Title: Illusion of Freedom
Author: Suzi aka hotpot
Rating: Um, I’m going to cover my ass and say NC-17. Yay, dusted off the smut conjuring section of my brain.
Disclaimer: All in good fun, I claim nothing to be mine.
Summary: Sydney has left everything after finding out about Project SAB47. While she is discovering who she truly may be, Sark appears – is it merely chance or is something bigger in the works?
Fight Club Quotes Used:
+ Narrator: And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
+ Tyler Durden: It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything.
+ Narrator: She is a predator, posing as a housepet.
+ Tyler Durden: I'll bring us through this. As always. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me.
+ Richard Chesler: Is that your blood? Narrator: Some of it, yeah.
A/N: For the Sarkney Smut Challenge.
Fast as you can
Baby wait watch me, I'll be out
Fast as I can
Maybe late but at least about
Fast as you can
Leave me,
Let this thing run its route
~Fast As You Can + Fiona Apple
London – Spring
The scent of impending rain lingered in the unseasonably warm afternoon air, but Sydney still chose a table for one on the outdoor patio anyway. She was almost used to dining alone and people watching becoming one of her new favorite pastimes. The waiter came to the table, pouring her a glass of ice water before taking her order and then leaving her to take in her surroundings.
It was easy for her to get wrapped up in others lives merely by observing them. In her life, nothing resembling what a regular person would call ‘normal’ had ever been experienced. Of course, she thought it had, but upon the discovery that her whole life had been one giant project orchestrated by her father, well, that put a lot in perspective.
It had been exactly three months since she discovered Project SAB47 in a bank vault in Wittenberg and three months minus one day since she had walked out of the CIA and the only life she had ever known. There was yet to be a day gone by where she regretted her choice.
London was the fourth city she visited and only now did she feel like she was seeing it for the first time. She wanted answers about her true self, raised by questions she could only think of from learning her whole life had been a lie. Of course, Jack had tried to explain everything, reason with her, but it was nothing more than making excuses in her mind. No excuse could placate her, no forgiveness or compassion for the man she was finally beginning to accept, trust and love, no, that man did not even understand the definition of trust.
Distracted by her abstract thoughts, Sydney found her gaze traveling towards the entrance of the patio. She watched as the maitre d escorted a stunning young woman to a table in the opposite corner of Sydney. The woman pushed her long blonde locks from her face and caught Sydney’s gaze. Embarrassed, Sydney turned away, but not before feeling slightly better about not being the only woman eating by herself. She resumed her people watching, becoming absorbed until the sound of a familiar voice carried itself towards her ears. No, it can’t be, she thought. She looked over to the table in the corner and over the blonde’s shoulder sat another fair-haired soul.
Sark.
Quickly, she turned from him, cursing the fact that no matter where she went, her past, both good and unbelievably bad, was unavoidable. It was not fast enough though, as she stole one more quick glance back at him, she saw his eyes on her, a curious and bemused look already displayed clearly on his face.
Oh, f***. He better not even have the balls to do it, she cursed.
Naturally, she should have known better. Sark excused himself from his table, stood up and confidently strode over towards Sydney’s table.
“Now, this is an unexpected pleasantry, Sydney.”
She glanced up at him, seeing he crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back as he looked down at her, enjoying the fact he once again invaded her space causing her supreme annoyance.
“Leave me alone, Sark,” she spat, trying her best to keep her voice low.
“Pity you are eating by your lonesome,” he paused, coyly biting his lower lip before continuing, “I don’t suppose I could tempt you to join my table?”
She willed her face not to redden from her anger. It had only been three months since she had last seen him. He had been in CIA custody, very bruised and broken down, now there was no sign of Vaughn’s handiwork except for a small scar that graced Sark’s left cheekbone. One more to join the many his body most likely already housed, she thought.
The fact alone that he was out in brood daylight enjoying fresh air and freedom started to raise a few questions in her mind, but she stopped herself from exploring them any further. She was no longer an agent and she was doing her best to not think like one either.
“Go back to your table, Sark, before I call attention to the fact that you are a wanted terrorist to all of our fellow diners.”
“Very well. Lovely seeing you again.” He chuckled appreciatively before turning and walking back towards his seat. Despite her will to do so, she couldn’t help but watch him walk away.
He was right, of all the places in the world she could have gone, she went exactly where Sark was meeting with someone. Was that fate’s cruel way of showing her she could never truly be free of her old self?
Just the sight of him, a connection to her old life, made her relive the moment she found the contents of the vault. The sense of betrayal she felt when she discovered every aspect of her life had been predetermined by her father, from Project Christmas and SD-6 to her being placed as a Covenant operative and the most damning, Vaughn being a part of it from the very beginning, was indescribable.
When she refused to hear Jack’s explanations, listen to his excuses, and chose to leave, he was not happy. He wanted her to stay, to be strong and listen to the voice of reason that she refused to hear. It was infuriating to Sydney, how he could ask her to put that aside, believe his explanations, when all this time he had been deceiving her. She was an outsider in her own life, fate being guided by the hand of her father and not her own free will.
Now, she was on the run, trying to escape from her father and find her own answers as well finally experience what it would be like to be someone else. f*** the protocol and routine, now she was going to live her life the way she always wanted.
Sydney stopped spacing out to see she was still staring in Sark’s direction. He looked up, giving her a little wave and smile. Bastard, she thought as she looked away. She made herself focus on people watching until her meal arrived. Moments later, Sark and his female companion finished their drinks and got up to leave, Sydney failed to notice even when the girl with Sark cast a curious glance her way.
Later that evening –
After the unexpected and completely dreadful Sark encounter during lunch, Sydney decided it would be best to order room service for dinner. She devoured the artichoke in garlic butter and downed the merlot before deciding it would do her frazzled nerves wonders to take a hot bath.
Steamy, hot baths were becoming almost like a religion for Sydney. She would immerse herself into the water, slowly letting her body accept and adjust to the heat before finally leaning back and allowing the water to envelope her. Usually, this was the time she let her mind wander both to the past and into her hopes for the future. As much as she tried not to think of her father’s deception, the way it cut her through the core, it usually was both her first thought when she awoke in the morning and the last thought before she fell asleep.
Taking a few bobby pins out of her makeup bag, she began pulling her hair up to the top of her head after securing the majority of it in an elastic band. Random tendrils fell across her face and she brushed them to the side before reaching down to secure the belt on her lush hotel robe. She crossed the room, heading towards the bathroom and the inviting sound of water running in the bath, when there was a sharp rap at the door.
Now at the door, Sydney peered through the peephole. Son of a b****, she swore. It was Sark. That bastard has the audacity to show up at my hotel now, she cursed as she pulled the chain lock across and threw open the door, preparing to give him a piece of her mind.
“What in the hell do you think you are doing here?” she demanded.
He raked his eyes over her, taking in the sight of her standing nearly naked in her robe and her face now flush from anger.
“I must say, you looked to be dire need of company this afternoon, so I thought I might stop by” His tone was casual as if only he knew his motives, they were his own and something Sydney had no clue about.
A rage like no other began to boil inside of her, something that was beginning to be reserved only for Sark. “I don’t need company from the likes of you, Sark. Leave.” She went to slam the door on him, but he stuck his arm out stopping her.
She gaped, leaving him a moment to move past her into the room. He looked around, taking in the appearance. “Not too bad.”
The door still open, she grit her teeth. “Do not make me kick your ass.”
He scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t always enjoyed our spars, Sydney..”
She started to reply, but suddenly felt as if her legs were about to give way underneath her. Bracing herself on the doorknob, she steeled her gaze back at him. “Get the f*** out. Now.”
Sark was staring at her. He had noticed her falter and didn’t say anything for a moment, nor did he make any attempt to move.
Beads of sweat began to gather on Sydney’s forehead and she felt herself moving towards the small table by the doorway, the door beginning to close behind her as she slumped forward, catching herself on the table.
“Are you feeling ill?”
“Sark, please…” she began, the color in her face all but drained completely.
“Has anyone been here before me, Sydney?”
She looked up at him, nodding towards the small cart by the mini-table. “Just room service.”
He moved over to the cart, first lifting the lid off one of the dishes and holding the empty glass of wine up to the light coming from the small lamp.
“Sydney, you idiot,” he muttered as his eyes saw the faintest traces of a residue lining the glass.
Drugged by room service. This was Sydney Bristow, an agent he admired for her tenacity and smarts being collected as if she were merely a common runaway. He didn’t know all the reasons as to why Jack needed Sydney back, but whatever plans he had for her – they were big.
Jack assured him he would be the only one sent after her, if he brought her back, willingly or not, in a short amount of time, immunity would be his for the taking. A special place reserved in the Covenant (the legitimate one) would be all his. Jack had gone back on his word; it appeared someone else was coming to apprehend Sydney.
She left out a soft gasp before losing her grip on the small table and falling with a loud thud to the floor. He moved over quickly to her, she was still conscious although he had no idea for how much longer, her breaths were erratic and her forehead was literally sopping with sweat.
As he moved towards the phone on the nightstand, there was a soft knock at the door. His hand instinctively went to the Glock concealed beneath his jacket while he heard a voice on the other side of the door lightly announce ‘room service.’ The door handle began to slightly turn as the faint sound of the keycard being slid through could just be heard over the noise of the water still running in the bathroom. Sark’s eyes fell to Sydney, now unconscious just inside the doorway.
The door slowly opened, a man quietly called Sydney’s name before opening the door all the way. The man wore a hotel uniform, but the semi-automatic weapon he held out in his hand was definitely not hotel issue. As he came into the room, his eyes immediately went to Sydney but quickly realized they were not alone in the room.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, raising his gun towards Sark. Unexpectedly, another person walked in the door, this time a woman reaching into her staff uniform to fish out her weapon.
“I could ask the same of you two.”
“We were specifically assigned to this task under Section 12W, Jack Bristow’s orders,” replied the woman, now standing next to her partner.
“Therein lies the problem, the same orders were given to me as well.”
The two stared confused at him, momentarily wavering in control of their weapons to which Sark used to his absolute advantage. He dove his hands underneath his coat, a Glock in each hand, and fired at the pair.
The first shot directed towards the man hit its mark, he was dead before he even hit the floor, a single gunshot to his skull but his partner fell to the floor, clutching her shoulder with one hand and desperately trying to secure her firearm with the other. Sark moved towards her, watching her carefully as she winced in pain and cast one quick glance at Sydney. He needed to get her out of there, the sooner, the better.
He stood above the woman; gun aimed directly down at her and she stared back up at him, a menacing look in her eyes.
“How many more will he send?”
She spat at him. “Go to hell.” He enjoyed her refusal to cooperate; it allowed him to exercise his favorite part of information retrieval – the infliction of pain. Slowly, he lifted the heel of his dark black boot and placed it right above where her shoulder was bleeding.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly, how many more are coming for her?”
She cried out in pain, a twinge of pleasure and shiver of satisfaction came over him but she still refused to answer his question.
“f*** you.”
“Excellent.” He fired once more, this time finishing what he started.
Quickly, he concealed his weapons, throwing them back in the holsters underneath his coat and grabbed the man by the ankles followed by the woman and dragged them over to the middle of the room. He took a second to search their pockets but they yielded nothing of importance.
Sark moved over to Sydney and lifted her up into his arms. He walked out into the hallway, which was thankfully deserted and exited through the back stairway. Anger at Jack coursed through him as he thought of his betrayal. I should not be surprised, he thought. Look what the man did to his only daughter. Sark had been following Sydney for months, waiting for the perfect time to drop into her life without raising her suspicion, now Jack had grown impatient and sent the most incompetent agents Sark had ever encountered. Well, except for Michael Vaughn, he mused.
Despite having Sydney so readily at his dispose, he could take her to Jack now if he wished, it was not how he wanted it done. He had his plan worked out from the very beginning and this was most certainly not a part of it. However, in the meantime, he had to get Sydney medical attention. He knew he couldn’t take her to a hospital, so there was only one other option, the next best thing, his sister Alessandra.
One Day Later –
Sydney’s eyes flickered open, the feel of cool terrycloth against her forehead making her seem more alert as her eyes focused on a familiar face.
“You.”
Sitting by the side of the bed was the blonde from the restaurant, now more comfortably dressed in a gray cotton tee and jeans, she smiled at Sydney and moved to hand her a cup of tea.
Sydney accepted, taking a small sip and scowled from the pungent anise taste spreading across her tongue. “This is terrible.”
“The mint in it will help the nausea,” she replied knowingly.
Sydney had no idea where she was or how she came to be there. She glanced curiously around the sparsely decorated room; there was no other furniture but the bed she was in, the chair that the other woman was in and the small nightstand next to her bed. The window was slightly open, fresh air blowing the curtains aside; she could smell the scent of fresh rain permeating the air. The last thing she remembered was Sark, being in her room and asking her if anyone had been to see her besides him.
“Where’s Sark?”
She looked at Sydney, confused. “I’m sorry, who?”
“The man I saw you with at the café this afternoon, where is he?”
“Oh, Julian,” she smiled, understanding. “I sent him out for a few things for you. He should be back shortly.”
Sydney stared at her, trying to figure out if she were bluffing. How could she not know Sark and Julian were the same person? Then again, Sydney still hadn’t a clue who she was talking to and where exactly they were.
“Where am I?”
A smile spread across her face; embarrassed she hadn’t introduced herself sooner. “Oh, right. You’re in my flat. I’m Alessandra, Julian’s older sister. You’re Sydney, right?”
Sydney looked at her, for the first time, really looked at her. She expected to be met with the same piercing blue eyes that her brother possessed, but was relieved to see they were an inviting shade of green. Now that Sydney actually took Alessandra’s appearance in, she should have guessed they were siblings. Alessandra had the same lithe stature, flaxen hair, cut cheekbones and impertinent accent. So far, they only differed in eye color and personality.
“That’s right,”
Sydney offered a small smile and dared to take another sip of the horrid tea. She had to admit, the nausea was subsiding despite the major ick factor of the tea.
“Jules was telling me you two worked together when we saw you at the café.”
Sydney nearly choked on her tea. First, had she heard that right? Jules? She made a mental note, filing it back under clever quips reserved for Sark, to be sure and call him that the next time she saw him.
Then, she scoffed at the thought of them working together.
Right.
But that raised a small concern; she didn’t know exactly what Sark told his sister that he did for an honest living.
If Alessandra didn’t know Sark, she did not know how exactly Sark and Sydney worked together, so she did the only thing she could think of - Sydney changed the subject.
“Did he tell you what happened, why he brought me here?” Sydney doubted she knew the actual truth but maybe she knew some variation of it.
Alessandra avoided her eyes and looked around nervously as if she had done something she shouldn’t have.
“Well,” she began hesitantly, “he brought you here and wanted me to ring the pharmacist with a special order. He said someone might have passed something to you in your drink. I wanted him to take you to the hospital…” she trailed off, unsure of whether she should say more.
Sydney looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue as if stopping were not an option.
Alessandra sighed. “He wouldn’t let me. I am a doctor, Sydney but I really thought it’d be best for you to go in but he insisted. Then, I realized you were in a bathrobe. I didn’t like it so I asked him how in bloody hell had he found you like that but he just gave me this cold stare, he’s never looked at me that way before, and told me ‘Don’t ask questions, Alessandra.’”
Sydney stared straight ahead, trying consciously to keep her mouth shut, unsure of how to respond.
“He didn’t attack you, did he?” Alessandra asked in a low whisper, as if she asked it quietly enough and no answer came, she could live on in denial about her mysterious brother, Jules.
“Oh, God, no.” Sydney replied quickly. Annoyed the hell out me, yes, but he wouldn’t live to tell about it if he ever tried something like what you are suggesting, she thought.
Alessandra started to rise from her chair, preparing to leave Sydney when she suddenly said, “You know, I wouldn’t believe that he had, but after what he said yesterday when he saw you and the condition you both seemed to be in, I couldn’t be too sure.”
“Wait, what he said about me today? When? At the café?” God damn him, she swore. She had no idea what kind of things Sark had been telling his sister about himself, let alone what he might have mentioned about Sydney.
“Well, after he came back from your table, I told him I felt bad for you, eating all by yourself,” she smiled almost apologetically at Sydney.
“What did he say to that?”
“He looked over at you and said, ‘Don’t feel bad for Sydney. ‘She’s a predator posing as a housepet.’”
Sydney chuckled softly and a look of guilt came over Alessandra.
“I don’t think he meant it, Sydney. Really, from what I’ve seen, I think he fancies you a bit.”
That was not what Sydney wanted to hear. She could handle being called a predator, hell, it could even be true but hearing he liked her was just almost too much.
How Sark could even entertain the idea of liking her? As if he had a chance. He was on the complete opposite side of the moral compass as her, she didn’t go around thinking about what it would be like to nip at that crooked lip of his or how his trigger finger might curve perfectly to fit her – f***. STOP.
She shook her head slightly, trying to get the images out of her mind. Damn it, she never thought about it before, she shouldn’t be thinking about it now either.
Looking up, she saw Alessandra was now standing over by the door, her hand on the handle. “You need to get some rest. I’ll let Julian know you are feeling better.” She smiled once more before pulling the door shut behind her.
Sark stayed on her mind and she wondered how it must be for him to keep his sister completely in the dark on his true identity. Granted, she didn’t see him openly telling Alessandra he was a conceited assassin for hire, but he could have made something up about being MI-5 or something. He would rather look like a date rapist than be himself with his own sister. Then again, except for tonight and until Sydney cleared it up, Alessandra probably never had a reason not to believe her brother just as Francie and Will never did when she was a double agent.
She felt her eyes grow heavy, relaxing from the warm tea now comfortably lax in her stomach. As she felt herself drifting off, she thought of Sark, hoping he would be back when she woke up. She wanted to know why he came to her hotel and what happened to her, he had a lot of explaining to do.
Next Day – Late Morning
Sounds of traffic and people outside drew in through the window, waking Sydney from her heavy sleep. She had slept so deeply, more comfortably than she had in months, that she nearly forgot where she was until she opened her eyes. The same sparsely furnished room greeted her, only now, there was a small stack of clothes in the chair Alessandra had been in the night before.
She moved slowly over to the chair, her muscles and bones still seeming to ache from whatever happened to her, and reached for the pale pink t-shirt and gray sweatpants emblazoned with ‘Oxford Crew’ down the right side. Obviously, the clothes were from Alessandra and they fit Sydney quite well. It had been awhile since she had worn sweatpants and from the look of it, Alessandra had cherished them. Sydney absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair as she moved over to the bedroom door. She paused at the sound of the television coming though followed by a very distinct voice cursing quietly.
“You lucky old codger…” she heard him mutter.
Sydney pulled open the door quickly to see Sark, almost as comfortably dressed as she, laying on the sofa in the tiny living room, swearing at what appeared to be professional bowling on the television. She was stunned. Of all the assorted images she had of Sark in his free time conjured in her mind - tormenting kittens for fun, setting bottle rockets off at the elderly, or even stealing from widows and orphans, never in her mind did she imagine him sprawled out on the sofa, cursing at middle aged bowlers who managed to pull off seven-ten splits.
He glanced up, seeing her glancing back and forth between him and the television, in the doorway of her bedroom, and hastily reached for the remote, shutting the television off.
“Who was winning?” she asked.
He noted the teasing tone in her voice and ignored the question.
“So, you are alive. Word of advice, next time, don’t order the artichokes.”
The tone of his voice, so cocky and clipped, did not seem to match his laidback style of blue and white striped boxer shorts and plain white cotton t-shirt. She ignored his smug tone and her own casual appearance and asserted herself right back at him. No more chitchat, it was time to get down to business.
“What the f*** happened to me?”
An amused twinkle reflected in the baby blue eyes fixed on her intently before his lips curled up in his trademark pose.
“For a woman on the run, you ought to learn to take better care of yourself, Sydney.”
“I imagine you know a lot about being on the run, don’t you Sark? Or should I call you Jules?”
Her mark hit home. A trace of anger flashed in his eyes before he glanced apprehensively back towards another doorway over his left shoulder, presumably Alessandra’s room, then rose from the sofa, moving over towards Sydney.
“You will not call me that while you are here.”
A confused look spread across her face. “Which is that? Jules or Sark?”
He was standing right in front of her, eyes locked, penetrating her, but she refused to back down from him. The familiar roles they played with one another, always challenging, always testing until one of them invariably broke or escaped. Suddenly, he reached up, seizing her roughly by her right arm and before she could react, pushed her back into her room through the open bedroom door.
She fell back onto the floor, unable to catch herself from falling, and landed with a sharp thud. The pain from the impact sending dull waves of pain throughout her weakened frame and a small cry escaped her lips.
Sark reached a hand out to help her as she tried to get up. At first, she refused to reach for it and the ache settling in her bones made her decide she would rather sit on the floor than take his hand. When Sark would not speak to her while she sat on the floor, she relented wondering what in the hell happened to her to have rendered her this incapable.
“The wineglass, from the service cart, was tainted with dimenhydrinate. You were nearly poisoned, Sydney.”
She sat numbly on the bed. In her mind, she knew her father wouldn’t let her get away that easily, she thought someone might have been keeping an eye on her all this time, but in her newfound self of freedom, she had disregarded the prescience of mind to be cautious.
“But, how did I get here? Why did you bring me here?”
“Shortly after you collapsed, there was a knock at the door and two people, a man and a woman, entered your room. They planned to escort you from the hotel. I handled them.”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant by that, but a nagging voice in her head made her wonder why he brought her to his sister’s, into a world where Sark did not exist and Sydney knew nothing of.
“I brought you here because I had no where else to take you. Alessandra is an excellent doctor, one who I knew would be discrete, that is, until you became conscious and began asking questions.”
He gave her a malevolent look, one that conveyed his true intention of bringing her to such a personal space. She wasn’t supposed to awake when she did, Alessandra and her were never supposed to converse. It was clear to her now; Sark with the little bit of normalcy he possessed would do anything to shelter his sister from his true life except let Sydney die.
“How much do you know about me leaving the CIA?” she asked softly, daring to meet his eyes.
He paused, giving her answer thought and she could tell he was thinking of how exactly to word his answer.
“Enough to know that you should be more circumspect.”
She let her head drop, taking in that Sark knew why she was on the run and that she was being followed. It was near too much to admit to herself, let alone face the humiliation at the knowledge he knew as well. Sark was right, she had to be more careful and London was too obvious, she needed to leave as soon as possible.
“Tell Alessandra I said thanks for everything she did for me.”
As she moved towards the door, brushing against his side, a small smile came to Sark’s face. “I’ll be sure to.” It’s funny how Alessandra receives the credit and thanks when it was actually me who brought her here, he thought smugly.
He watched her stride over to the doorway, slide her feet into a pair of Alessandra’s flip-flops, open the door and cast one look back at him before slamming it shut behind her.
Damn Jack Bristow, he cursed. He had been so close, he arranged everything perfectly and it had been ruined. Now, he was going to have to follow Sydney again, infiltrate her world once more, and then take her back to the life she left behind. Sark ran a hand over his shorn locks musing over how much he enjoyed this assignment. Sydney’s little illusion of freedom would persist for a little while longer, but not much more.
I’ll be seeing you Sydney, he thought. Real soon.
Normal, Illinois – Five Months Later
Of all the Godforsaken places Sydney could have gone to, she had to go to a place where even the name was trivial. Normal, Sark cursed. The summer heat swelled in the city while the humidity from the hot August day nearly suffocated him as he sat at a small park bench, just off Constitution Trail, the bike path that ran a course through the city, waiting for Sydney to come by on her daily jog. She had given up jet setting, instead choosing to remain in one town, and naturally, with all her desires to just be ‘normal’ (Sark nearly shuddered at the connection), she immediately fit in.
It was Sark who stuck out like a sore thumb, with his cheeky accent and affinity for designer suits in such a casual atmosphere, he drew many stares the first week he was there. He picked up the alias of Robert Bachman, an overseas insurance executive working with State Farm. He abhorred this life, this assignment, which would make capturing Sydney that much more fulfilling. He wanted to go back to LA and eat a decent meal. Food in the predominately college town, where Biaggi’s was as elegant as you could get, was pure hell.
He could see her coming less than a mile away, brown ponytail swishing in rhythm with her steady pace, tight running pants and preppy sports bra, she always ran alone, never offering a smile to anyone else on the trail. It was the only way she still stood out. Gone was happy Sydney with a smile for everyone, no, now she was apprehensive. Waiting for the axe to fall, Sark was pleased to see his warning had a profound effect on her, but he would wager she still had no idea he was watching her.
Sydney had tried to make her life fit the name of the town; she had a teaching job at the university, a plain alias, reliable car, meager apartment, and even a few friends. He knew every detail of her life now. It wouldn’t be long before he would make his move, everything had to be exact, and Sydney would be accompanying him back to Los Angeles. It had taken some convincing and explaining to Jack on why he had let Sydney go back in London, but in the end, her father understood that an illusion of freedom, for a short period of time might do her good and he had acquiesced. Now, finally having found her location and the short details of her life, Jack was going to be very happy with Sark.
As she came closer, Sark rose from the bench and walked back towards the small parking lot. He slowed his gait, approximating the amount of time it would take Sydney to pass, before turning back to see her brown hair waving back and forth in the distance. Reaching into his pants pocket, he smiled as he pulled out his small cell phone, flipping it open and pressing a number often dialed.
A clipped voice answered. Forgoing the pleasantries, he asked, “You have her?”
“It’s all set for tonight. By this time tomorrow, you shall have your daughter back.”
“I’m keeping you to your word this time. Fail me now and you will not have time to regret it.”
A smirk graced his lips, this would not be the first time he had heard a threat from Jack nor would it be the last, and he said his goodbye before snapping his phone shut.
Tonight will not come soon enough, Sark thought. He had a surprise for Sydney and he could not wait to give it to her.
Late Evening, Same Day
It had been another long day, tired from the heat as well as teaching summer courses for extra money, Sydney stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She cursed the temperature in her apartment, maintenance still had not been by to fix the air conditioning, and it felt like she was living in a small oven. One of her fellow English professors, Anita, had offered to let Sydney stay at her house, but she had refused. She liked being alone, only now, as the sweat already began to bead at her brow, she wished she had accepted.
It had been hard, trying to find a place to hide after the close call in London. She finally decided it would be better to settle someplace low-key for awhile, not permanently, but until she felt that gut instinct that it was once again time to move. At first, Normal seemed like the kind of place she would be able to stay in forever, having fallen off the map and under the radar of anyone her father might have sent after her, but lately, she could not deny the feeling like someone was once again watching her. There was nothing to confirm it yet, but she kept preparing herself for moving on from this place as well.
She pulled the towel tighter, moving from the bathroom, across her apartment, and over to the door. She checked the locks and looked hesitantly towards the windows. There was a cool evening breeze that would no doubt assist in lowering the temperature of her apartment considerably, but she was concerned at the fact she lived on the ground floor.
“f*** it,” she sighed, marching over to the window in the dining room and pulling it open.
At once, fresh air came in through the screen, falling across her damp skin, embracing and cooling her immediately. That effect alone was enough to make her move over to the other windows in the apartment and wrench them open.
As she walked back towards her bedroom, she reached down, picking up the remote control to the stereo. She turned it on and was greeted to the sound of Usher’s Yeah resonating heavily throughout her apartment. Never before would she have thought she would enjoy living alone this much. Music as loud as she wanted, clothes all over the floor, dishes piled in the sink, there was no roommate or live-in lover to harp at her to clean. Newfound independence was really beginning to grow on her.
Back in her bedroom, she stood in front of her closet, trying to determine what would be most comfortable to sleep in. The towel fell to the floor as she decided on a sheer white cotton tank top and its matching white underwear. She smiled to herself as she thought - the other benefit of living alone, running around in your underwear with no one to stop you.
The song changed, switching to Push It as she carried her wet towel back to the bathroom. It only took her a moment to realize, the first song had been on the radio and now playing was the old Garbage CD that Francie gave her for her birthday. An edgy feeling came over her as she eased down the hallway towards the living room and brought the towel up in a striking position.
I was angry when I met you
I think I'm angry still
She turned the corner quickly, but the man in front of her was not caught off guard. Standard black pants, black cotton t-shirt underneath a supple leather jacket standing before her in all her white underwear glory. The look on his face was, for a moment, priceless. While she stood slightly stunned by his presence, he looked overwhelmed as his eyes traveled the length of her nearly naked body.
“This evening just got better,” he muttered huskily.
Sydney did not waver, towel still in defensive grasp, at his comment or leers. “I knew it was you. Following me all this time, I mean.”
He nodded. “Then, you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” she started as he stepped towards her, the black silhouette cutting a dark figure in her otherwise bright apartment. “I’m going to have to kick your ass after all.”
She swung the towel, catching him across the face as he lunged for her, and made a quick move towards the small end table that housed her nearest firearm. It was not fast enough, Sark lashed out, grabbing her a fistful of hair and using it to pull her back to him. Moving her fist up, she brought it across the same side snapped by the towel, and he pushed her to the floor before bringing a hand to his face. On the floor, she rolled over to look at him, seeing he wasn’t advancing her, and finally understood what Sark was doing there. In some sick way, she had thought before he was watching out for her, and now she seemed to remember who Sark truly was, a man with no loyalties to anyone unless it inevitably served him in some way.
“I’m not going back with you, Sark.”
“That is no surprise to me, Sydney. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me.”
He stepped forward, his figure now looming before her, and she looked over to the end table, seeing the lead crystal candy dish she bought at a yard sale a few weeks ago. Before he knew it, she was reaching for it, grasping it in her hands, and throwing at him aiming for his face. She missed her mark only slightly. The candy dish ricocheted off the right side of his skull, he had turned at the last second, but it still rendered him unconscious as he slumped to the floor with a soft thud.
Early A.M. – The Next Day
The pounding from the bass coming through the speakers paled in comparison to the dull throbbing echoing in the back of his skull and the hard backed chair he was seated in left comfort to be desired. He felt himself lick his lips, his warm saliva melding over the dry skin, and his eyes flickered open. Unable to focus on anything, he could only smell the sharp hint of tobacco lingering in the air and his first conscious thought hit him.
Jack was going to be f***ing livid.
As if at the thought alone, Sark’s surroundings came into clear view. His holster and leather coat laying on the armchair, out of reach, and Sydney sitting cross-legged, still in her underwear and smoking a cigarette, on the couch across from him, was studying him as he looked up under the hood of his long eyelashes. He watched her take one last drag before leaning over to smash it out in a large candy dish.
It was then he noticed the blood lining the dish and connected it to the throbbing in his head, recalling the sight of a big blur being hurled in his direction, but the one thing he couldn’t get past was the sight of her smoking. In all the time he had known her and been following her, never once had he seen her smoking, puffing away at the hand held stress outlet, blowing the remnants into the air to vanish without a trace, only infecting those close enough to breathe them in. It just looked wrong somehow.
All at once, he realized the candy dish, the sight of Sydney smoking in her underwear, Jack being irate, was not his largest problem. It was when he went to move his arms and legs and was greeted by the feel of rope cutting into his wrists and ankles that he became truly alert.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any close personal friends or siblings who are doctors,” Sydney smirked. “I knew I should keep you upright, so I did the best I could.”
Despite the severity of the pounding in his skull, he would not lose control of this situation any further. They were adults, who both wanted something, and it was only a matter of negotiation to figure out how they could both get what they wanted.
“I am assuming there is a reason for the bondage.”
She rose from the couch and he noticed a streak of blood running down the outside of her upper right thigh. Such a fair contrast, blood red mixed with muscled tan, was not lost on Sark.
“Is that your blood?”
Let her think he cared, any manipulation to regain control, if even for a moment.
Her gaze stayed on him, not even bothering to look down as she replied, “Some of it, yeah.”
She stood in front of him now, almost touching his knees with her own, yet still towering above him. Inhaling, she was so close, he could smell the lingering scent of the soap she used in the shower as well as leftover traces of cigarette smoke, but he refused to look up to her face. In a moment, she reached down, running a hand over the side of his face to his chin, forcing him to look at her.
“Tell me, what’s in it for you?”
The fire in her eyes was more evident from before and Sark had an uneasy feeling that for the past four months he might have been watching the wrong woman. When the door was locked and the lights went out, this was the real Sydney Bristow. Losing her old life may have awful, but starting a new one, always having to look behind her back, never being able to explore her true self, was suffocating. She could never be free, so instead she regressed. Such a foolish mistake, he cursed. He knew he was going to end up paying for it.
“I don’t know what you mean Sydney.”
If he had underestimated her all this time, his simple idea of negotiation would definitely not work. She stepped into him, sliding her knee between his legs, and shook her head slowly.
“Don’t be coy with me.”
He was taken back by her tone, there was no force or veiled threat to the query, it was soft, almost alluring and the only thing that passed though his mind was awe at whether she was about to do what he thought she was. Faced with her gentle words and her nearly naked form pressing her knee seductively into him, he felt the stirrings of an erection beginning to form. Embarrassed, he shifted slightly, silently willing himself to think of anything but the sight of her soft, round nipples protruding through the sheer camisole she wore.
“Sark, why are you here?”
No sound escaped his lips while he watched Sydney step back from him before moving her right leg to the outside of his own left leg. The brush of her bare thigh against his only caused him to shift more, and he couldn’t help but notice the blood on her thigh as she did so.
Sydney pooled with his favorite things: force, wit, seduction, and blood. It was eerily as if she knew exactly what pleased him.
She eased the other leg over as she slowly lowered herself down to his lap. Her hands were at the nape of his neck, her pelvis perfectly aligned with his, and all he could do was look at her. The eyes gazing back at him, focused and fiery, were daring him to hold out information. His tied hands twitched, longing to be free, as Sydney lightly rolled her hips against him.
“Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t want her to stop, the feel of her moving against him and the sight of her breasts being almost right in his face, had made the throbbing from his skull dull in comparison to the aching coming from his lower half.
“Physical threats just aren’t what they used to be,” she paused to lean forward and nip his neck, causing him to inhale sharply, “besides, there are other ways to get the information I want.”
There was nothing more that he wanted at that moment than to have his hands free. At this point, he would settle for just one to be loose. He moved his lips to her neck as she softly bit his own. The taste of her sweat mixed with the own natural essence of her skin as she moved over him and he continued to use the only thing he could on her.
Without warning, she stopped, pulling back from him. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll keep going.”
“Jack. Your father sent me to find you.”
He was surprised at how quickly the words past his lips, but when he thought about it, facing Jack’s wrath or continuing to be molested by Jack’s daughter who he had always lusted for, he would choose the latter every time. Once again, she moved her head back in the crook of his neck, only now she ran a hand teasingly down his chest. He dared to speak even though every thought coursing through him merely wanted to moan in a mixture of pleasure and frustration.
“How can you do this, Sydney? Do you enjoy finally having control over something?”
If it had been Sydney as she was before, firstly, she would not be straddling his lap to begin with, but that aside, at this point, she would most likely have slapped him for trying to make her feel cheap. Instead, she leaned back, pushing herself against him, and put a finger to his lips.
“It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. You should know that well, Sark.”
There was nothing he could reply to that, but he didn’t need to. Sydney reached a hand down between them, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants before snaking her hand inside the material. He noted her eyes widening with surprise and he doubted that was merely for effect. The feel of her hand, both forcefully and slowly stroking him, caused him to drop his head back against the chair. He pulled his arms at the rope, but it did not relent.
The feel of her hand moving over him slowed, the inevitable was coming, and she pulled her hand out before resting it on his chest. He felt his body whine in protest and aggravation.
“Why are you helping him?”
He exhaled sharply, answers flowing out his mouth like never before and he replied. “If I bring you back, I’ll receive a position in the Covenant. Immunity.”
Watching her, she slyly bit her lower lip before bringing her hands to stroke the back of his head.
“And if you don’t bring me back?”
He gulped, not in fear but in desire. Damn Jack Bristow, he would deal with him later, all Sark wanted now was for Sydney to continue her assault on him.
“Your father will more than likely have me killed.”
Sydney chuckled softly. Without warning, she reached down to the hem of her sheer tank top and pulled it up over her head. Sark’s mouth watered at the sight of her bare breasts before him and he almost didn’t hear her response.
“I better make this good for you then.”
She raked her hand back down his chest leading back down to stroke his erection now exceedingly prominent. As she moved her hand over him, she leaned back slightly while lifting her breasts up to him. There would be no way she would untie him, but he would still be expected to pleasure her as well. He licked her nipples, gently at times and savagely biting them at others causing her to whimper quietly. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted than to f*** Sydney Bristow right in that chair, right at that moment.
As he swore he could stand no more, she lowered herself away and slowed her stroking on him. Sydney pressed her forehead against his, forcing him to look her in the eyes and face the brown intensity staring back at him. Their breaths were ragged against each other’s faces but Sydney had one more question.
“How many more are there coming for me?”
“After Jack has me killed, there will be more every day.”
It was what she expected and there was nothing else she needed to know. She moved her lips to his, biting his crooked lip like she had thought about months ago, and instantly their tongues were in the others mouths. They explored and challenged as Sydney stopped stroking him long enough to stand back and lower her panties. At the sight before him and the thought of things about to transpire, Sark thought he could die a happy man at the hands of Jack Bristow knowing he had the most mind numbing sex with his daughter.
As Sydney straddled his lap once more, she reached down and pulled his pants away enough for her to work his hard manhood out. Using one hand to fondle her own nipple and the other to guide Sark’s c*** teasingly against her slit, she moaned softly while Sark could do nothing but stare hungrily at her. The excitement coursing through him was next to unbearable and Sydney was seeing to it that she was satisfied before he. He imagined his lips on her nipple as she continued to roll it in her fingertips then suddenly she cried out and guided his c*** inside of her.
The warmth and wetness was overcoming him as she started in with an immediate fast pace, wanting Sark to catch her orgasm as it exploded through her. He sat there, tied to a chair nearly fully clothed, as Sydney, completely naked, rode him to a deafening orgasm. She cried out, moaning in pleasure, yelling not to stop even though she was completely the one in control. He felt the sensations of her insides wrapping around him while she rolled her hips onto him faster and harder.
As she wordlessly cried out, Sark grit his teeth, reeling in the intense pleasure coursing through him.
“Say it. Say my name Sydney,” he demanded.
Without thought, she complied, his name flowing past her lips as if purely second nature. As she shook and writhed on him, still lightly calling his name, Sark felt the sudden onslaught of his own gratification building within him. If there had been enough leverage, he would have broken his binds, but instead felt the pain of rope burning him, causing the wave of his orgasm to ride even higher.
Bound to the chair, Sark could only feel his release course through him as Sydney worked an ardent pace against him. She did not need the satisfaction from the outcry of her name on his lips, but it came anyway. A drawn out moan escaped as his body shuddered against his binds.
Out of breath, Sark let his head fall back as Sydney moved her hands to his neck, rising up to kiss him passionately on the mouth. The kiss was scorching, burning into one another the memory of what had just transpired between them, before Sydney broke away and pulled herself from him.
He watched her, amazed, as she picked her panties and camisole off the floor and cast him a sly look before vanishing down the hall. While attempting to catch his breath, he heard sounds coming from her bedroom and in a few moments, she emerged, coming back into his view.
She had changed, now clad in simple dark blue jeans and red tank top with her hair pulled up, and he noticed the large overnight bag in her hand.
“You’ve been planning for this moment all this time, haven’t you?”
She smiled at him, the rosy glow in her cheeks even more evident against the twinkling in her eyes.
“I have.”
Sark smirked appreciatively at her cunning. He had gone in to trap her, but found himself in the middle of the web. Sydney hadn’t changed as much as he had originally thought.
“Could you at least give me the appearance of decency before you go?” he asked, glancing down at his exposed self.
Moving over to the chair, she kneeled beside him, reaching for his zipper as he looked down at her. In one quick movement, Sark was covered again and Sydney was standing in front of him. The look on her face was one of satisfaction, she had beaten the game once more, and another chance to find her own life was still possible.
“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” she started, reaching a hand to run along his jaw and continued across his chest and down into the pocket on his pants, “but not before I take these.”
Reaching in, she pulled out a small set of keys and held them up to study the single key chain on the ring. It was a solitary silver bullet.
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” she muttered as she stared at it.
“A predator posing as a house pet,” he lightly countered.
She looked back down at him, smiling as she grasped the keys. “Tell me it’s something fun like a Mercedes or a Jag.”
“Even better. Porsche.”
“You’ve always had such a taste for exceptional things, Sark.”
He pointedly looked at her. “Yes, I have.”
The look she gave him then, the meaning behind it, he would never be sure of, but for a brief second, he swore she was going to untie him and ask him to go with her. If she would have asked, he would have said yes, but she never did. Instead, she turned and went over to pick up her bag. All he could do was watch, until her hand was on the door, and he stopped her with yet another warning.
“Sydney, you know you can’t run forever. They will find you.”
“I cared about that for awhile, Sark. Running, not being found and starting my own life and then, something happened. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.”
He nodded, understanding more than she might have known and watched her walk out the door.
One Hour Later –
Sark had tried breaking the chair, but he lacked the strength. He thought about yelling for help, but knew it would only succeed in bringing the police into the fold. For the past ten minutes, he had been trying to pull at the knots to no avail. His wrists burned and his muscles ached when suddenly the phone began ringing. He paid it no attention to it until the answering machine picked up after the fourth ring.
“Hey, this is Emma and I can’t make it to the phone. Leave a message,” Sydney’s recorded voice filled the air as Sark began to glance around the living room, looking for something that might be of assistance.
As his eyes fell on a curious looking box lying on the end table that he hadn’t noticed before, Sydney’s voice again filled the apartment.
“There’s something I left for you on the end table,” she paused and Sark could hear the roar of the wind whipping past her as she talked into the cellular phone he had left in his car.
His eyes settled back on the box, now knowing its contents, as he inched towards it in the chair. It took him a moment before he grasped the small wooden box behind his back, his hands fumbling with the small latch holding it together before finally releasing, and into his hands he felt the cool comfort of a sharp blade.
Sydney had remained silently on the line all that time but he heard her speak one last avowal before finally hanging up.
“I’ll see you around.”
Thanks for reading
Author: Suzi aka hotpot
Rating: Um, I’m going to cover my ass and say NC-17. Yay, dusted off the smut conjuring section of my brain.
Disclaimer: All in good fun, I claim nothing to be mine.
Summary: Sydney has left everything after finding out about Project SAB47. While she is discovering who she truly may be, Sark appears – is it merely chance or is something bigger in the works?
Fight Club Quotes Used:
+ Narrator: And then, something happened. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.
+ Tyler Durden: It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything.
+ Narrator: She is a predator, posing as a housepet.
+ Tyler Durden: I'll bring us through this. As always. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me.
+ Richard Chesler: Is that your blood? Narrator: Some of it, yeah.
A/N: For the Sarkney Smut Challenge.
Fast as you can
Baby wait watch me, I'll be out
Fast as I can
Maybe late but at least about
Fast as you can
Leave me,
Let this thing run its route
~Fast As You Can + Fiona Apple
London – Spring
The scent of impending rain lingered in the unseasonably warm afternoon air, but Sydney still chose a table for one on the outdoor patio anyway. She was almost used to dining alone and people watching becoming one of her new favorite pastimes. The waiter came to the table, pouring her a glass of ice water before taking her order and then leaving her to take in her surroundings.
It was easy for her to get wrapped up in others lives merely by observing them. In her life, nothing resembling what a regular person would call ‘normal’ had ever been experienced. Of course, she thought it had, but upon the discovery that her whole life had been one giant project orchestrated by her father, well, that put a lot in perspective.
It had been exactly three months since she discovered Project SAB47 in a bank vault in Wittenberg and three months minus one day since she had walked out of the CIA and the only life she had ever known. There was yet to be a day gone by where she regretted her choice.
London was the fourth city she visited and only now did she feel like she was seeing it for the first time. She wanted answers about her true self, raised by questions she could only think of from learning her whole life had been a lie. Of course, Jack had tried to explain everything, reason with her, but it was nothing more than making excuses in her mind. No excuse could placate her, no forgiveness or compassion for the man she was finally beginning to accept, trust and love, no, that man did not even understand the definition of trust.
Distracted by her abstract thoughts, Sydney found her gaze traveling towards the entrance of the patio. She watched as the maitre d escorted a stunning young woman to a table in the opposite corner of Sydney. The woman pushed her long blonde locks from her face and caught Sydney’s gaze. Embarrassed, Sydney turned away, but not before feeling slightly better about not being the only woman eating by herself. She resumed her people watching, becoming absorbed until the sound of a familiar voice carried itself towards her ears. No, it can’t be, she thought. She looked over to the table in the corner and over the blonde’s shoulder sat another fair-haired soul.
Sark.
Quickly, she turned from him, cursing the fact that no matter where she went, her past, both good and unbelievably bad, was unavoidable. It was not fast enough though, as she stole one more quick glance back at him, she saw his eyes on her, a curious and bemused look already displayed clearly on his face.
Oh, f***. He better not even have the balls to do it, she cursed.
Naturally, she should have known better. Sark excused himself from his table, stood up and confidently strode over towards Sydney’s table.
“Now, this is an unexpected pleasantry, Sydney.”
She glanced up at him, seeing he crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back as he looked down at her, enjoying the fact he once again invaded her space causing her supreme annoyance.
“Leave me alone, Sark,” she spat, trying her best to keep her voice low.
“Pity you are eating by your lonesome,” he paused, coyly biting his lower lip before continuing, “I don’t suppose I could tempt you to join my table?”
She willed her face not to redden from her anger. It had only been three months since she had last seen him. He had been in CIA custody, very bruised and broken down, now there was no sign of Vaughn’s handiwork except for a small scar that graced Sark’s left cheekbone. One more to join the many his body most likely already housed, she thought.
The fact alone that he was out in brood daylight enjoying fresh air and freedom started to raise a few questions in her mind, but she stopped herself from exploring them any further. She was no longer an agent and she was doing her best to not think like one either.
“Go back to your table, Sark, before I call attention to the fact that you are a wanted terrorist to all of our fellow diners.”
“Very well. Lovely seeing you again.” He chuckled appreciatively before turning and walking back towards his seat. Despite her will to do so, she couldn’t help but watch him walk away.
He was right, of all the places in the world she could have gone, she went exactly where Sark was meeting with someone. Was that fate’s cruel way of showing her she could never truly be free of her old self?
Just the sight of him, a connection to her old life, made her relive the moment she found the contents of the vault. The sense of betrayal she felt when she discovered every aspect of her life had been predetermined by her father, from Project Christmas and SD-6 to her being placed as a Covenant operative and the most damning, Vaughn being a part of it from the very beginning, was indescribable.
When she refused to hear Jack’s explanations, listen to his excuses, and chose to leave, he was not happy. He wanted her to stay, to be strong and listen to the voice of reason that she refused to hear. It was infuriating to Sydney, how he could ask her to put that aside, believe his explanations, when all this time he had been deceiving her. She was an outsider in her own life, fate being guided by the hand of her father and not her own free will.
Now, she was on the run, trying to escape from her father and find her own answers as well finally experience what it would be like to be someone else. f*** the protocol and routine, now she was going to live her life the way she always wanted.
Sydney stopped spacing out to see she was still staring in Sark’s direction. He looked up, giving her a little wave and smile. Bastard, she thought as she looked away. She made herself focus on people watching until her meal arrived. Moments later, Sark and his female companion finished their drinks and got up to leave, Sydney failed to notice even when the girl with Sark cast a curious glance her way.
Later that evening –
After the unexpected and completely dreadful Sark encounter during lunch, Sydney decided it would be best to order room service for dinner. She devoured the artichoke in garlic butter and downed the merlot before deciding it would do her frazzled nerves wonders to take a hot bath.
Steamy, hot baths were becoming almost like a religion for Sydney. She would immerse herself into the water, slowly letting her body accept and adjust to the heat before finally leaning back and allowing the water to envelope her. Usually, this was the time she let her mind wander both to the past and into her hopes for the future. As much as she tried not to think of her father’s deception, the way it cut her through the core, it usually was both her first thought when she awoke in the morning and the last thought before she fell asleep.
Taking a few bobby pins out of her makeup bag, she began pulling her hair up to the top of her head after securing the majority of it in an elastic band. Random tendrils fell across her face and she brushed them to the side before reaching down to secure the belt on her lush hotel robe. She crossed the room, heading towards the bathroom and the inviting sound of water running in the bath, when there was a sharp rap at the door.
Now at the door, Sydney peered through the peephole. Son of a b****, she swore. It was Sark. That bastard has the audacity to show up at my hotel now, she cursed as she pulled the chain lock across and threw open the door, preparing to give him a piece of her mind.
“What in the hell do you think you are doing here?” she demanded.
He raked his eyes over her, taking in the sight of her standing nearly naked in her robe and her face now flush from anger.
“I must say, you looked to be dire need of company this afternoon, so I thought I might stop by” His tone was casual as if only he knew his motives, they were his own and something Sydney had no clue about.
A rage like no other began to boil inside of her, something that was beginning to be reserved only for Sark. “I don’t need company from the likes of you, Sark. Leave.” She went to slam the door on him, but he stuck his arm out stopping her.
She gaped, leaving him a moment to move past her into the room. He looked around, taking in the appearance. “Not too bad.”
The door still open, she grit her teeth. “Do not make me kick your ass.”
He scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t always enjoyed our spars, Sydney..”
She started to reply, but suddenly felt as if her legs were about to give way underneath her. Bracing herself on the doorknob, she steeled her gaze back at him. “Get the f*** out. Now.”
Sark was staring at her. He had noticed her falter and didn’t say anything for a moment, nor did he make any attempt to move.
Beads of sweat began to gather on Sydney’s forehead and she felt herself moving towards the small table by the doorway, the door beginning to close behind her as she slumped forward, catching herself on the table.
“Are you feeling ill?”
“Sark, please…” she began, the color in her face all but drained completely.
“Has anyone been here before me, Sydney?”
She looked up at him, nodding towards the small cart by the mini-table. “Just room service.”
He moved over to the cart, first lifting the lid off one of the dishes and holding the empty glass of wine up to the light coming from the small lamp.
“Sydney, you idiot,” he muttered as his eyes saw the faintest traces of a residue lining the glass.
Drugged by room service. This was Sydney Bristow, an agent he admired for her tenacity and smarts being collected as if she were merely a common runaway. He didn’t know all the reasons as to why Jack needed Sydney back, but whatever plans he had for her – they were big.
Jack assured him he would be the only one sent after her, if he brought her back, willingly or not, in a short amount of time, immunity would be his for the taking. A special place reserved in the Covenant (the legitimate one) would be all his. Jack had gone back on his word; it appeared someone else was coming to apprehend Sydney.
She left out a soft gasp before losing her grip on the small table and falling with a loud thud to the floor. He moved over quickly to her, she was still conscious although he had no idea for how much longer, her breaths were erratic and her forehead was literally sopping with sweat.
As he moved towards the phone on the nightstand, there was a soft knock at the door. His hand instinctively went to the Glock concealed beneath his jacket while he heard a voice on the other side of the door lightly announce ‘room service.’ The door handle began to slightly turn as the faint sound of the keycard being slid through could just be heard over the noise of the water still running in the bathroom. Sark’s eyes fell to Sydney, now unconscious just inside the doorway.
The door slowly opened, a man quietly called Sydney’s name before opening the door all the way. The man wore a hotel uniform, but the semi-automatic weapon he held out in his hand was definitely not hotel issue. As he came into the room, his eyes immediately went to Sydney but quickly realized they were not alone in the room.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, raising his gun towards Sark. Unexpectedly, another person walked in the door, this time a woman reaching into her staff uniform to fish out her weapon.
“I could ask the same of you two.”
“We were specifically assigned to this task under Section 12W, Jack Bristow’s orders,” replied the woman, now standing next to her partner.
“Therein lies the problem, the same orders were given to me as well.”
The two stared confused at him, momentarily wavering in control of their weapons to which Sark used to his absolute advantage. He dove his hands underneath his coat, a Glock in each hand, and fired at the pair.
The first shot directed towards the man hit its mark, he was dead before he even hit the floor, a single gunshot to his skull but his partner fell to the floor, clutching her shoulder with one hand and desperately trying to secure her firearm with the other. Sark moved towards her, watching her carefully as she winced in pain and cast one quick glance at Sydney. He needed to get her out of there, the sooner, the better.
He stood above the woman; gun aimed directly down at her and she stared back up at him, a menacing look in her eyes.
“How many more will he send?”
She spat at him. “Go to hell.” He enjoyed her refusal to cooperate; it allowed him to exercise his favorite part of information retrieval – the infliction of pain. Slowly, he lifted the heel of his dark black boot and placed it right above where her shoulder was bleeding.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly, how many more are coming for her?”
She cried out in pain, a twinge of pleasure and shiver of satisfaction came over him but she still refused to answer his question.
“f*** you.”
“Excellent.” He fired once more, this time finishing what he started.
Quickly, he concealed his weapons, throwing them back in the holsters underneath his coat and grabbed the man by the ankles followed by the woman and dragged them over to the middle of the room. He took a second to search their pockets but they yielded nothing of importance.
Sark moved over to Sydney and lifted her up into his arms. He walked out into the hallway, which was thankfully deserted and exited through the back stairway. Anger at Jack coursed through him as he thought of his betrayal. I should not be surprised, he thought. Look what the man did to his only daughter. Sark had been following Sydney for months, waiting for the perfect time to drop into her life without raising her suspicion, now Jack had grown impatient and sent the most incompetent agents Sark had ever encountered. Well, except for Michael Vaughn, he mused.
Despite having Sydney so readily at his dispose, he could take her to Jack now if he wished, it was not how he wanted it done. He had his plan worked out from the very beginning and this was most certainly not a part of it. However, in the meantime, he had to get Sydney medical attention. He knew he couldn’t take her to a hospital, so there was only one other option, the next best thing, his sister Alessandra.
One Day Later –
Sydney’s eyes flickered open, the feel of cool terrycloth against her forehead making her seem more alert as her eyes focused on a familiar face.
“You.”
Sitting by the side of the bed was the blonde from the restaurant, now more comfortably dressed in a gray cotton tee and jeans, she smiled at Sydney and moved to hand her a cup of tea.
Sydney accepted, taking a small sip and scowled from the pungent anise taste spreading across her tongue. “This is terrible.”
“The mint in it will help the nausea,” she replied knowingly.
Sydney had no idea where she was or how she came to be there. She glanced curiously around the sparsely decorated room; there was no other furniture but the bed she was in, the chair that the other woman was in and the small nightstand next to her bed. The window was slightly open, fresh air blowing the curtains aside; she could smell the scent of fresh rain permeating the air. The last thing she remembered was Sark, being in her room and asking her if anyone had been to see her besides him.
“Where’s Sark?”
She looked at Sydney, confused. “I’m sorry, who?”
“The man I saw you with at the café this afternoon, where is he?”
“Oh, Julian,” she smiled, understanding. “I sent him out for a few things for you. He should be back shortly.”
Sydney stared at her, trying to figure out if she were bluffing. How could she not know Sark and Julian were the same person? Then again, Sydney still hadn’t a clue who she was talking to and where exactly they were.
“Where am I?”
A smile spread across her face; embarrassed she hadn’t introduced herself sooner. “Oh, right. You’re in my flat. I’m Alessandra, Julian’s older sister. You’re Sydney, right?”
Sydney looked at her, for the first time, really looked at her. She expected to be met with the same piercing blue eyes that her brother possessed, but was relieved to see they were an inviting shade of green. Now that Sydney actually took Alessandra’s appearance in, she should have guessed they were siblings. Alessandra had the same lithe stature, flaxen hair, cut cheekbones and impertinent accent. So far, they only differed in eye color and personality.
“That’s right,”
Sydney offered a small smile and dared to take another sip of the horrid tea. She had to admit, the nausea was subsiding despite the major ick factor of the tea.
“Jules was telling me you two worked together when we saw you at the café.”
Sydney nearly choked on her tea. First, had she heard that right? Jules? She made a mental note, filing it back under clever quips reserved for Sark, to be sure and call him that the next time she saw him.
Then, she scoffed at the thought of them working together.
Right.
But that raised a small concern; she didn’t know exactly what Sark told his sister that he did for an honest living.
If Alessandra didn’t know Sark, she did not know how exactly Sark and Sydney worked together, so she did the only thing she could think of - Sydney changed the subject.
“Did he tell you what happened, why he brought me here?” Sydney doubted she knew the actual truth but maybe she knew some variation of it.
Alessandra avoided her eyes and looked around nervously as if she had done something she shouldn’t have.
“Well,” she began hesitantly, “he brought you here and wanted me to ring the pharmacist with a special order. He said someone might have passed something to you in your drink. I wanted him to take you to the hospital…” she trailed off, unsure of whether she should say more.
Sydney looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue as if stopping were not an option.
Alessandra sighed. “He wouldn’t let me. I am a doctor, Sydney but I really thought it’d be best for you to go in but he insisted. Then, I realized you were in a bathrobe. I didn’t like it so I asked him how in bloody hell had he found you like that but he just gave me this cold stare, he’s never looked at me that way before, and told me ‘Don’t ask questions, Alessandra.’”
Sydney stared straight ahead, trying consciously to keep her mouth shut, unsure of how to respond.
“He didn’t attack you, did he?” Alessandra asked in a low whisper, as if she asked it quietly enough and no answer came, she could live on in denial about her mysterious brother, Jules.
“Oh, God, no.” Sydney replied quickly. Annoyed the hell out me, yes, but he wouldn’t live to tell about it if he ever tried something like what you are suggesting, she thought.
Alessandra started to rise from her chair, preparing to leave Sydney when she suddenly said, “You know, I wouldn’t believe that he had, but after what he said yesterday when he saw you and the condition you both seemed to be in, I couldn’t be too sure.”
“Wait, what he said about me today? When? At the café?” God damn him, she swore. She had no idea what kind of things Sark had been telling his sister about himself, let alone what he might have mentioned about Sydney.
“Well, after he came back from your table, I told him I felt bad for you, eating all by yourself,” she smiled almost apologetically at Sydney.
“What did he say to that?”
“He looked over at you and said, ‘Don’t feel bad for Sydney. ‘She’s a predator posing as a housepet.’”
Sydney chuckled softly and a look of guilt came over Alessandra.
“I don’t think he meant it, Sydney. Really, from what I’ve seen, I think he fancies you a bit.”
That was not what Sydney wanted to hear. She could handle being called a predator, hell, it could even be true but hearing he liked her was just almost too much.
How Sark could even entertain the idea of liking her? As if he had a chance. He was on the complete opposite side of the moral compass as her, she didn’t go around thinking about what it would be like to nip at that crooked lip of his or how his trigger finger might curve perfectly to fit her – f***. STOP.
She shook her head slightly, trying to get the images out of her mind. Damn it, she never thought about it before, she shouldn’t be thinking about it now either.
Looking up, she saw Alessandra was now standing over by the door, her hand on the handle. “You need to get some rest. I’ll let Julian know you are feeling better.” She smiled once more before pulling the door shut behind her.
Sark stayed on her mind and she wondered how it must be for him to keep his sister completely in the dark on his true identity. Granted, she didn’t see him openly telling Alessandra he was a conceited assassin for hire, but he could have made something up about being MI-5 or something. He would rather look like a date rapist than be himself with his own sister. Then again, except for tonight and until Sydney cleared it up, Alessandra probably never had a reason not to believe her brother just as Francie and Will never did when she was a double agent.
She felt her eyes grow heavy, relaxing from the warm tea now comfortably lax in her stomach. As she felt herself drifting off, she thought of Sark, hoping he would be back when she woke up. She wanted to know why he came to her hotel and what happened to her, he had a lot of explaining to do.
Next Day – Late Morning
Sounds of traffic and people outside drew in through the window, waking Sydney from her heavy sleep. She had slept so deeply, more comfortably than she had in months, that she nearly forgot where she was until she opened her eyes. The same sparsely furnished room greeted her, only now, there was a small stack of clothes in the chair Alessandra had been in the night before.
She moved slowly over to the chair, her muscles and bones still seeming to ache from whatever happened to her, and reached for the pale pink t-shirt and gray sweatpants emblazoned with ‘Oxford Crew’ down the right side. Obviously, the clothes were from Alessandra and they fit Sydney quite well. It had been awhile since she had worn sweatpants and from the look of it, Alessandra had cherished them. Sydney absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair as she moved over to the bedroom door. She paused at the sound of the television coming though followed by a very distinct voice cursing quietly.
“You lucky old codger…” she heard him mutter.
Sydney pulled open the door quickly to see Sark, almost as comfortably dressed as she, laying on the sofa in the tiny living room, swearing at what appeared to be professional bowling on the television. She was stunned. Of all the assorted images she had of Sark in his free time conjured in her mind - tormenting kittens for fun, setting bottle rockets off at the elderly, or even stealing from widows and orphans, never in her mind did she imagine him sprawled out on the sofa, cursing at middle aged bowlers who managed to pull off seven-ten splits.
He glanced up, seeing her glancing back and forth between him and the television, in the doorway of her bedroom, and hastily reached for the remote, shutting the television off.
“Who was winning?” she asked.
He noted the teasing tone in her voice and ignored the question.
“So, you are alive. Word of advice, next time, don’t order the artichokes.”
The tone of his voice, so cocky and clipped, did not seem to match his laidback style of blue and white striped boxer shorts and plain white cotton t-shirt. She ignored his smug tone and her own casual appearance and asserted herself right back at him. No more chitchat, it was time to get down to business.
“What the f*** happened to me?”
An amused twinkle reflected in the baby blue eyes fixed on her intently before his lips curled up in his trademark pose.
“For a woman on the run, you ought to learn to take better care of yourself, Sydney.”
“I imagine you know a lot about being on the run, don’t you Sark? Or should I call you Jules?”
Her mark hit home. A trace of anger flashed in his eyes before he glanced apprehensively back towards another doorway over his left shoulder, presumably Alessandra’s room, then rose from the sofa, moving over towards Sydney.
“You will not call me that while you are here.”
A confused look spread across her face. “Which is that? Jules or Sark?”
He was standing right in front of her, eyes locked, penetrating her, but she refused to back down from him. The familiar roles they played with one another, always challenging, always testing until one of them invariably broke or escaped. Suddenly, he reached up, seizing her roughly by her right arm and before she could react, pushed her back into her room through the open bedroom door.
She fell back onto the floor, unable to catch herself from falling, and landed with a sharp thud. The pain from the impact sending dull waves of pain throughout her weakened frame and a small cry escaped her lips.
Sark reached a hand out to help her as she tried to get up. At first, she refused to reach for it and the ache settling in her bones made her decide she would rather sit on the floor than take his hand. When Sark would not speak to her while she sat on the floor, she relented wondering what in the hell happened to her to have rendered her this incapable.
“The wineglass, from the service cart, was tainted with dimenhydrinate. You were nearly poisoned, Sydney.”
She sat numbly on the bed. In her mind, she knew her father wouldn’t let her get away that easily, she thought someone might have been keeping an eye on her all this time, but in her newfound self of freedom, she had disregarded the prescience of mind to be cautious.
“But, how did I get here? Why did you bring me here?”
“Shortly after you collapsed, there was a knock at the door and two people, a man and a woman, entered your room. They planned to escort you from the hotel. I handled them.”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant by that, but a nagging voice in her head made her wonder why he brought her to his sister’s, into a world where Sark did not exist and Sydney knew nothing of.
“I brought you here because I had no where else to take you. Alessandra is an excellent doctor, one who I knew would be discrete, that is, until you became conscious and began asking questions.”
He gave her a malevolent look, one that conveyed his true intention of bringing her to such a personal space. She wasn’t supposed to awake when she did, Alessandra and her were never supposed to converse. It was clear to her now; Sark with the little bit of normalcy he possessed would do anything to shelter his sister from his true life except let Sydney die.
“How much do you know about me leaving the CIA?” she asked softly, daring to meet his eyes.
He paused, giving her answer thought and she could tell he was thinking of how exactly to word his answer.
“Enough to know that you should be more circumspect.”
She let her head drop, taking in that Sark knew why she was on the run and that she was being followed. It was near too much to admit to herself, let alone face the humiliation at the knowledge he knew as well. Sark was right, she had to be more careful and London was too obvious, she needed to leave as soon as possible.
“Tell Alessandra I said thanks for everything she did for me.”
As she moved towards the door, brushing against his side, a small smile came to Sark’s face. “I’ll be sure to.” It’s funny how Alessandra receives the credit and thanks when it was actually me who brought her here, he thought smugly.
He watched her stride over to the doorway, slide her feet into a pair of Alessandra’s flip-flops, open the door and cast one look back at him before slamming it shut behind her.
Damn Jack Bristow, he cursed. He had been so close, he arranged everything perfectly and it had been ruined. Now, he was going to have to follow Sydney again, infiltrate her world once more, and then take her back to the life she left behind. Sark ran a hand over his shorn locks musing over how much he enjoyed this assignment. Sydney’s little illusion of freedom would persist for a little while longer, but not much more.
I’ll be seeing you Sydney, he thought. Real soon.
Normal, Illinois – Five Months Later
Of all the Godforsaken places Sydney could have gone to, she had to go to a place where even the name was trivial. Normal, Sark cursed. The summer heat swelled in the city while the humidity from the hot August day nearly suffocated him as he sat at a small park bench, just off Constitution Trail, the bike path that ran a course through the city, waiting for Sydney to come by on her daily jog. She had given up jet setting, instead choosing to remain in one town, and naturally, with all her desires to just be ‘normal’ (Sark nearly shuddered at the connection), she immediately fit in.
It was Sark who stuck out like a sore thumb, with his cheeky accent and affinity for designer suits in such a casual atmosphere, he drew many stares the first week he was there. He picked up the alias of Robert Bachman, an overseas insurance executive working with State Farm. He abhorred this life, this assignment, which would make capturing Sydney that much more fulfilling. He wanted to go back to LA and eat a decent meal. Food in the predominately college town, where Biaggi’s was as elegant as you could get, was pure hell.
He could see her coming less than a mile away, brown ponytail swishing in rhythm with her steady pace, tight running pants and preppy sports bra, she always ran alone, never offering a smile to anyone else on the trail. It was the only way she still stood out. Gone was happy Sydney with a smile for everyone, no, now she was apprehensive. Waiting for the axe to fall, Sark was pleased to see his warning had a profound effect on her, but he would wager she still had no idea he was watching her.
Sydney had tried to make her life fit the name of the town; she had a teaching job at the university, a plain alias, reliable car, meager apartment, and even a few friends. He knew every detail of her life now. It wouldn’t be long before he would make his move, everything had to be exact, and Sydney would be accompanying him back to Los Angeles. It had taken some convincing and explaining to Jack on why he had let Sydney go back in London, but in the end, her father understood that an illusion of freedom, for a short period of time might do her good and he had acquiesced. Now, finally having found her location and the short details of her life, Jack was going to be very happy with Sark.
As she came closer, Sark rose from the bench and walked back towards the small parking lot. He slowed his gait, approximating the amount of time it would take Sydney to pass, before turning back to see her brown hair waving back and forth in the distance. Reaching into his pants pocket, he smiled as he pulled out his small cell phone, flipping it open and pressing a number often dialed.
A clipped voice answered. Forgoing the pleasantries, he asked, “You have her?”
“It’s all set for tonight. By this time tomorrow, you shall have your daughter back.”
“I’m keeping you to your word this time. Fail me now and you will not have time to regret it.”
A smirk graced his lips, this would not be the first time he had heard a threat from Jack nor would it be the last, and he said his goodbye before snapping his phone shut.
Tonight will not come soon enough, Sark thought. He had a surprise for Sydney and he could not wait to give it to her.
Late Evening, Same Day
It had been another long day, tired from the heat as well as teaching summer courses for extra money, Sydney stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. She cursed the temperature in her apartment, maintenance still had not been by to fix the air conditioning, and it felt like she was living in a small oven. One of her fellow English professors, Anita, had offered to let Sydney stay at her house, but she had refused. She liked being alone, only now, as the sweat already began to bead at her brow, she wished she had accepted.
It had been hard, trying to find a place to hide after the close call in London. She finally decided it would be better to settle someplace low-key for awhile, not permanently, but until she felt that gut instinct that it was once again time to move. At first, Normal seemed like the kind of place she would be able to stay in forever, having fallen off the map and under the radar of anyone her father might have sent after her, but lately, she could not deny the feeling like someone was once again watching her. There was nothing to confirm it yet, but she kept preparing herself for moving on from this place as well.
She pulled the towel tighter, moving from the bathroom, across her apartment, and over to the door. She checked the locks and looked hesitantly towards the windows. There was a cool evening breeze that would no doubt assist in lowering the temperature of her apartment considerably, but she was concerned at the fact she lived on the ground floor.
“f*** it,” she sighed, marching over to the window in the dining room and pulling it open.
At once, fresh air came in through the screen, falling across her damp skin, embracing and cooling her immediately. That effect alone was enough to make her move over to the other windows in the apartment and wrench them open.
As she walked back towards her bedroom, she reached down, picking up the remote control to the stereo. She turned it on and was greeted to the sound of Usher’s Yeah resonating heavily throughout her apartment. Never before would she have thought she would enjoy living alone this much. Music as loud as she wanted, clothes all over the floor, dishes piled in the sink, there was no roommate or live-in lover to harp at her to clean. Newfound independence was really beginning to grow on her.
Back in her bedroom, she stood in front of her closet, trying to determine what would be most comfortable to sleep in. The towel fell to the floor as she decided on a sheer white cotton tank top and its matching white underwear. She smiled to herself as she thought - the other benefit of living alone, running around in your underwear with no one to stop you.
The song changed, switching to Push It as she carried her wet towel back to the bathroom. It only took her a moment to realize, the first song had been on the radio and now playing was the old Garbage CD that Francie gave her for her birthday. An edgy feeling came over her as she eased down the hallway towards the living room and brought the towel up in a striking position.
I was angry when I met you
I think I'm angry still
She turned the corner quickly, but the man in front of her was not caught off guard. Standard black pants, black cotton t-shirt underneath a supple leather jacket standing before her in all her white underwear glory. The look on his face was, for a moment, priceless. While she stood slightly stunned by his presence, he looked overwhelmed as his eyes traveled the length of her nearly naked body.
“This evening just got better,” he muttered huskily.
Sydney did not waver, towel still in defensive grasp, at his comment or leers. “I knew it was you. Following me all this time, I mean.”
He nodded. “Then, you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I guess I do,” she started as he stepped towards her, the black silhouette cutting a dark figure in her otherwise bright apartment. “I’m going to have to kick your ass after all.”
She swung the towel, catching him across the face as he lunged for her, and made a quick move towards the small end table that housed her nearest firearm. It was not fast enough, Sark lashed out, grabbing her a fistful of hair and using it to pull her back to him. Moving her fist up, she brought it across the same side snapped by the towel, and he pushed her to the floor before bringing a hand to his face. On the floor, she rolled over to look at him, seeing he wasn’t advancing her, and finally understood what Sark was doing there. In some sick way, she had thought before he was watching out for her, and now she seemed to remember who Sark truly was, a man with no loyalties to anyone unless it inevitably served him in some way.
“I’m not going back with you, Sark.”
“That is no surprise to me, Sydney. I'll carry you - kicking and screaming - and in the end you'll thank me.”
He stepped forward, his figure now looming before her, and she looked over to the end table, seeing the lead crystal candy dish she bought at a yard sale a few weeks ago. Before he knew it, she was reaching for it, grasping it in her hands, and throwing at him aiming for his face. She missed her mark only slightly. The candy dish ricocheted off the right side of his skull, he had turned at the last second, but it still rendered him unconscious as he slumped to the floor with a soft thud.
Early A.M. – The Next Day
The pounding from the bass coming through the speakers paled in comparison to the dull throbbing echoing in the back of his skull and the hard backed chair he was seated in left comfort to be desired. He felt himself lick his lips, his warm saliva melding over the dry skin, and his eyes flickered open. Unable to focus on anything, he could only smell the sharp hint of tobacco lingering in the air and his first conscious thought hit him.
Jack was going to be f***ing livid.
As if at the thought alone, Sark’s surroundings came into clear view. His holster and leather coat laying on the armchair, out of reach, and Sydney sitting cross-legged, still in her underwear and smoking a cigarette, on the couch across from him, was studying him as he looked up under the hood of his long eyelashes. He watched her take one last drag before leaning over to smash it out in a large candy dish.
It was then he noticed the blood lining the dish and connected it to the throbbing in his head, recalling the sight of a big blur being hurled in his direction, but the one thing he couldn’t get past was the sight of her smoking. In all the time he had known her and been following her, never once had he seen her smoking, puffing away at the hand held stress outlet, blowing the remnants into the air to vanish without a trace, only infecting those close enough to breathe them in. It just looked wrong somehow.
All at once, he realized the candy dish, the sight of Sydney smoking in her underwear, Jack being irate, was not his largest problem. It was when he went to move his arms and legs and was greeted by the feel of rope cutting into his wrists and ankles that he became truly alert.
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any close personal friends or siblings who are doctors,” Sydney smirked. “I knew I should keep you upright, so I did the best I could.”
Despite the severity of the pounding in his skull, he would not lose control of this situation any further. They were adults, who both wanted something, and it was only a matter of negotiation to figure out how they could both get what they wanted.
“I am assuming there is a reason for the bondage.”
She rose from the couch and he noticed a streak of blood running down the outside of her upper right thigh. Such a fair contrast, blood red mixed with muscled tan, was not lost on Sark.
“Is that your blood?”
Let her think he cared, any manipulation to regain control, if even for a moment.
Her gaze stayed on him, not even bothering to look down as she replied, “Some of it, yeah.”
She stood in front of him now, almost touching his knees with her own, yet still towering above him. Inhaling, she was so close, he could smell the lingering scent of the soap she used in the shower as well as leftover traces of cigarette smoke, but he refused to look up to her face. In a moment, she reached down, running a hand over the side of his face to his chin, forcing him to look at her.
“Tell me, what’s in it for you?”
The fire in her eyes was more evident from before and Sark had an uneasy feeling that for the past four months he might have been watching the wrong woman. When the door was locked and the lights went out, this was the real Sydney Bristow. Losing her old life may have awful, but starting a new one, always having to look behind her back, never being able to explore her true self, was suffocating. She could never be free, so instead she regressed. Such a foolish mistake, he cursed. He knew he was going to end up paying for it.
“I don’t know what you mean Sydney.”
If he had underestimated her all this time, his simple idea of negotiation would definitely not work. She stepped into him, sliding her knee between his legs, and shook her head slowly.
“Don’t be coy with me.”
He was taken back by her tone, there was no force or veiled threat to the query, it was soft, almost alluring and the only thing that passed though his mind was awe at whether she was about to do what he thought she was. Faced with her gentle words and her nearly naked form pressing her knee seductively into him, he felt the stirrings of an erection beginning to form. Embarrassed, he shifted slightly, silently willing himself to think of anything but the sight of her soft, round nipples protruding through the sheer camisole she wore.
“Sark, why are you here?”
No sound escaped his lips while he watched Sydney step back from him before moving her right leg to the outside of his own left leg. The brush of her bare thigh against his only caused him to shift more, and he couldn’t help but notice the blood on her thigh as she did so.
Sydney pooled with his favorite things: force, wit, seduction, and blood. It was eerily as if she knew exactly what pleased him.
She eased the other leg over as she slowly lowered herself down to his lap. Her hands were at the nape of his neck, her pelvis perfectly aligned with his, and all he could do was look at her. The eyes gazing back at him, focused and fiery, were daring him to hold out information. His tied hands twitched, longing to be free, as Sydney lightly rolled her hips against him.
“Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t want her to stop, the feel of her moving against him and the sight of her breasts being almost right in his face, had made the throbbing from his skull dull in comparison to the aching coming from his lower half.
“Physical threats just aren’t what they used to be,” she paused to lean forward and nip his neck, causing him to inhale sharply, “besides, there are other ways to get the information I want.”
There was nothing more that he wanted at that moment than to have his hands free. At this point, he would settle for just one to be loose. He moved his lips to her neck as she softly bit his own. The taste of her sweat mixed with the own natural essence of her skin as she moved over him and he continued to use the only thing he could on her.
Without warning, she stopped, pulling back from him. “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll keep going.”
“Jack. Your father sent me to find you.”
He was surprised at how quickly the words past his lips, but when he thought about it, facing Jack’s wrath or continuing to be molested by Jack’s daughter who he had always lusted for, he would choose the latter every time. Once again, she moved her head back in the crook of his neck, only now she ran a hand teasingly down his chest. He dared to speak even though every thought coursing through him merely wanted to moan in a mixture of pleasure and frustration.
“How can you do this, Sydney? Do you enjoy finally having control over something?”
If it had been Sydney as she was before, firstly, she would not be straddling his lap to begin with, but that aside, at this point, she would most likely have slapped him for trying to make her feel cheap. Instead, she leaned back, pushing herself against him, and put a finger to his lips.
“It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. You should know that well, Sark.”
There was nothing he could reply to that, but he didn’t need to. Sydney reached a hand down between them, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants before snaking her hand inside the material. He noted her eyes widening with surprise and he doubted that was merely for effect. The feel of her hand, both forcefully and slowly stroking him, caused him to drop his head back against the chair. He pulled his arms at the rope, but it did not relent.
The feel of her hand moving over him slowed, the inevitable was coming, and she pulled her hand out before resting it on his chest. He felt his body whine in protest and aggravation.
“Why are you helping him?”
He exhaled sharply, answers flowing out his mouth like never before and he replied. “If I bring you back, I’ll receive a position in the Covenant. Immunity.”
Watching her, she slyly bit her lower lip before bringing her hands to stroke the back of his head.
“And if you don’t bring me back?”
He gulped, not in fear but in desire. Damn Jack Bristow, he would deal with him later, all Sark wanted now was for Sydney to continue her assault on him.
“Your father will more than likely have me killed.”
Sydney chuckled softly. Without warning, she reached down to the hem of her sheer tank top and pulled it up over her head. Sark’s mouth watered at the sight of her bare breasts before him and he almost didn’t hear her response.
“I better make this good for you then.”
She raked her hand back down his chest leading back down to stroke his erection now exceedingly prominent. As she moved her hand over him, she leaned back slightly while lifting her breasts up to him. There would be no way she would untie him, but he would still be expected to pleasure her as well. He licked her nipples, gently at times and savagely biting them at others causing her to whimper quietly. There was nothing more in the world that he wanted than to f*** Sydney Bristow right in that chair, right at that moment.
As he swore he could stand no more, she lowered herself away and slowed her stroking on him. Sydney pressed her forehead against his, forcing him to look her in the eyes and face the brown intensity staring back at him. Their breaths were ragged against each other’s faces but Sydney had one more question.
“How many more are there coming for me?”
“After Jack has me killed, there will be more every day.”
It was what she expected and there was nothing else she needed to know. She moved her lips to his, biting his crooked lip like she had thought about months ago, and instantly their tongues were in the others mouths. They explored and challenged as Sydney stopped stroking him long enough to stand back and lower her panties. At the sight before him and the thought of things about to transpire, Sark thought he could die a happy man at the hands of Jack Bristow knowing he had the most mind numbing sex with his daughter.
As Sydney straddled his lap once more, she reached down and pulled his pants away enough for her to work his hard manhood out. Using one hand to fondle her own nipple and the other to guide Sark’s c*** teasingly against her slit, she moaned softly while Sark could do nothing but stare hungrily at her. The excitement coursing through him was next to unbearable and Sydney was seeing to it that she was satisfied before he. He imagined his lips on her nipple as she continued to roll it in her fingertips then suddenly she cried out and guided his c*** inside of her.
The warmth and wetness was overcoming him as she started in with an immediate fast pace, wanting Sark to catch her orgasm as it exploded through her. He sat there, tied to a chair nearly fully clothed, as Sydney, completely naked, rode him to a deafening orgasm. She cried out, moaning in pleasure, yelling not to stop even though she was completely the one in control. He felt the sensations of her insides wrapping around him while she rolled her hips onto him faster and harder.
As she wordlessly cried out, Sark grit his teeth, reeling in the intense pleasure coursing through him.
“Say it. Say my name Sydney,” he demanded.
Without thought, she complied, his name flowing past her lips as if purely second nature. As she shook and writhed on him, still lightly calling his name, Sark felt the sudden onslaught of his own gratification building within him. If there had been enough leverage, he would have broken his binds, but instead felt the pain of rope burning him, causing the wave of his orgasm to ride even higher.
Bound to the chair, Sark could only feel his release course through him as Sydney worked an ardent pace against him. She did not need the satisfaction from the outcry of her name on his lips, but it came anyway. A drawn out moan escaped as his body shuddered against his binds.
Out of breath, Sark let his head fall back as Sydney moved her hands to his neck, rising up to kiss him passionately on the mouth. The kiss was scorching, burning into one another the memory of what had just transpired between them, before Sydney broke away and pulled herself from him.
He watched her, amazed, as she picked her panties and camisole off the floor and cast him a sly look before vanishing down the hall. While attempting to catch his breath, he heard sounds coming from her bedroom and in a few moments, she emerged, coming back into his view.
She had changed, now clad in simple dark blue jeans and red tank top with her hair pulled up, and he noticed the large overnight bag in her hand.
“You’ve been planning for this moment all this time, haven’t you?”
She smiled at him, the rosy glow in her cheeks even more evident against the twinkling in her eyes.
“I have.”
Sark smirked appreciatively at her cunning. He had gone in to trap her, but found himself in the middle of the web. Sydney hadn’t changed as much as he had originally thought.
“Could you at least give me the appearance of decency before you go?” he asked, glancing down at his exposed self.
Moving over to the chair, she kneeled beside him, reaching for his zipper as he looked down at her. In one quick movement, Sark was covered again and Sydney was standing in front of him. The look on her face was one of satisfaction, she had beaten the game once more, and another chance to find her own life was still possible.
“Well, I guess this is goodbye,” she started, reaching a hand to run along his jaw and continued across his chest and down into the pocket on his pants, “but not before I take these.”
Reaching in, she pulled out a small set of keys and held them up to study the single key chain on the ring. It was a solitary silver bullet.
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing,” she muttered as she stared at it.
“A predator posing as a house pet,” he lightly countered.
She looked back down at him, smiling as she grasped the keys. “Tell me it’s something fun like a Mercedes or a Jag.”
“Even better. Porsche.”
“You’ve always had such a taste for exceptional things, Sark.”
He pointedly looked at her. “Yes, I have.”
The look she gave him then, the meaning behind it, he would never be sure of, but for a brief second, he swore she was going to untie him and ask him to go with her. If she would have asked, he would have said yes, but she never did. Instead, she turned and went over to pick up her bag. All he could do was watch, until her hand was on the door, and he stopped her with yet another warning.
“Sydney, you know you can’t run forever. They will find you.”
“I cared about that for awhile, Sark. Running, not being found and starting my own life and then, something happened. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.”
He nodded, understanding more than she might have known and watched her walk out the door.
One Hour Later –
Sark had tried breaking the chair, but he lacked the strength. He thought about yelling for help, but knew it would only succeed in bringing the police into the fold. For the past ten minutes, he had been trying to pull at the knots to no avail. His wrists burned and his muscles ached when suddenly the phone began ringing. He paid it no attention to it until the answering machine picked up after the fourth ring.
“Hey, this is Emma and I can’t make it to the phone. Leave a message,” Sydney’s recorded voice filled the air as Sark began to glance around the living room, looking for something that might be of assistance.
As his eyes fell on a curious looking box lying on the end table that he hadn’t noticed before, Sydney’s voice again filled the apartment.
“There’s something I left for you on the end table,” she paused and Sark could hear the roar of the wind whipping past her as she talked into the cellular phone he had left in his car.
His eyes settled back on the box, now knowing its contents, as he inched towards it in the chair. It took him a moment before he grasped the small wooden box behind his back, his hands fumbling with the small latch holding it together before finally releasing, and into his hands he felt the cool comfort of a sharp blade.
Sydney had remained silently on the line all that time but he heard her speak one last avowal before finally hanging up.
“I’ll see you around.”
Thanks for reading
Umm..I think that's all I can manage right now.... 
you have to post more ASAP!
