Façade

hotpot

The Bubbly
Joined
Oct 29, 2003
Subtle is my middle name, hehe ;) And like I said before, if stalking inspires more updates then is it too premature for another one? :P ;)

Anyway, onto my review.

I just love the way you write. The imagery is perfect, metaphors are wonderful and there is just the right amount of cynicism to make this enough to make me smirk outloud while thinking how great it is overall.

He thought, suddenly, of her eyes when she’d come to visit him in CIA custody a few months back- old, old eyes in a too young face staring at him through a foot of glass. Too old, he’d thought then, and too sad.
That's so true and such a great observation. Sydney has seen too much for her age. Naturally Sark would notice that, but the fact that it sticks with him is just ... (y)

It was true he hadn’t been shot, but he might as well have-- it was a damned, expensive shirt, custom f***ing made.
Ah, Sark. Almost more concerned with his expensive shirt than his own well being ... but damn it, that just makes me love him more.

The name Lauren came to mind with increasing, if somewhat irrational frequency and his knuckles tightened to white on the steering wheel at just the f***ing thought of that b**** and her goddamned schemes. If true, he swore to god and country, that boy scout Vaughn was going to be shopping for a new wife to show off at CIA dinner parties-very, very soon.
Wooo hooo - lovin me some Protective! and Vengeful!Sark :D

Heh, not going to quote it but I love the Gone With the Wind references. Rhett Butler style, our Sark ... :shamefullyembarrased: We could only be so lucky ;)

Ah, just great Dita ... wonderful. I can't wait til Syd wakes up. So you get to look forward to more stalking from me! :Ph34r: Muhahahhahaha ;)
 

amy lynn

The Polish Pirate
Joined
Mar 23, 2004
Yippee I'm so excited!

I'm too sleepy to do a proper review - will edit in tomorrow...

But I looooooved it! Sark saves Sydney - which doesn't quite seem to sit well with him...he doesn't like to be the hero so much.

Nice Lauren jabs...

Oh yes - and Sark seems to actually care what happens to her...I bet that doesn't sit well with him either...

Anyway, great update and will be back tomorrow with a more coherent and long review!
 
Joined
May 4, 2004
Great job again! I love your portrayal of Sark!! Poor Syd...what's next for her and Sark? Hmm....

It was true he hadn’t been shot, but he might as well have-- it was a damned, expensive shirt, custom f***ing made.

A fourth thought, weaving past a gaggle of on-looking pedestrians clustered in the street: they don’t pay me enough.
 

ninja-kitty

Cadet
Joined
Apr 21, 2004
:thumbup: Nice one - I also love to see what happens when Sydney wakes up and loved Sark and his monologue ... what language!!! :o
 

sarkfan

Sark's Girl
Joined
Mar 22, 2004
Location
Australia
WOW..I loved his thoughts during the whole thing and how he wants her to live and cares about her, which he doesn't like..Can't wait for when Syd wakes up.Thanks for the PM.

~Rach~
 

amy lynn

The Polish Pirate
Joined
Mar 23, 2004
I decided to quote in a new reply...

The only thing he could think, as he reached over to her, trying to coax open those big, shadowed eyes once more, was: I have never seen Sydney Bristow with her eyes closed.

The second thought, followed closely on the heels of the first, had something to do with the fact that if he didn’t get her out of here, and damn fast, she was going to bleed to death all over his imported Lord and Taylor shoes.
Of course he’d be worried about his expensive shoes ;) That’s part of what makes him so darn cool – his expensive clothes…

It was true he hadn’t been shot, but he might as well have-- it was a damned, expensive shirt, custom f***ing made.
Again with the clothes! :LOL: I think it’s to take his mind off the fact that he’s saving the life of Sydney Bristow…

A fourth thought, weaving past a gaggle of on-looking pedestrians clustered in the street: they don’t pay me enough.
Yet another great Sark-like thought. He seems to think very highly of himself – and he doesn’t tolerate people treating him like an idiot, or not compensating him for what he believes is his worth. Such a great job getting into Sark’s mind. I applaud you!

The name Lauren came to mind with increasing, if somewhat irrational frequency and his knuckles tightened to white on the steering wheel at just the f***ing thought of that b**** and her goddamned schemes. If true, he swore to god and country, that boy scout Vaughn was going to be shopping for a new wife to show off at CIA dinner parties-very, very soon.
Oh that was just lovely. So beautiful. Please let it be her, so Sark can dispose of the b*tch!

he carried her Rhett Butler style to the door, though every step was agony, she was bleeding all over him, and if he had to carry her up a grand staircase a la Gone With the Wind to get medical attention, then they were both in a world of trouble.
One of my favorite stories ever. And it seems a fitting comparison of the two of them…

Well, aren’t you the f***ing prince, Julian?
I think that is my favorite line from this chapter. I could just hear him thinking that…and I can picture the look on his face as he does…so wonderful!

It seemed the girl had a bad habit of nearly dying…and someone was trying to make sure it turned from ‘nearly’ to a cold grave of a reality.
Seriously. How many times has she almost died…how many people does she have after her…

LOVE LOVE LOVE this story!

Is it too soon to start stalking?

:Ph34r: :Ph34r: :Ph34r: :Ph34r: :Ph34r: :Ph34r: :Ph34r:
 

hotpot

The Bubbly
Joined
Oct 29, 2003
Diiiiiiiiiiita - it's my requisite weekly stalking of your fic ^_^ I'm missing Facade .... sniff. :flowers: Update soon?
 

winter_snow

Cadet
Joined
Jun 23, 2004
Location
Australia.
Hi! :shamefullyembarrased: Can I possibly get a PM for this? :) I really like your fiction. :D I hope your planning on killing Lauren off (no offence to Lauren fans!) :Ph34r: And am I right in predicting future Sarkney? ;)
 

A Dark Turn

I Was Made to Love You
Joined
Dec 5, 2003
Location
London
Notes: I :love: my reviewers!! You guys are the best of the best! And Suzi...for shame! Where's NtS?? ;)

So... This chapter brings back two of my favorite, in absentia characters from the Alias canon… So, I had quite an enjoyable time writing this first part. ;) And secondly, this part features actual Sarkney. Yes, I know, lest you have forgotten this is a Sarkney fic… And they’re both conscious. Really. Amazing, isn’t it? :P


The quotes are from Neil Gaiman’s Brief Lives, Macbeth, and Sarah McLachlan’s Possession, respectively.

Chapter Seven: Betrayal

~ I felt like destroying something beautiful. ~

~ By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes. ~


Anna Espinosa loved Russia.

She loved it like some people loved their lovers or their children or their jobs; she loved the air that was always cold against her skin, the hard, frozen earth, and the wide, open cavern of sky-an ice blue that stretched for miles upon miles into an empty, wild wilderness.

She loved Russia.

But she loved killing even more.

The morning had been good, then. Someone lay dead in the apartment building across from where she was sitting, looking out the window, gun tidily tucked away in a prim, black bag at her feet. She braced one long leg against the window frame of the abandoned apartment and smiled, then, a soft and dangerous arc of curved lips.

Alexsandr Khrushchev. The smile deepened, bloomed like an orchid in the badlands. I owe you nothing. You brought this upon yourself.

But her fingers found her way to her lips, to her forehead, to her chest. She had it in her to be generous this morning; she signed him a benediction, from one foot soldier to another. Forgive me my sins, for I forgive those indebted to me. And, then, in an afterthought: May he never rest. May he burn until the stars fall from the sky.

She was smart enough to realize that someone someday would do the same for her.

Outside the window, the Koran poured out of their cars and their trucks, dressed smartly in black and red uniforms that were a throw-back to the golden-age of Communism. They were shouting in high-pitched voices, and the faint smell of burnt rubber drifted lazily up to Anna through the open window, burnt tires from Sark’s ill-timed escape.

Sark.

She knew the name and had even met him one time in France courtesy of Irina Derevko, although she doubted he’d remember. They had never exchanged words, though she’d heard him speak with that give-nothing-away accent and had watched, during the dinner meeting, every move he’d made from gripping the stem of his wine glass to running his fingers through those blonde curls in, presumably, impatience.

She recognized it, even then. The absolute defiance that, she had heard, had only grown in the years since. And, while he didn’t have the curls so much anymore, Anna would have recognized the way he moved anywhere, anytime.

It was just…too interesting the way he’d come when he had, rescuing the damsel in distress and braving all gunfire to get said damsel to relative safety. She’d let them escape, of course, but she was sure he had a motive and that it probably had very little to do with any actual concern for Miss Sydney Anne F***ing Bristow.

She was curious about that motive. But more, more to the point, she was curious about Sark.

So, she had let them live.

“I was sure you were going to kill her.”

She didn’t flinch at the sound of a voice behind her, didn’t move a muscle at the smooth, smug London-esque accent that ripped its way through her thoughts like barbed wire.

“I told you not to talk.” She was still watching the confused chaos below, face turned away from him. “Your voice…it annoys me.”

Simon Walker, so recently “resurrected” from the dead was, for all intensive purposes, her partner. He leaned against the wall opposite her, and she watched him studying her like she was an insect pinned to the wall, about to be dissected. He had this way of it: the lowering of his eyelashes, the slow-in-coming smile that was more leer than actual smile, rather than what she was used to: nervousness and terror.

She was used to frightened; she could very well handle frightened, even derisiveness if the situation called for it. It was his amusement that she detested, his superior attitude that just screamed ‘I’m-better-than-you-and-doesn’t-that-just-piss-you-off?’

“He’s not going to like it, when he finds out. Anna.” He said her name like it was some shared secret between them, something only the two of them knew about. “He told you to kill Khrushchev-”

“I know what he told me to do. Better, I should think, than you.” She stood up, suddenly, and closed the window. All the million, little sounds that had been trickling into the room from the street cut off as soon as the window snapped down.

“Are you going to ‘tattle’ on me, Simon?”

When she spoke, she made her voice a lesson in pleasant seduction—all accented words rounding out for the maximum possible ‘sex-kitten’ effect. But it was a façade—wasn’t everything, anyway just an intricate pretense?—she had no interest in him. He didn’t frighten her, even though he looked at her with eyes as cold and black as any hell ever imagined by Dante, by others.

He looked at her as if he would happily kill her, as if he wanted to shred her apart and crawl inside her skin.

He was staring like that at her now, eyes all over every curve of her body. She kept her voice short, hard, and with just enough to bite to wound. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

He tilted his head back, just a little, and folded his arms across his chest. A typical, she’d come to learn, arrogant Simon gesture. “Why?” His voice was still f***-me smooth, “You worried, sweetheart?”

“No. And never call me ‘sweetheart’ again.” She grabbed the black bag and slung it across her shoulders. “Or I’ll rip your f***ing heart out and feed it to you with my own hands. Understand *that*, Walker?”

“He’s going to find out,” Simon continued as if she hadn’t even spoken, face almost perfectly expressionless now—no more amusement, “and I doubt he’ll be all that thrilled to learn you disobeyed him. He did give you a direct order not to harm her.”

Smug, damned superiority, oozing out of his voice. “Or did that part of the briefing escape you completely?”

“Bickering,” she countered, with a lick of her lips like a wolf scenting prey, “is pointless now. It’s over and done. I’m sure our beloved Sark has spirited sweet Agent Bristow to safety.”

She raised an elegant eyebrow and lifted her chin, everything about her bold and triumphant “And if not… It was an accident. Tragic, isn’t it, how these things sometimes happen?”

He took a half a step closer, hands now in the pockets of his tailored, black coat. She couldn’t read his face anymore and found the language in his eyes too foreign to decipher.

“That’s a dangerous attitude to have, Ms. Espinosa.”

She knew, then, that if it suited him, he would kill her right then and there. And, oh, Mother Russia, how she would love to see him *just* try.

“Again: my attitude, Walker.” It was bad that they were such at odds with each other and Anna knew, with the instinct of someone who was in the profession of taking life, that the rift between her and Simon would not be healed with marriage proposals or a charming house in suburbia.

“We need to go.” Death. One of them was going to end up dead. “The Russian police aren’t known for their quick wit or brilliant problem-solving skills, but even they’ll eventually realize that the shooters had to hide somewhere.”

She started towards the door, but he stopped her, moving surprisingly fast with a hand over her arm. It was a light touch—long, graceful fingers against the wool of her sweater—but what should have been reassuring, became threatening, malicious when she added in the shadows in his eyes.

“Why did you do it, anyway? You didn’t have to. Tell me, did you do it just to piss him off?”

“No.” She put one of her hands over his and, without any warning, pulled a knife out of the holster on her hip and stabbed it through the back of his hand, in and out. She felt the knife blade stick in her own skin underneath his hand and heard him scream out in unexpected pain.

“I did it because I wanted to.” She watched him bleed on her, watched his shoulders hunch over in pain and his mouth curl up into a perfect snarl. “Perhaps you’d be wise to remember that.”

Tension, then.

The sort of tension that could get a girl killed if she wasn’t careful. She didn’t pretend not to see the fire on his face, a snap of anger that manifested itself in red on his elegant cheekbones.

“What are you going to do,” he asked, tone ugly and brutal, “when he finds out what you did to his darling little girl?”

Anna wiped the blood off on her black pants and stuck the knife neatly back in its place by her hip. She brushed the small cut on her arm and tugged part of the sweater over it, to hide it.

“If I were you, *love*, I’d worry more about my own affairs.”

A quick, knee-jerk comeback: “If, sweetheart, you were me.”

She crossed the apartment and opened the door, only taking a second to turn back to him, to take in Simon Walker, pale-faced and still holding his bloody hand.

“You let me worry about Jack Bristow and his orders, Walker. Right now, there are other things at stake other than our little pissing contest. Which, in case you’ve failed to notice, I seem to have won for the moment.”

“For the mome-”

She left him in there and shut the door on his voice. More important things, she reminded herself, with a half-smile, standing in the run-down hallway.

Immortality, invincibility. And, of course, killing.

More important things, indeed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everything hurt.

Sydney Bristow opened her eyes to pain.

And darkness.

It was a shock at first, being conscious. Her body jerked back to reality in one violent spasm, and she was aware suddenly of her fingers, of her toes, of her shoulder which ached as if she’d been dragged all through the cobbled streets of Lazarevo—drawn and quartered in submission.

Because…that’s where she was. Lazarevo, Russia. Russia, to see Alexsandr Khrushchev, to see him and talk about… Yes, talk about the Key. She remembered the Key: the key and then bullets and then something about…somewhere. A city, a place, and a number. She remembered the body of Alexandsr on the floor and her getting shot over and over; blue eyes and blood; a voice, telling her to stay alive; dying, and then, right now, the pain of waking.

And the dream, of course—the nightmare that she had fallen into between getting shot and waking. She didn’t remember much, but what she did was all dark rooms and bleeding mouths and screaming—she, Sydney, screaming. Lydia, too—smiling, laughing, and talking to Sydney with a knife in her hand and fierce eyes.

Let’s talk about the Key, shall we?

She put a hand to her shoulder, instinctively, and felt the smoothness of a bandage in the dark. A neat, little bandage properly secured with a mass of white medical tape. She moved her vest down and started to tug at the edges, trying to get it off, to see…

“What do you think you’re doing?” Incredulous, a voice, from the darkness in front of her—the whole room, she finally registered, was swathed in evening shadows, the only light a faint one, coming from the distant hallway.

“No, don’t. You’ll only open your stitches.” A pause and then a slight, very slight hint of what could have mockery. “And since I worked so hard to close you up, it’d be a shame.”

Sark, she could tell it was him with that voice, moved towards her. In the dim room, she could see the outline of him as he came closer, crouching down beside her, so that their faces were on the same level.

And just the thought of him close to her again terrified her, opening up some dark, secret wound she’d been trying so desperately to keep healed. Not to mention the fact that he was here, here with her. Alone, with the last person in the world she expected, wanted.

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice was low, hard, and she acted instinctively, scrambling back against the sofa, as if those few inches of space would somehow save her.

“Don’t…” Her nails dug in the sofa arm and her thoughts were wild, trying to imagine all the many ways to escape with life and limb intact. “D-don’t come any closer.”

It hurt her to be helpless, vulnerable, but there she was: stripped and injured, defenseless.

And he knew it.

“No.” He held both of his hands out in front of him, raised slightly. “I won’t touch you.” Wouldn’t f****ing dream of it, his voice clearly implied.

But he didn’t back away, either. Instead, he reached over and turned on the lamp on the coffee table, flooding the room with pale, thin trickles of light.

She cringed against the light and thought of her gun. Hadn’t she had a gun at some point…?

“Where…?”

“You’re safe, relatively.” He pitched his voice, low, soft, but impersonal, as if she were only one of a hundred girls he’d saved from a near-death experience in Post-Communist Russia.

“I managed to get us to a location which, for the time being, is secure. You being injured… A hospital was out of the question.”

He raised his eyes to hers, patient but devoid of anything else, as if willing her to understand. “We, both of us, would have ended up rotting in a jail cell, if not dead. I don’t know about you, but that wasn’t an option I particularly cared to explore in depth.”

“How long?”

“You’ve been out for about two days. I gave you some Demerol, for the pain.” He looked pleased with himself, as if having her at his mercy was, literally, just what the doctor had called for. “Do you need anymore?”

“No.”

Even though she really could have used some. No, she was too busy thinking of all the ways she could kill him. If she moved fast enough, maybe she could knock him out with the lamp… But, no, she couldn’t, not in her current state. Breathing hurt, any sudden movement on her part was guaranteed pain.

Her eyes edged to the bottle of vodka beside him on the ground. It wouldn’t take that much effort and if it was a surprise…

“Don’t.” The sudden, brusque finality of his words surprised her into looking over at him, his eyes narrowed and hand wrapped around a gun he had brought out from his side.

“Don’t what?” Her voice was a shade of whisper, but, somehow, still harsh.

She recognized that look on his face: the dangerous one she’d seen on a number of varying occasions in the field. The one that so beautifully conveyed, don’t f*** with me.

“Don’t make me do something I rather wouldn’t.”

“Shoot me, you mean.” She laughed, just a little and looked down, at her hands which were still stained with blood. Hers, Alexandsr’s. “Do it then. Do it.”

They said you had to lose everything before you were free to do anything. Right now, next to Sark, broken and bloody, Sydney Bristow had lost everything.

“You might as well. I won’t be the means to your endgame. Not yours, not ever.”

He didn’t say anything for what felt like ages, his body absolutely still, as if desperately trying to find some way to unlock her, to figure her out.

“Pull the trigger. You don’t have to be afraid. It can’t be wrong when I’m asking you to.”

“To kill you? You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” The way he’d said it, it was a statement rather than a question.

“There’d be a certain…neatness to it, wouldn’t there? If I were to take this gun,” he had the gun in his other hand now, and he moved it up under her chin, so that the metal of the barrel dug in hard, “and kill you and walk out that door.”

“There’d be no blame on you, Agent Bristow. We all know how I’m the enemy: evil and reviled over on your side of the moral divide.” He cocked the gun, smiled at the little, involuntary tremors that moved in her throat.

Her head was pushed back, but she didn’t look away from him. Her heart beat like a thousand war drums in her chest, in tune to her ragged breathing.

“It’d be the easy way out. And that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? The easy way.” She thought she saw sympathy in his eyes, darting around the edges like fireflies on a summer’s night.

“But let me tell you something, something that your C.I.A. wouldn’t dare. Life isn’t easy. It’s hard and dark and short—real life, it’s what you’ve never been able to accept. Reality. The reality is that you’ll never be anything than what you are now. A spy, an instrument to be used by others.”

He angled his head to one side as if considering the mess that was Sydney Bristow, eyebrows drawn in and mouth curled up in a half-smile. “Once you accept that—real life—the rest won’t hurt so much.”

He took the gun away, setting it down beside him, just out of her reach, and then added, as an afterthought, “You’ve lost two years. So did I.”

“Life lessons from a cocky, son-of-a-b**** terrorist who murders indiscriminately. You know you should write a book. ‘How to Kill Your Soul in Ten Days or Less’.”

She sounded dull, drained, even to her. “Hell, I’d buy a copy.”

“And, strangely enough, I’m not the one begging to be killed. A little odd, don’t you think? Even coming from you.”

The way he talked, the way he bit his lip, she couldn’t help but think… She couldn’t help thinking of the last time they were alone together—the disaster. She knew he was thinking of it, as well. She could tell, from the way he looked at her. As if he knew she would have given ten years of her life to take back that one moment in time.

It was between them, now.

“What are you doing here, Sark?”

He said nothing.

She laughed then, a hollow sound that echoed in the small room. “Not a vacation, I wouldn’t think. Not at all. You, you must be working for…”

Irina.

It had to be, or some deviation thereof. It would explain why he was there, why he’d saved her instead of letting her die, why he hadn’t killed her yet, and why he had, obviously, seen she’d gotten medical attention.

She twisted her mouth, turning her head away a little. “Not acting under The Covenant’s orders. It’s my mother, isn’t it? You must be more forgiving than I thought, if you’ve shackled yourself to her again.”

The look he gave her could have frozen molten lava, have killed nuns in mid-prayer. “And by that you’re implying…?”

“You were in a glass cage of the C.I.A.’s making for two years because of her. Or has she managed to charm you into forgetting that important bit of information as well?

Anger replaced the dull hurt…anger at everything. But he was right there in front of her, just asking for a world of emotional pain. It surprised her how much she wanted to make him hurt, how she wanted to dig at him in any way she could.

“She abandoned you and you just crawl right back to her the second you get out. Like…like a dog to its master. You can kick it down, but it’ll still come back.”

“Are we back to the dog references? That’s the second time, you know.” He looked young, she realized, in the dim light. Very young, wearing jeans and a grey sweater. Normal, like a college student taking time out of his busy philosophy studying schedule to stitch up some wayward soul.

She’d forgotten how young he really was.

“I must say, it’s not a particular reference that I care for, very much.”

He reached over, took a few strands of her hair curling them around his fingers. She held herself rigid as he brushed the sheen of the black wig with the pad of his thumb and then tugged, hard, bringing her face close to his.

“Sydney. Don’t make the mistake of pushing me too far. As…complacent and easygoing as I may appear, even I have my limits.” All said lazily, as if he could barely be bothered. “Don’t test them.”

She didn’t stop him, made no move to disengage him. She wondered at him, though, wondered at the psyche that could be so charming and then turn around and shove a gun to her throat.

“She used you, once,” she said, simply. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking she’s going to stop. She’s not.”

He still had his hand in her hair, was still staring down at her like he would just love for her to test those limits. She was surprised, then, at how calm she could make her voice was when she spoke. “Like punishment, do you?”

He blinked, once, as if surprised, and then laughed, low and smooth and off-guard.

“Bitter, are we, Agent Bristow?” He looked straight into her eyes as he spoke, and it unnerved her a little, the intensity. “And I should think it would depend entirely upon who’s doing the punishing.”

A sly, slick smirk. “Are you volunteering, perhaps? Again?”

He released her before she could make some bitingly witty and cutting reply, shoving her roughly against the couch. Her shoulder stretched with the movement and she could feel the slight, twining snap of stitches pulling against broken skin. The pain…perfectly agonizing. Her whole body felt loose, sick, and she noticed the faint trembling of her fingers where she’d pressed them against her shoulder.

“I’m-no, here…wait.” It was the first time she’d ever heard him at a loss for words. She could see him reach down to her, but she slapped away his hand with her free one, surprisingly hard.

“Don’t f***ing touch me. EVER.”

Her shoulder was killing her, little electric shocks were licking through her entire body. “Just get the hell away from me.”

There was pity in his eyes and for a second his whole face wavered, became someone else’s, someone infinitely more dear. Green eyes. Pitying twist of the mouth.

Something inside of her…shattered. A clean break, a swift slice at the heart.

“DID I ASK YOU TO SAVE ME? DID IT EVER OCCUR TO YOU THAT I DIDN’T WANT TO BE SAVED?”

She was screaming now, really screaming, and she felt tears on her face, rolling down her cheekbones.

“No, it never occurred to me, Sydney. It never occurred to me that you’d be the self-pitying type.” He bit the words off so coldly, as if he were absolutely disgusted with her. She could feel his horror, even if it didn’t show on his face.

“There’s vodka on the floor. Take a drink if you’re in pain.” He inched the bottle nearer to her with his foot, still talkingto her as if he’d rather just slit her throat and be done with it. Her throat. Or his.

“If you need something stronger,” he turned his back on her and walked to the door, “just scream. Eventually, I’m sure I’ll hear you.”

“And,” he turned a little, so that she could see only the sharp lines of his profile, “we leave tomorrow.”

“W-we?”

He slammed the door and, on the table, the lamp’s light flickered wildly for a moment and then went out, leaving her in darkness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


It was only later that she realized he’d never answered her question.

Who do you work for?


~ What I want back is what I was... a place, a time gone out of mind. ~

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

;)
 

Galicdreamer

These Words, From My Heart...
She loved it like some people loved their lovers or their children or their jobs; she loved the air that was always cold against her skin, the hard, frozen earth, and the wide, open cavern of sky-an ice blue that stretched for miles upon miles into an empty, wild wilderness.
I love that comparison....that's the way I love my hometown...Chicago. It's a love that you carry with you forever.

She recognized it, even then. The absolute defiance that, she had heard, had only grown in the years since. And, while he didn’t have the curls so much anymore, Anna would have recognized the way he moved anywhere, anytime.
I think I would recognize him anywhere...who wouldn't. But me personally, I would have to get a good look at the butt to make sure that he was really Sark. :LOL:

He tilted his head back, just a little, and folded his arms across his chest. A typical, she’d come to learn, arrogant Simon gesture. “Why?” His voice was still f***-me smooth, “You worried, sweetheart?”

“No. And never call me ‘sweetheart’ again.” She grabbed the black bag and slung it across her shoulders. “Or I’ll rip your f***ing heart out and feed it to you with my own hands. Understand *that*, Walker?”
I really like this part...I think because this is the part that really shows how she has turned her heart to ice...for lack of a better description. How Anna has shut herself off from the rest of the world and she enjoys it.

“You let me worry about Jack Bristow and his orders, Walker. Right now, there are other things at stake other than our little pissing contest. Which, in case you’ve failed to notice, I seem to have won for the moment.”
Jack...ummm, I'm not sure I like the sound of that....damn you Spydaddy...damn you!!!

“What do you think you’re doing?” Incredulous, a voice, from the darkness in front of her—the whole room, she finally registered, was swathed in evening shadows, the only light a faint one, coming from the distant hallway.

“No, don’t. You’ll only open your stitches.” A pause and then a slight, very slight hint of what could have mockery. “And since I worked so hard to close you up, it’d be a shame.”
Ahh, that's the Sark we all know and love!! :)

She recognized that look on his face: the dangerous one she’d seen on a number of varying occasions in the field. The one that so beautifully conveyed, don’t f*** with me.
He does make that look...and he does it so well. And, you described it so well...I can see him in my head making that look..hmm, maybe I should stop the explination there...this isn't Naughyville. :LOL:

“She abandoned you and you just crawl right back to her the second you get out. Like…like a dog to its master. You can kick it down, but it’ll still come back.”
You know when I read that line, I instantly felt that you intended it to mean the same thing for both Sark and Sid. She did the same thing to both of them and they know it. Sid is describbing how they both act when it comes to Irina.

“No, it never occurred to me, Sydney. It never occurred to me that you’d be the self-pitying type.” He bit the words off so coldly, as if he were absolutely disgusted with her. She could feel his horror, even if it didn’t show on his face.
I wonder if he really was disgusted with her. UGH...I need to know more!!

Well, another amazing job Dita!!!! You always do!! :) I can't wait for the next part. Woohoo...:) (that's me celebrating your fic!! :LOL: :jump: :wizhat: :balloons: :thumbup: :Punkrock: :clap: :groupwave: :rockon: :coolthumb: :happydance: :v:

:ROFLMAO: Sorry..I went a little crazy with the smilies...but I mean them all! :LOL:
 

hotpot

The Bubbly
Joined
Oct 29, 2003
Dita said:
And Suzi...for shame!  Where's NtS??  ;)
Excuse me! :P I am still working on it - two brief chapters are written but I think since they are the plot advancing variety, that could be why I am less than impressed with them ... :unsure: :hmm:

~ By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes. ~
So funny you used that MacBeth quote - I have it ready for use in my Name the Stakes update ;) So hmm, there's a snippet of a clue for ya about upcoming chapters ;) :Ph34r:

She loved it like some people loved their lovers or their children or their jobs; she loved the air that was always cold against her skin, the hard, frozen earth, and the wide, open cavern of sky-an ice blue that stretched for miles upon miles into an empty, wild wilderness.
Right off the bat, beautiful beautiful description. (y)

He had this way of it: the lowering of his eyelashes, the slow-in-coming smile that was more leer than actual smile
It was his amusement that she detested, his superior attitude that just screamed ‘I’m-better-than-you-and-doesn’t-that-just-piss-you-off?’
Mmmm, thank you for reminding me again why we all love Simon. He is the walking definition of sex. :shamefullyembarrased: So happy to see you brought him and Anna in - and they are partners. Oooo - lovin it already :D

“You worried, sweetheart?”
So Simon. Just like he called Syd 'babe,' he has a term for Anna. Naturally, it pisses her off too :LOL:

You let me worry about Jack Bristow and his orders, Walker.
:o :o They were from Spydad?! I thought sure they were coming from Sark ... oh man, what is Jack up to now?

He pitched his voice, low, soft, but impersonal, as if she were only one of a hundred girls he’d saved from a near-death experience in Post-Communist Russia.
Oh man, I don't know why but this line got me. Maybe because I would like to be one of those hundred girls or maybe because I just have a big thing for 'Sark to the Rescue' but ah, big cheesy grin plastered on my face now. :D

The look he gave her could have frozen molten lava, have killed nuns in mid-prayer.
*snicker* And what a look that must have been! ;) Good description (y)

Normal, like a college student taking time out of his busy philosophy studying schedule to stitch up some wayward soul.
I can only wish that boys like that looked like Sark would have roamed on my campus for me to drool from afar over. Sadly, I don't think there was any that I ever saw :(

Ooo, I wonder where the jet setting duo is off to next! :Ponder: Lovely update, been looking forward to it for a little bit ;) I shall hold off on my stalking until I get my promised update up. Thanks for the PM, as usual - another great update from Dita! Am off to proofread and pour over NtS ;)
 

winter_snow

Cadet
Joined
Jun 23, 2004
Location
Australia.
:o Wow!!!! That was great! I loved the book bit! So funny! ;) I cant wait until the chapter!!! :poke: PRETTY PLEASE UPDATE SOON!! Thanx for the PM!
 

hotpot

The Bubbly
Joined
Oct 29, 2003
Alright - I updated my fic so you know what that means....

My stalking is coming back full force! :bond:
 

sarkfan

Sark's Girl
Joined
Mar 22, 2004
Location
Australia
Very good, so glad you updated.I wonder where they're off to..
Love how you wrote Anna and her thoughts.

~Rach~
 

amy lynn

The Polish Pirate
Joined
Mar 23, 2004
Yay - an update!

Awesome job, girl!

Will be back later with quotes - have no time at the moment (this new job i've started has taken away all my free time...grrrr....)
 

amy lynn

The Polish Pirate
Joined
Mar 23, 2004
Okay - here's my review:

Yes, I know, lest you have forgotten this is a Sarkney fic… And they’re both conscious. Really. Amazing, isn’t it?
Hee hee :LOL: You always make me laugh, Dita. It’s a gift you have :)

Anna Espinosa loved Russia.

She loved it like some people loved their lovers or their children or their jobs; she loved the air that was always cold against her skin, the hard, frozen earth, and the wide, open cavern of sky-an ice blue that stretched for miles upon miles into an empty, wild wilderness.

She loved Russia.

But she loved killing even more.
You’re so good. This description was absolutely wonderful. I love how you just jump into her head. Plus, it’s Anna Espinosa. She rocks my socks. I wish there was more of her!

Alexsandr Khrushchev. The smile deepened, bloomed like an orchid in the badlands. I owe you nothing. You brought this upon yourself.
ooooh! So it was Anna…nice little twist there :)

Simon Walker, so recently “resurrected” from the dead was, for all intensive purposes, her partner. He leaned against the wall opposite her, and she watched him studying her like she was an insect pinned to the wall, about to be dissected. He had this way of it: the lowering of his eyelashes, the slow-in-coming smile that was more leer than actual smile, rather than what she was used to: nervousness and terror.
First of all – yay for a Simon-resurrection! :thud:

Second – fantastic description. That’s our Simon alright. He’s just so damn hot.

When she spoke, she made her voice a lesson in pleasant seduction—all accented words rounding out for the maximum possible ‘sex-kitten’ effect. But it was a façade—wasn’t everything, anyway just an intricate pretense?—she had no interest in him. He didn’t frighten her, even though he looked at her with eyes as cold and black as any hell ever imagined by Dante, by others.
:thud:

Absolutely amazing description. I mean – you really know these characters. So good.

It hurt her to be helpless, vulnerable, but there she was: stripped and injured, defenseless.

And he knew it.
Yup – perfect Sarkney description there.

He pitched his voice, low, soft, but impersonal, as if she were only one of a hundred girls he’d saved from a near-death experience in Post-Communist Russia.
Hee hee. Nice.

The whole scene with them pulled at my gut, made me laugh, made me want to cry at times. It was so wonderful.

Thanks so much for updating! ;) Can’t wait to read what happens next…
 
Joined
May 4, 2004
wonderful job! what's next for sark and syd? and evil spydaddy? :jack1:

She recognized that look on his face: the dangerous one she’d seen on a number of varying occasions in the field. The one that so beautifully conveyed, don’t f*** with me.
why i love sark, such a cute bad a$$ :love:

“But let me tell you something, something that your C.I.A. wouldn’t dare. Life isn’t easy. It’s hard and dark and short—real life, it’s what you’ve never been able to accept. Reality. The reality is that you’ll never be anything than what you are now. A spy, an instrument to be used by others.”
w-o-w. :thumbup: this is great!

“Life lessons from a cocky, son-of-a-b**** terrorist who murders indiscriminately. You know you should write a book. ‘How to Kill Your Soul in Ten Days or Less’.”

She sounded dull, drained, even to her. “Hell, I’d buy a copy.”

“And, strangely enough, I’m not the one begging to be killed. A little odd, don’t you think? Even coming from you.”
very interesting... ^_^

Something inside of her…shattered. A clean break, a swift slice at the heart.
turning point...is is good for sydney? will it make room for more s/s? :woot:

<span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'>Lissa
p.s. thanks for the PM!</span>
 

A Dark Turn

I Was Made to Love You
Joined
Dec 5, 2003
Location
London
Hey everyone! I decided to do some very, very overdue thanks. Please, forgive me. Most of the time, I really know not what I do.

But anyway, A huge thanks to all you guys. You just make my day. :shamefullyembarrased:

Galicdreamer: I love those smilies! My favorite is the :rockon: Hee! Gets me all giddy just thinking about it! But, yes... Thank you so much for the review. It made me :shamefullyembarrased:

As for Sark... I think it's safe to say that Sark is pretty disgusted in general. Betrayed by Irina, forced to spend two years in CIA captivity without even a breakout attempt by the woman he once said he considered "like a mother"... That's got to sting. And here he is trapped with the daughter of a woman he's got to hate... Let's have a hug for Sark. Awww.

hotpot: Ohh... Suzi. :grouphug: I don't think I thank you enough for all the reviewing you do. Really, your reviews always make me smile. :)

It's funny that we both used the same quote. :LOL: But...uh...where could the next chapter of NtS be???? :Ph34r: Where oh where...? (n)

Oh, yes. I'm glad you liked the addition of Simon. Funny thing, in the german version, it was actually Anna and Allison, instead of Anna and Simon. But...who can resist Simon, really? Walking sex... I like that. :drool: Because, yes he is. Heh, and the sweetheart thing... I just *had* to. Simon always seemed like a guy that would have a bunch of really cheesy, unflattering pet names for women. Personally, I can't stand 'sweetheart', but I think it's something Simon would say. ;)

Thanks again! :shamefullyembarrased:

sarkfan: Thanks again! Oh, man, I forgot to sned you that link, but I'm digging it up right now!! Thanks, as always, for the reviews!! :)

amy lynn: Thanks. Your reviews always make me :shamefullyembarrased: And heh. I think I'm more annoying than funny, but it's nice of you to say so. ;)

Oh, gotta love that Anna. Besides Sark, she's my favorite character on Alias (hmmm...all my favorite characters are villains... :unsure: ). I just love how...evil she is. I really missed her on the show and what better way to get my Anna fix than put her in the fic?

Again, thanks for your reviews. I just :love: them. :)

winter_snow: Thanks! Glad you're enjoying. Yes, the book part. I just *had* to... :LOL:

AHSbandchick_lovinjulian: Much thanks for your reviews! Evil!Spydaddy... Maybe not so much evil as grey. Neutral. Has his own agenda. ;) Yes, that's a definite turning point for Sark and Sydney... Getting over Yawn and moving on (<--- she rhymes). Much more S/S in the future... Thanks again!

Alias_Fan0202: Thanks so much! And yes, you can have that PM!

Thanks again. Update soon, I promise...
 

hotpot

The Bubbly
Joined
Oct 29, 2003
Was about to get medieval on my PM popper upper thingie when I saw you had the last post in this thread ... alas, the PM thingie can live another day :P

I can't wait for an update in this and as far as Name the Stakes goes - I am working on something for the Sarkney challenge so it's been backburnered. Which is still good, right? ;)
 
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