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Cheeky.

Secrets and Lies

By cheeky-chaos

"Truth takes time." – Irina Derevko

Chapter Four

The long, hot shower did wonders to relax my muscles and ease the pain in my head. I was actually reluctant to come out and face reality – finding out exactly where I was and how I was going to tell everyone back in LA about Vaughn's treachery. Dressing in the clothes Sark had left for me, a strange occurrence on its own, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes when I saw that even though it was simply jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater, they all had designer labels. It was nice, though. It's not like I could usually afford clothes this nice. And just how Sark knew what size I was, I'll never know.

Gathering everything I had come with and trying to cover my bandaged head as best as I could with a hat, I headed downstairs and wondered how the hell I was going to pay for the room. I had a little money, sure. Sark had thought to leave me with what appeared to be a cab fare to the airport, but that was it. Certainly not enough to cover the cost of the room. But it turned out I was worried for nothing – Sark had paid for the room as well. Unsettled by his consistent thoughtfulness, I headed out of the hotel and onto the busy streets of Tacna, Peru.

Since worry was curling in my gut, making me faintly nauseous and I had already missed the rendezvous by about twelve hours, I headed for the closest payphone I could find and immediately dialled the CIA. After passing my officer number through the operator, I was patched through to Dixon's office. It had taken less than two minutes, but I impatiently tapped my foot the whole time. I needed to let them know about Vaughn!

"Bristow." The voice answered on Dixon's line.

I was so shocked by my father picking up Dixon's phone that I didn't speak for a few seconds. What was he doing in Dixon's office? And where was Dixon? He never usually let people pick up his phone...

"Hello?" My father repeated.

"Dad?"

"Sydney?" my Dad's voice immediately became more concerned.

"It's me." I said impatiently. "Listen, I have something important..."

My father cut me off before I could say any more. "Yes, I understand that you have something to say, but like I told you in Paris." He said. "I don't think I want to discuss it with you."

I was confused by his response for a beat, before it dawned on me. This was code... something my father and I had not had to use for a long time. It was something we developed during our days with SD-6 and this particular one meant that the phone line was bugged and something was wrong. I began to get a terrible feeling. The thought that Vaughn might go back to the CIA after what he had done to me had never once crossed my mind. But what if he had?

"Dad?" I said, playing along. "About Paris. I need to say this..."

"Sydney, I don't want to hear it." My father stressed. "We have nothing further to discuss."

As I listened to the dial tone, I wondered what had just happened. The message was clear: the phone was bugged and it wasn't safe to talk. Which only meant one thing – Vaughn had gone back and somehow, I don't think he had nice things to say about me. Just as I was turning away from the pay phone, it rang again.

I debated whether or not to answer it, but went with my instinct and picked it up. "Hello?" I answered cautiously.

"Sydney?" my father's voice asked.

"Dad!" I said in a rush of relief. He wouldn't have called if he couldn't talk and I wondered if he was on his cell. "What's going on?"

"I can't talk for long." He said. "But you should know that Vaughn came back from La Paz with a bullet wound to the arm, claiming you shot him and have secretly been working for someone else ever since you woke up in Hong Kong. He even went so far as to say that your amnesia was faked."

"That's not true!" I exploded, shocked and outraged that he would say that. "Dad, you should know..."

"I do know, Sydney." He said. "And I don't know what Vaughn is up to..."

"His name isn't Vaughn, Dad." This time it was me who interrupted. "His name is Cole Reynard. He's a plant."

There was a slight pause. "How do you know this?" he asked sharply.

"He told me."

Dad swore. "You have to be careful, Sydney." He said. "Stay low. I'm going to try and find out what's going on. I'll contact you as soon as I can."

Before I could say anything else, Dad hung up. I sighed. It seemed my father was back to his dictatorial behaviour again. I hung up the pay phone and began to wander down the street, lost in thought. The time had finally come to make a decision. Which way was I going to go now? It was obvious that I couldn't just go back to LA and the CIA, so that left Ireland and Sark. But was I really going to go and work with my sworn enemy, just like that? It would certainly reinforce whatever lies Vaughn/Reynard was telling about me.

One thing was certain: I wasn't just going to sit around and hide. I was going to do something about the shattered mess that my life had become. And I suppose that took resources I didn't have. Sure, I had some money stashed away and a couple of safehouses I could use, but they wouldn't get me very far. I'd lost most of my contacts during my missing two years and still hadn't found time to make new ones, so finding information on my own was going to be hard.

And then, there was always the fact that Sark was the other person mentioned in the Wittenberg files...

I came to a complete halt when I realised I had already come to a decision. I was going to Ireland. Sark had resources I couldn't even begin to imagine and if I was going to get to the bottom of this, I was going to need help. Besides, he had rescued me in La Paz and that had to count for something, right? And it wasn't like I couldn't take him if he tried anything, anyway. No matter what else was fucked up about my life, I could always count on my ability to kick Sark's ass.

With a glance at my watch, I grimaced and hailed the first taxi I saw. If I was going to make that flight, I'd better get to the airport as soon as possible.

Grumpy, hungry and with little more than the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my pocket, I sighed heavily and wondered what the hell I was going to do now. I was stuck in Dublin's international airport and had been for an hour now. There was no sign of Sark, the bastard. He was probably off somewhere laughing his ass off that I would actually consider doing this. And it wasn't doing anything for the doubts I had about the insanity of working with my sworn enemy, either.

As if my thoughts had conjured him out of thin air, I heard the silky smooth British accent beside me and turned to find Sark standing next to me, dressed as usual in Armani. "I didn't think you would actually take up my offer, Agent Bristow." He said.

"Yeah, well, I didn't think I'd actually make the CIA's most wanted list, either." I snapped back.

His eyebrow's rose at this, but the blank expression remained in his cold blue eyes. "You're on the CIA's most wanted list?" he asked, gesturing for us to leave the airport.

"Yes." I said, my disgust clearly evident in my tone. It had been one of the few things I had been able to find out before my flight. "Apparently the man I knew as Vaughn has convinced the CIA that I have turned traitor and tried to kill him."

"That was to be expected, but I have to admit that I didn't think he would be so willing to return to his alias and the CIA." Sark replied calmly, as if he didn't care at this turn of events.

Maybe he didn't. "Maybe he didn't get everything he needed." I suggested.

"It's possible." Sark replied. "But it's more probable that he decided to prevent you from returning to your friends. His employers seem to want you quite badly considering the risks and resources involved in the La Paz operation."

By now we had reached the front of the airport, and lo and behold, there was an expensive black car waiting for us. I wasn't really surprised. Wherever Sark was, you could be assured you'd find an expensive black car as well. As I slid into the luxurious seat, I told myself that I wasn't jealous of all his money at all. But even I knew it was a lie.

"How do you know all this?" I asked as we pulled out into the traffic.

Sark shot me a glance, his expression surprised I didn't already know the answer. Bastard. "I only considered coming to your rescue, Sydney, when it became obvious that even your multitude of talents would not suffice." He replied.

"So you're saying I couldn't have gotten out of that by myself?" I snapped, feeling a little offended at his tone.

"Could you have?" Instead of condescending, like I had expected, Sark's question was soft and the piercing stare he gave me saw past my armour to what I really felt.

"No." I whispered, hating that he had made me admit it. Truth be known, the shock of Vaughn's betrayal had been so unexpected and painful that without Sark I would now be at the mercy of him and whoever he worked for.

Memories of the betrayal and everything it meant was too fresh, so I ignored the pain and did what I always did – focused on the anger. "I want to destroy that bastard." I growled, not even needing to tell Sark who I meant. "And whoever he works for."

"I assumed you would." He said. "But why not return to America and your friends? Surely they would be able to help you even if the CIA does not believe you?"

I gave a disbelieving snort. "What friends?" I said. "There's nothing left for me there anymore."

"Not even the ever friendly Marshall Flinkmann?" Sark asked.

I felt a pang at the mention of Marshall's name; he was probably the only person who had ever really remained my friend through it all. But, as true a friend as he was, I wasn't willing to drag Marshall down with me, particularly not now that he had a son, and besides, as much as I loved Marshall, he really wasn't any good with a gun. And I had a feeling I was going to need someone to watch my back. Of course, that statement might not really be applicable to Sark either...

"I don't want to drag him into this." I said.

"Drag him into what?" the tone was mild, but I could tell Sark was very interested in the answer. There were benefits to knowing your opponent, it seemed.

I felt my expression shut down into a cold mask. "I'm sick of being the perfect Sydney Bristow. I lost two years of my life and everything else I ever cared about to the scum that rules this planet. I think it's finally time to do something about it." I growled.

Sark was silent for a moment and when he replied, his expression was carefully neutral. "Are you saying that you don't mind getting your hands a little dirty?" he asked mildly.

"I'm saying," I snapped, spelling it out as best as I could, "that I want to take these bastards down and destroy anything to do with Rambaldi... no matter what it takes!"

Again there was silence as Sark steered the car onto a freeway and accelerated. "And what makes you think I'd be willing to help you with this?" he asked, back to being the cold-eyed bastard I knew he was.

"Because you wouldn't have left me the ticket, Sark." I said. "We both know I'm not the minion type."

Sark smirked at this. "No." He agreed. "You're not. I'm glad you've finally realised this, Sydney."

"What do you mean, finally?" I snapped.

Sark shot me a glance out the corner of his eye. "Please do not tell me that you believed you were anything else to the CIA but a pawn?"

I opened my mouth to automatically reply of course I hadn't been, when I actually stopped to think. And I realised that his words were true – I had never been anything more than a pawn to anyone at the CIA. Even Dixon. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and slumped back against the seat. "You're right." I agreed.

"Of course I am." Sark said and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

There was silence for a minute, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. My life had taken a sudden turn and as painful as Vaughn's betrayal had been – and I knew I hadn't even begun to deal with that yet – finally beginning to see the truth for what it was had a liberating feel to it. As did finally deciding something by myself. I could safely say that deciding to work with Sark had been my idea. And it felt surprisingly good – particularly since I had just aligned myself with a cold-blooded assassin and someone who was higher on the CIA wanted list than I was (at the moment).

"So where are we going, anyway?" I asked finally.

"Galway." Sark replied. "Your friend Marshall was indeed correct about that."

"You live there?" I asked, more as an attempt to keep the conversation going that actual curiosity. I was suddenly completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

Sark slid me another glance, as if knowing that I wasn't really involved in the conversation anymore. "Yes." He answered. "Amongst other places."

I settled back to enjoy the ride, not really interested in continuing the conversation. Strangely, I didn't feel too concerned at being alone with Sark either. "I'll wake you when we arrive." Sark said.

I frowned at him, but the glare lacked its usual heat. Sark just smirked. "You're tired, Bristow." He said. "I promise not to kill you if you happen to fall asleep."

"I wouldn't be sitting in this car if I thought you were going to kill me." I said, irritated that he knew me so well.

Sark chuckled. "You might be." He said. "But you would definitely be armed."

I glared at him again and cursed the fact that I had had to dump my gun before I had boarded the plane. It had probably been a good thing, considering the gun was CIA-issue, but it irritated me no end that Sark had spotted I was unarmed. He wouldn't be as good at his job if he hadn't, I know, but still. I didn't like it.

"Go to sleep, Sydney." Sark said. "I promise I'll get you a new gun so you can try to shoot me later."

Muttering something under my breath, I turned to the window. "What was that, Sydney?" Sark asked, amusement clear in his voice. "I didn't quite catch that."

"I said," I repeated a little louder, "that I'd do more than shoot you if you didn't shut up."

Sark chuckled. "I'm almost tempted to keep talking just to find out what you'd do." He said.

In the hopes of keeping my sanity for just a little while longer, I chose to ignore the comment and let my eyes drift shut. It didn't take long to fall asleep, even sitting next to an assassin like I was, and before I knew it, we had arrived in Galway.

The dream came in fits and starts, but this time, unlike all the others, I could remember it when I woke up. Sark had shaken my awake when we had arrived in Galway and I soon found myself in a very plush looking penthouse apartment in the centre of the city. I didn't even bat an eyelid at the luxury this time, having finally realised that Sark like the creature comforts of life. And it was definitely nice after the cheap and sometimes crumbling CIA safehouses I was used to.

I walked over to the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the night view of Galway City and considered what I remembered about my dream. I could definitely say that there were some things left out of my explanation of my missing two years now. Along with fragments of pain and torture, I could remember a vivid picture of a smiling dark-haired woman a little younger than me. Along with the woman, I got the sense that there was something large that I was missing – something life-changing. Something that had everything to do with Vaughn's betrayal and why I had to wipe my memory. And I think it was more than the location of the Cube.

"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you, so I have no clothes for you to change into." Sark said coming up behind me. "So I'm afraid you are reduced to wearing some of mine. I can assure you they have just been washed, so there is no need to worry about germs."

As I wordlessly took the bundle of clothes Sark handed to me, I couldn't help being confronted by his thoughtfulness again. Taking in his cold smirk, I decided to do the unexpected – I thanked him. Watching the surprised expression he tried to hide was priceless. "You can take the spare room." He said. "Second door on the left."

"Thanks." I said again, this time with a smirk of my own. "I guess I'll see you in the morning then."

"Indeed." Sark replied. "Goodnight, Sydney."

"'Night, Sark." I replied, feeling just as weirded out by that as he seemed to.

Lauren grunted in annoyance as she sat in the Internet Cafe typing carefully on her laptop. The Manhattan cafe was a local hotspot for young professionals, so she didn't stand out and the coffee next to her, along with the business suit she wore helped project an image of the busy professional. Of course, she was far from in the same profession as those around her, but they didn't know that.

Even the dirty suggestions her partner Reynard was making wasn't enough to lift her out of the bad mood she was in. Her employers had been riding her hard ever since Sydney had escaped in La Paz. Thankfully, Reynard's damage control with the CIA had helped deflect some of the irritation, but nothing seemed to stop it completely. For some reason, the whole world seemed obsessed with Sydney Bristow and the fact grated on Lauren. She didn't see what was so special about the CIA's former golden girl. Lauren had to admit that the fact she was now on the CIA's most wanted list was very amusing.

Right now, she was supposed to be finding out where Sydney had disappeared to, but neither she nor Reynard were having any luck. Her aborted phone call to Jack Bristow was worrying, but the CIA had put a stop to that conversation quickly. Lauren was sure that Sydney would try to contact her father again, but that had become Reynard's responsibility. She just had to find out where Sydney was hiding so they could get to her before the CIA did.

Maybe it was time to call in a favour or two. Lauren smiled at the thought. Yes, that's what she would do. She'd spent the last year successfully seducing Mr. Sark and if anyone would have some insights into Sydney Bristow, it would be him. Lauren's smile widened when she thought of Sark's response to finding her alive. He would be quite pleased, she suspected. So yes, this was a good plan. And an enjoyable one it would be too.

To be continued...