scene as he'd watched Irina embrace her daughter. Even more so when Irina looked at him and her own eyes were glassy. He'd exited the room to give them their moment.

Irina found him when he was having dinner later.

"Sydney will be staying with us for awhile. I have her settled in a room upstairs."

He raised an eyebrow. "The rooms upstairs don't lock."

"She chose to come here, to come to me. She won't be a prisoner here, especially in the state she's in."

"Has she given you a full explanation?"

"She will, in time. Right now, she just needs rest."

They'd known each other long enough that he didn't have to say anything before Irina narrowed her eyes at him.

"State your concerns."

"She claims to have left a perfectly fine life in L.A., with little explanation as to why. The Sydney Bristow I know doesn't run away from anything. I can't believe she'd leave at the first sign of trouble and come here, and find it difficult to believe that you would accept it either. And even if she is telling us the truth, there could be people looking for her."

"If there are, we'll hear about it."

"If she were anyone else, I doubt you'd take her in so easily."

"If she weren't my daughter, I doubt she'd even be here to ask me for help. But she is. And she's exhausted. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I won't turn her away."

"Because she needs your help or because you need for her to give you another chance?"

Irina straightened and bored into him with an intense stare. "Since you are so concerned as to whether it's safe to have her here, you can keep an eye on her yourself for now." She turned and left him to eat the dinner he no longer had an appetite for.

He still had to mildly scold himself for being so blunt in his concerns as to accuse Irina so forwardly. He had known her "offer" to allow him to keep an eye on Sydney was an order and his punishment. He had promptly gone to his room to make sure it was arranged to his liking for an extended stay as he wasn't going to be going away on business again anytime soon.

He took his assignment seriously, even if he was a glorified babysitter. Sydney didn't emerge from her room for days. He observed the meals brought into her, which had plenty of food remaining as they were brought back out again. Obviously the lack of appetite was there to match the mood whether real or faked.

Irina checked on her daily, disappearing into the room sometimes only for a few minutes, other times, several hours. He expected she'd come to him with any new information she received but she didn't seem to gain much new information. Except the location of some belongings Sydney had put in storage. Irina had them retrieved.

He insisted on going through all the boxes before any of the contents inside were given to Sydney. Everything was scanned for possible tracking or listening devices. The first couple of boxes he cleared easily, nothing but clothes. He took careful time examining a couple boxes of books and music, but after a thorough search he was satisfied there was nothing harmful within. There were boxes of miscellaneous papers and personal items. One blanket. Some pictures.

He examined the pictures with curiosity. Childhood photographs of Sydney with her parents. Teenage photographs of her by herself. More recent pictures of her with Francie, Will, Jack and various coworkers. Then, there were pictures of Vaughn, Vaughn and her together, wedding pictures. And finally there was a picture of Vaughn holding a baby.

The final box had obviously been the most hastily packed. A few more clothes. A laptop computer. A wooden box caught his eye. It had a lock but it was unlocked. He wasn't surprised to find a weapon inside. He kept the gun and the laptop, clearing everything else to be given to Sydney.

He waited two days after the boxes had all been delivered to Sydney before going to the room, wooden box and laptop in hand. She was standing at her window. Only one miscellaneous boxes remained. The clothes had filled her closet; the books were on her shelves.

"You may have noticed some items missing."

She eyed the objects in his hand. "Thank you," she started to reach for them.

He handed over the laptop. "For now, it has no outside connection. If you do require one, we can allow you to use our network. Though of course, any incoming or outgoing transmissions will be monitored and analyzed."

"Of course," she said, emotionlessly, depositing the laptop on a desk.

"This, I will be keeping a while longer." He doubted it would surprise her that she wasn't going to be allowed a fully loaded weapon.

She looked him in the eye. "I'm no threat to you."

He nodded. "And I'd like to keep it that way."

After the first week, Irina urged Sydney to join them for meals. It served a dual purpose, both getting Sydney out of her room, and allowing them to truly scrutinize her eating habits. She was quiet at the meals, and Sark was able to watch her creatively spread out the food on her plate to make it look like she'd eaten most of the meal rather than the three bites she'd truly eaten.

She began to emerge from the room more often and Sark expected to start hearing of her attempts to wander into areas she shouldn't. But none were delivered to him and when he questioned the guards, they said she hadn't been near the restricted areas. She apparently just sat in the library or the courtyard. He observed they were correct. Completely. She just sat there. Doing nothing. Even in the library, if she happened to pick up a book, she would sit with in her a lap for an hour and never turn the page. In the courtyard, she'd sit on a bench and watch the trees.

He hadn't been able to believe Sydney Bristow could truly be that boring. Either whatever secret mission she had come to accomplish hadn't been set into motion yet, or he wasn't looking hard enough. He decided to truly poke through her room one day when she was out of it. But searching the room was no more interesting than watching her sit around doing nothing. He searched inside and underneath everything but there was nothing hidden, nothing suspicious. And also no real reason behind her sudden appearance.

"Has she given you any explanation yet?"

"She'll talk to me when she's ready."

"And when she does?"

"I'll listen."

He wondered how long Irina could wait. Even as she spoke calmly, he could see it in her eyes that even her patience on this matter was limited. Though while his thoughts were consumed with curiosity, hers were heavy with concern. And they both tried in their own way to solve the puzzle that was now Sydney Bristow.

Irina continued her frequent visits with Sydney and he knew that she was doing her best to be available in case Sydney wanted to talk to her. Sometimes she'd join her in the courtyard. He wasn't sure how much progress she made. But after Irina would leave, he sometimes saw Sydney go to the corner of the yard where she apparently hoped no one could see her. He'd watched her carefully and the third time, he was certain she had to be up to something, using a transmitter of some kind, planting a bug. He had crossed the yard quickly and stopped inches from her, tense and ready for an attack that would follow being caught in the act.

"What are you doing?"

She had startled and turned to look at him suddenly. She was surprised. She hadn't been able to say anything. But she'd gazed at him with the saddest look he'd ever seen. Her brown eyes were full of tears. Her face was scrunched up and red. She'd looked away again trying to wipe her eyes. He hadn't known what to say, so he'd simply handed her the handkerchief, that'd he'd always considered rather decorative, from his suit pocket. He'd turned and walked away and hadn't mentioned the incident to anyone, not even Irina.

He wasn't so certain he was going to find out Sydney was truly there to spy on them anymore. Especially as reports seemed to confirm the little they did know.

"The CIA is conducting a very serious search for you. Do they know you were trying to find us?"

"I didn't tell them. No one knew I was leaving."

"No one?" he pressed. "Not even your-"

"No one," she finished, firmly.

He should have left it at that, and allowed her to return to not-reading her book.

"What are you doing here, Sydney?"

She shut the book and looked at him. She looked frustrated a moment, and then the emotion melted off her face, replaced by a lonely, lost look. "I don't know."

She had gotten up and walked away.

He regretted now how much he'd demanded answers from Sydney, and urged Irina to do the same. He knew Sydney had taken note of his always scrutinizing eye. She knew that he was watching her, expecting her to do something wrong. She didn't defend herself. If she had just explained her reason for coming, then he could have relaxed about her being there. What had made her so unhappy that she had to leave her life? That she felt like this was the only place to go?

Needing answers to those questions became all the more urgent after Sydney had been with them for three weeks.

He'd gotten used to her rather pointless routine of mornings in her room, afternoons in the courtyard, dinner with them and then an hour or two in evening in the library. She seemed to not care if they joined her or if they let her be. But he saw her not even attempt to rearrange her plate that evening at dinner. And she went right upstairs after. Irina went into the library anyway, perhaps hoping Sydney would join her later.

He'd gone into Irina's study. He was in and out of there all the time so it took him barely a moment to notice a piece of jewelry on the desk that wasn't normally there. He stepped forward and picked it up, realizing it wasn't even Irina's. He'd seen it a jewelry box of Sydney's when he'd gone through her personal belongings. He momentarily considered that Sydney had given it to Irina but Irina wouldn't have left it there on her desk in the study.

He took it with him, turned and headed upstairs to Sydney's room. He had knocked on the door, twice, but she didn't come to answer it.

He frowned slightly and attempted to turn the door knob. The door opened. "Sydney?"

Silence.

He started to enter. "Sydney?"

He could have mistaken the room for empty. He started to try her bathroom, when he saw the top of her hair, just visible on the opposite side of the bed. She was sitting on the floor, her back to him. He walked around the bed.

"Sydn--" The word disappeared into a gasp.

The smell of copper attacked his nose and turned his stomach in a way that it never had before.

She was sitting rather calmly on her knees. Her arms were resting on them, sliced open from her wrists to midway up her forearm, crimson liquid seeping heavily from the wounds. Her arms pointed down towards the floor, allowing the blood to pool in her hands, before joining a puddle on the wood floor.

She looked up at him. A blank stare in her brown eyes, though tears leaked from them. She let out a sound, a light laugh that dissolved into a whimpering cry.

He ran out of the room to the top of the staircase. One of the maids was passing on the landing below. "Jessa, get Irina now! And call Dr. Andreas. Tell her to come immediately!"

He turned back to the room immediately and sprinted into Sydney's bathroom. He grabbed all the towels he could. There were only white towels. He hurried back over to Sydney. "Where is it?" he demanded.

She looked at him as if unsure what he was talking about.

"What did you use? Where is it?"

She looked down at her right hand. All he could see was blood, but he felt her hand and produced the razor blade, useless and slippery with blood. He took it away, and began wrapping the hand towels around her forearms. The first two soaked so immediately that he couldn't wrap them and tossed them aside.

Irina appeared in the doorway. She came forward and he saw her eyes fill with horror at the sight of the red towels, the red puddles on the floor, her daughter's red hands. The red spots now on his own clothes.

Her eyes turned glassy, but she moved to Sydney's other side and took charge of wrapping her other arm so he could focus on the other one. They lifted them above her head, trying to keep the blood from rushing towards the open veins. Sydney's eyes were fluttering. She was losing consciousness.

"Sydney!" Irina called. Her accent was heavy in her distress.

Sydney's eyes opened again momentarily then started to close again.

"SYDNEY!"

Irina was losing her calm. Tears started down her cheeks as she continued to whisper her daughter's name.

Sark felt like he should go grab more towels but he didn't dare leave them. He looked to the doorway where a couple of guards and the maid had gathered and were whispering amongst themselves. "More towels," he ordered. He looked back just as Sydney slumped, limp and unconscious.

He looked at Irina. Her eyes were wide as she just stared at the blood.

Before the maid had returned with more towels, Dr. Andreas came. She had hurried into the room with two assistants carrying equipment behind her. She knew she had to be prepared for anything whenever she came to Irina's. Though for a moment, even the doctor looked unsettled by the scene. She allowed them stay as they set up equipment ad stripped the bed, replacing it with sterile sheets, and laying Sydney on it. But then she'd urged them both to leave the room. Irina had tried to refuse.

"She's my daughter," Irina whispered, shakily.

"And I'm going to take good care of her."

Then Dr. Andreas had tossed him a firm look, and he'd escorted Irina from the room. He took her to her bedroom, thinking she would want to change clothes but she'd just sat down in a chair once they were in the room. She'd looked at him, tears still rimming her eyes.

"Why?"

He wished he'd had an answer for her. But instead he had to let her question disappear into the air. He'd lowered his eyes, unable to take how intensely she stared at him. When he looked at her again, she was frozen in staring at her own hands. Or rather at her daughter's blood on her own hands. He saw her hands tremor ever so slightly.

He went into her bathroom and washed his hands thoroughly, getting as much of the blood off as he could. He wiped his hands dry and filled a basin with hot soapy water. He had taken the basin and towels back to Irina and began cleaning her hands. The towels again turned from white to red. He had to refill the basin once to get newly, clear water before he finished.

As he had toweled her last hand dry, she blinked and clarity returned to her. She looked at him approvingly. An expression of tired, calm settled on her features.

"Thank you."

He had nodded, then gathered up the dirty towels and left. He'd gone to his room and shed his clothes. He'd realized he would probably never get the blood out of them and discarded them. He'd taken a shower, put on fresh clothes and gone downstairs. Irina had apparently already done the same. She was settled in the sitting room looking through a folder, with a perfect view of the door to Sydney's room so she'd see the second Dr. Andreas emerged.

They had sat in silence as they waited. He'd thumbed through a book. He'd risen immediately when Dr. Andreas came out of the room and down the steps. She'd looked drained. Irina sat stiffly in her chair and watched the doctor carefully.

"She's all right. We've stitched up her cuts and bandaged over them. Her heart rate and blood pressure are coming back up. I'd like to leave one my assistants here tonight to keep an eye on her. And I'll come back to check her progress in the morning. She did lose a lot of blood. She's going to be pretty weak for awhile. She needs to remain supervised at all times. She's resting comfortably now, but when she wakes up she might try to tear out her stitches." The doctor paused and turned to Irina. "I need to talk to you, alone. Just for a minute." She looked at Sark. "You can see her now, if you wish."

He had gone back upstairs. The room was darkened. Sydney had been pale with an IV in one arm. One of the assistants kept her eyes constantly on a machine monitoring Sydney's heart rate. The other assistant began packing up equipment and left the room. It was only a few minutes before Irina and Dr. Andreas entered. Irina had sat down in a chair beside Sydney's bed and examined the bandages on her daughter's arms. Dr. Andreas stayed only a minute more before leaving. Her last assistant had then taken a short break.

Irina had stroked Sydney's hair, and gently held one of her hands, examining it somberly. Sark had exited quietly, leaving mother and daughter alone.

Irina had remained in vigil at Sydney's bedside for two days, taking short breaks only when Dr. Andreas was there or one of the assistants changed Sydney's bandages. Sark made sure Jessa brought Irina meals but she hadn't eaten much of them even as she was insistent Sydney eat.

He went into the room on the third night to give Irina a tracking report and realized just how exhausted she looked.

"You need to sleep."

"She can't be left alone."

"I can sit with her. I can stay here until you return."

Irina hesitated. "If she wakes up-"

"If you she asks for you, I'll send for you."

"If she wants to talk-"

"I'll listen."

That answer had satisfied Irina and she had reluctantly left the room. He'd chosen a book off the shelf and settled in the chair Irina had just vacated. Sydney stirred once, several hours later.

"Mom," she murmured, softly, before opening her eyes.

She had seen it was only him and scanned the room.

"I can get her for you." He closed the book.

She looked at him a moment. "No," she whispered. She turned her head and her eyes settled on a pitcher of water on the nightstand.

He'd filled a glass and held it to her lips whole she took a few sips. Then, her eyes had slid closed again. He'd taken several more turns sitting with Sydney during the week before she was up and around again and the weeks after. They made sure she ate regularly, though she didn't always manage to keep the food down. Dr. Andreas checked in regularly, prescribing Sydney vitamins and antibiotics. They kept her away from sharp objects though he never saw her show much interest in them anyway. He had known it was possible that she lacked the energy to try again, rather than the interest.

There was still something very unsettled about her. She slept fitfully many of the nights he sat with her. She woke up crying one night, stumbled out of the bed, and towards the hallway. He leapt up to follow her, as she headed for the stairs blinded by sobs.

"Sydney! Sydney, stop!"

He grabbed her by her upper arms to keep her from getting any closer to the steps.

She turned to face him, hyperventilating. "She can't breathe! She can't breathe!" Sydney cried, gulping down air. Her eyes widened with a new realization. "I can't--" She inhaled and exhaled breathlessly.

The commotion brought Irina out of her study and up the stairs.

"Calm down, Sydney. Try to breathe normally."

She'd placed an arm around her daughter and guided her back to bed. He checked on them hours later. Sydney was sleeping soundly. Irina stood at the dresser, holding a photograph. She looked up when she saw him in the doorway and turned towards him. He had approached her and she'd pointed to the bright eyed baby in the picture.

"Taryn. Her name is Taryn," Irina told him softly. She smiled sadly at the picture and then looked at Sydney.

He'd been struck by a realization.

"She told you the reason she came here."

Irina put the picture down and looked at him with cold eyes.

"No matter what you thought your reason was at the time, when you realize you've abandoned a person you loved and a child that needed you, your reason doesn't matter anymore."

She'd spat the words out bitterly and then told him to get out with her eyes. He'd exited the room immediately.

Dr. Andreas let them know it was safe to allow Sydney up around again after eight days. They helped Sydney back into her former routine, with trips to the library and the courtyard. Sark continued to help supervise her, though he noted Irina hovering around her much more than she had before.

Sydney had actually read the books in the library, or at least turned the pages. She actually walked around the courtyard, instead of just staring at the trees. He found himself actually pleased about her doing such little things. Sometimes he joined her for a walk in the courtyard. He talked to her; she rarely said anything back to him.

"I'd like to apologize about before. The assumptions I made about why you came here."

"Sark!"

He'd never heard her say his name with such a startling urgency before. He turned to see her swaying beside him, reached out and caught her before she fully collapsed. He'd lifted her carefully and called her name. Then, he shifted her in his arms to check her vitals. She was breathing, though her pulse seemed a little weak. He'd lifted her and carried her back inside. He had called for Jessa the second he was in the door, and went to lay Sydney down on the couch in the sitting room.

It was Irina who'd appeared.

"What happened?" she questioned, seriously.

He hadn't had the chance to answer before Sydney started to come around. Jessa arrived in answer to his calls but Irina simply ordered she bring Sydney some water. He watched Irina feel Sydney's forehead, take her pulse and softly ask her some questions. Then, Sydney had sat up and Jessa had helped her upstairs. He'd given Irina a questioning frown.

"Do you want me to call Dr. Andreas?"

"It's not necessary. She's going to lie down in her room."

"Not necessary?"

"It's normal. She isn't ill. She just needs to rest."

"She's not ill," he stated, calmly, processing her words.

Irina looked at him with a mild amusement in her eyes.

He'd gone upstairs, relieved Jessa and stood in the doorway. Sydney was lying on the bed on top of all the bedding with her eyes closed. Her hands were resting on her stomach ever so lightly. As he moved to the chair, she'd opened her eyes and looked at him. He'd managed a soft smile for her but the look returned in her brown eyes couldn't have been described as anything other than fearful.

The brown eyes that were looking at him now were just as fearful.

He looked down at the child and tried to give her a soft smile. She blinked, her eyes filling with tears. She trembled when he moved closer to her. He reached into his pocket, uncapped a syringe and injected it into her arm. She whimpered, but in moments her eyes slid closed again.

He went into the bathroom and washed his face. As he arranged his suit again, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Droplets of red dotted the right arm of his dress shirt, apparently from Taryn's wound. He sighed. Another shirt he'd discard.

He exited the bathroom and settled back in his chair. It'd be hours before Taryn woke up again. He glanced away from her as the door from the cockpit opened. "You wanted me to alert you. We'll be landing soon."

Sark nodded to the copilot who disappeared back into the cockpit. He looked at Taryn again. She was sleeping peacefully.

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