Chapter 4

She was dreaming again.

This time she was in the woods. Everything was green. There was a mist hovering in between the trees, you could see what was in front of you, no further. She walked, stopping when she saw something standing in front of her.

It was a black panther.

It was sitting on the ground, watching her. She stared at it for awhile, waiting. Finally, she spoke.

"Where am I?" She asked, knowing somehow the cat would respond.

"You are dreaming." The cat replied without moving its mouth.

"Who are you?"

"Dagda." He said, meeting her brown eyes with his pitch black ones.

"I don't understand."

"You will." He stood and started walking off, leaving Sydney behind.

"Wait!" She called after him, "I don't understand…" But it was too late, he was gone. She cried out as she felt a searing pain on her left wrist. She brought it up to her face. Her eyes widened. Something had been burned into her skin…

The mark of Rambaldi.

She screamed.

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Sark cried out as the burn on Sydney's wrist came to life, scorching hot. His thumb had been touching it. He stared in astonishment as the mark turned red hot, then white. All of the sudden it stopped, like a snap of a finger.

The colors were gone.

The burn looked like it had before.

"What the fuck is going on it here?" Simon asked, bringing the two chairs he had gotten over to Sark. He sat down, watching Sark do the same. "I leave for two minutes and come back to this weird shit?"

"I found this burn on her wrist," He showed Simon the Rambaldi sign. Simon looked up at Sark, a frown covering his features.

"That's…" He trailed off when Sark nodded. "Well why the fuck was it having a light show?"

"I don't know." He lied. He did have an idea…but it wasn't something he wanted to share right now. Simon raised an eyebrow.

"That so, mate?" He asked suspiciously. Sark looked away. He looked away. Simon was the only person in the world he would look away from. Why? Because Simon knew him, he knew him well…

"I have an idea," He finally replied, surprised Simon wasn't pressuring him for an answer. Damn. He knew him too well. "but I'm not certain."

"Fine," Simon said, changing the subject. If there was one major rule about knowing Julian Lazarey, it would be that you never pressure him. Now, Simon was usually the one to break that rule, but this time he knew it wouldn't happen. Not this time. His mind was made up. He glanced down at Sydney. "How long do you think she'll be out?"

"An hour maybe—" Sark's sentence was cut off and proved wrong when Sydney suddenly shot up in bed. She was breathing frantically, like she had been running. She froze once she realized where she was and who she was with. She turned her head slowly, glancing at Simon, then Sark.

She lifted her wrist up, staring at the burn on her hand. It was real. She had talked to Milo Rambaldi, in her dreams, no less. She closed her eyes. She was tired. Her eyelids ached. There were so many thoughts racing through her head. Her whole left arm ached. It was hard to breath. Her chest hurt. Where was she? Why did Sark save her? Why was Simon here? Was Marshall alive? Why was she dreaming about Rambaldi? Why did she have this burn?

"Sydney…" Sark spoke, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room. Goose bumps had risen on his arms when Sydney had brought her wrist up. She knew. How? How did she know? "You've been shot in the arm, and one grazed your side. You need to rest."

Sydney took her gaze away from her wrist, looking at Sark. She could feel herself shaking. She was shaking down to her bones. She was cold. No. She was scared. Why? Because a five-hundred and sixty-two year old prophet had visited her in her dreams and burned his sign into her wrist? Now, why would that scare her? Sark's voice brought her back to reality. She turned back to him.

"Sydney?" He asked again, frowning at her. "Did you hear me?"

Did you hear me? Did she hear him? Yes. But was this just another dream? She closed her eyes tightly. How would she know? No. She couldn't be dreaming. No. This was real. She was lying on a bed in a room with Sark and Simon. That was real. That was reality.

That was reality.

Shit.

That was reality.

"Why am I here?" She finally spoke, eyes still closed. Why was she here?

"Sydney, those men were there to take you." Sark said, watching her face closely. She seemed to be sorting through her thoughts. "They—" he stopped himself. She didn't need to know yet. Not yet. He would tell her later. "I brought you to a doctor, but you have to rest."

She opened her eyes, lifted her hand. It was still shaking. She pulled her hand into a fist tightly. She watched as the burn turned white from the lack of blood. She unclenched it, watching as it raced back. She turned, catching Sark's gaze.

"Why?" She asked again. Why had he helped her? How did she know he had helped her? Those could have been his men. No. They weren't. She knew this somehow. But why? Why?

"I'll answer your questions later, Sydney." Sark said softly. "You need to rest. So I either give you a sedative, or you rest on your own. I know you don't want the sedative, so I'm giving you a choice. What will it be, Sydney?"

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity. Brown on blue. And, god, how they were blue. Sydney had taken a yoga class once and she remembered what the instructor had said about blue.

"Blue belongs to the Planet Venus, the giver of Love, devotion and harmony. Its stone is the Amethyst, the super-sacred of the seven jewels. Pale blue in the aura represents devotion, while dark blue shows fanaticism. Blue is idealistic, smug, creative, dogmatic…"

And hell, if those didn't describe Sark, she didn't know what did. But his eyes…you could call them blue, but what a huge understatement that would be. They were cerulean. They were azure. They were glorious. They were magnificent. They just…were. But more then that, they were like doors. And she knew that if he opened them, she would be able to see everything. Who was she kidding? She was talking about Sark.

The enigma.

She closed her eyes, falling back onto the bed. The sheets were soft; the pillow was yielding. She was tired. So tired. Everything hurt. Her head felt heavy. She would rest. Then she would get her answers.

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The acid taste of vomit rose up in her throat again. She threw up, her hands supporting her body over the porcelain bowl of the toilet. She had awakened in a cold sweat for the second time that night, this time feeling a sickness so strong she had barely managed to get to the bathroom in time.

"Fuck," She spat out, hating what her body was doing. But the worst part of all was that the bathroom was located the hallway, right between Sark's room and Simon's room. They could probably hear everything she did. "Fucking wonderful."

It had only been last night that she had woken up to find Sark watching her. Thinking about the conversation between them only made her want to throw up again. In that one conversation, she had completely changed her life.

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"Why am I here?" She asked, cautiously sipping the tea he had brought her. She figured if he was planning on poisoning her, he would have done so already.

"Sydney," Sark began carefully, "Those men who you fought, they were mercenaries."

"Mercenaries?" She was surprised. "Why were they coming after me?"

"Because you have something they want," he said, "something many people are willing to pay a high price for." Fuck, this was harder then he had thought. It wasn't something he was particularly fond of, delivering news like this.

"And what would that be?" She set her steaming mug down. She had a feeling this was big.

He made sure he was staring directly into her eyes. "It is said in the Rambaldi prophecy that his second coming is by way of a child." Her eyes dropped from his, she didn't move. Every muscle in her body was frozen to the spot. A child? If he was telling her this…then that meant…No. It wasn't possible. Rambaldi was dead. There was no DNA. It just wasn't possible. No. It couldn't be…

"Are you telling me," she swallowed, meeting his eyes straight on, "that the prophecy says that I will deliver this…child?"

"Yes." Straight. Simple. Easy. Right, if only that were the truth.

"Are you sure?" She had to know, to make sure this wasn't just some horrible dream.

"Yes." Another simple answer. And damn, he wasn't giving away anything in his features. A perfect mask.

"How…I mean how could that happen?"

"We believe the Covenant has a male blood relative of Rambaldi in their possession."

"So they want to what?" She gave a small laugh, "make me have sex with this guy?"

"No, Sydney." He said, ignoring her laugh. "They'll just take your eggs and find another woman to carry them." She blanched.

"So they don't even need me."

"Scientifically, no," he said, "the only things needed are your eggs. They could easily find a woman and artificially inseminate her."

"That easy, huh?" she asked softly, staring at the wall.

"That easy." He repeated her, because it was true. It was easy, too damn easy in his opinion. Of course, they didn't have—no, it didn't matter. He knew. Simon knew. No one else did, or ever would know the truth.

"So, what, you felt bad about it and wanted to help me?" She finally asked, sarcastically, "That's why I'm here?"

"You could say that," he said, she gave a snort. "Or not."

"Then why?" She asked again, "you plan on selling me to the highest bidder?"

"No." He said, sighing softly. "I'm trying to help you, Sydney. I don't believe in this Rambaldi prophecy. Actually, I think it's a load of horse shit, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm helping you, and if you were smart, which I know you are, you would realize that. If I was going to sell you, I would have done so already. You know that."

She did know that, of course. But that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen. He could easily be trying to trick her into behaving, only to sell her out later on. But, honestly, what did she have to lose? Herself, and possibly her future children, but other then that, there was nothing. Except her father, but she could find a way to contact him. So what should she do? Grab hold of this peace offering, which could possibly lead to her downfall, or go back to her old life, which could possibly lead to her downfall also.

Which was the greater evil? That was the question.

If she were to stay here, she could start a new life. Granted it would involve running, hiding, fighting, and so forth. But at least she wouldn't have anyone to worry about other then herself. She didn't need to get another person killed. Marshall…

Was he even alive? Sark said he made sure the CIA got Marshall to safety, but other then that he wasn't sure. She'd have to ask her father how he was doing when she contacted him, which she would, and soon.

Her mind was made up.

She was staying.

She wasn't going to endanger anyone else. If mercenaries were after her, they would never stop, and they wouldn't care if they killed a bystander- her father, Weiss, Vaughn, even Lauren.

Vaughn. She hated thinking about him. She knew logically he should have moved on, like he did. She just couldn't shake off the thought that she would have waited. But it wasn't just that, there was so much tension. Sitting across from each other at the debriefings, it just wasn't fair. He was married. She could live with that. And Lauren…she seemed nice. That was the worst part, the fact that she couldn't be mad at Lauren. She just didn't have it in her to be mad at that woman.

And god did that annoy her.

So this was it. Her old life was over. She was starting a new one. One where the only priority she had was to protect herself. She just wished it was as easy as it sounded.

"Ok," She said finally, her eyes locked with his. "But I know you're not telling me something, which I will find out. And if you betray me...even if it takes me the rest of my life, I will hunt you down, and I will kill you."

"Understood," Sark said. He smirked. "I told you we were destined to work together."

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The cold tile floor of the bathroom felt wonderful on her face. Her stomach had settled down somewhat, and so she felt it was safe enough to take her head off the toilet. She tried to clear her thoughts. Her head was killing her. It was the antibiotics she was on. Her body had never liked them, but they were the only kind on hand. They couldn't risk her getting an infection. But right now she would rather have the infection.

She crawled to her knees quickly, her head barely making it into the toilet before vomiting again. She dry heaved for a minute, having nothing left in her stomach. She jumped when she felt a warm hand touch her shoulder. She turned. It was Sark. She turned back around, heaving again. She could feel a blush creeping across her face. She didn't want him seeing her like this.

He waited until she was done before setting something down beside her. She glanced at what it was- a can of ginger ale. She turned to thank him, but the room was empty, the door closed. She watched it for a moment, turning back to the toilet as she heaved again.