Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Alias or any of its characters.
A/N: If you're thinking, 'finally, an update,' well then you would be correct.... kinda. There are 2 chapters in this update. Skip past the italics if you remember what is going on.
Dedication: nicewoman, who was nice enough to point out an error in a link of mine.
Previously on Wasted Time:
I buckled myself in and pressed lightly on the gas and screamed. "Holy felgercarb!" I yelled, pushing on the breaks. I put it in park and laid on the steering wheel, my whole body shaking.
"I should have warned you. The Bugatti Veyron can reach 62 mph in 2.5 seconds." Sark smirked. "Whoops."
"Yeah, whoops. I nearly had a heart attack. I think you should drive."
"No. You drive her. It'll help." he assured me.
This time when I started driving I was ready for it. I weaved my way through the normal Fort Lauderdale fast-moving traffic. I have no clue how much time passed while I was behind the wheel. At least until I turned down a street, at Sark's request. He directed me through a complicated neighborhood until at last I parked us at a beautifully decorated brick building. The edges of the windows were decorated with vines with Roses attached to them. Unrealistic, but still beautiful. On the patio, circular tables decorated the area. Inside the building was slightly darkened.
"Sark, what is this place?" I questioned.
"I've found a fair trade off for helping you." He responded.
"But you didn't really help me." I insisted.
"I did a much better job fulfilling my promise than you have." he pointed out.
"So?" I asked.
"So go out to dinner with me."
"One head cannot contain all wisdom." -- "The Olduvai Cycle", Systems University Archives.
Andromeda, episode # 114 Harper 2.0
---Sydney's POV---
The wind blew past us, picking up stranded leaves and allowing them to know the brief sensation of flying before they were dropped back onto the ground again. Save for that rustling sound and the low volume of people engaged in private conversations, the road was eerily quiet.
Sark remained silent, awaiting my answer. After a minute, he gazed out of the car window to the one-story building I had driven us to. His fingers tapped an unknown beat on the car door while he awaited my answer.
I sat there, listening to the persistent rumbling of my stomach while I considered it.
"Well it's not bloody brain surgery." he spat out.
"Khaki pants, red flip flops, and a red shirt?" I questioned. "This place doesn't look like it accepts my current choice of attire."
However, my stomach grumbled at my protest. It was demanding, in the same demeanor as a 6 month old, to be fed.
Looking at me, he cocked an eyebrow upwards at this sound.
"Fine." I acquiesced with a defeated sigh. "But you foot the bill."
I opened the door and considered slamming it for a second, but one glance at the beauty of it in the setting sun convinced me otherwise. I closed it softly, enjoying the elegant click it ensued in.
"Sark?" I called, glancing around for him but coming up with nothing. I mumbled under my breath, "The guy disappears more than Houdini."
However, a quick walk to the other side of the car revealed that he was still sitting inside.
"You plan on coming out?" I asked, coldly. "Or perhaps you intend to eat the interior of your car."
"I'm glad to see your manners are still intact." He retorted. "Aren't you supposed to open my door now?"
"No," I shook my head. "I think this is where I kick you in the balls if you don't get out."
He pondered this for a moment before he stepped out of the car and turned the alarm on.
I followed him inside of the restaurant where a tall brunette Russian man dressed in a suit behind a wooden podium asked us for our reservations. The inside of the building was decorated in shades of red.
"Oh, I didn't- just-they didn't- follow me." The man stumbled along after he saw us.
He led us up a long, winding flight of stairs.
"Stairs?" I mouthed to Sark who refused to acknowledge my question.
"Here we are." the man smiled, opening the door to the... roof.
At least that’s what it used to be. It had now been transformed into another floor of the restaurant with green and black marble tiling. 3 petite circular tables occupied the space along with an area for a band and a small 10' x 12' dancing area. Flowers decorated the edges of the building, giving it a florid appearance. On one of the tables, on top of the silk white tablecloths were appropriate silverware, a rose, candles and note. The man helped me to my seat and pointed Sark to his.
"Here are your menus." He handed us red and black engraved menus that has been laminated.
"They smell like..." I began. "...lilies."
"You know, that's the fastest anyone's ever acknowledged that." the man smiled. He pulled out an oblong blue plastic device from his pocket..
“Did I win that?” I joked.
"Almost, press this button when you're ready to order. When you see this light go off and it vibrates, that means that your food is done and I'm on my way. If, afterwards, you would like anything else, feel free to press the button again." He spoke with the confidence of a man who had been repeating the same phrase for years.
"Well, thank you... Farid?" I began, unsure of how to pronounce his name.
"Farid. It's pronounced Fa-reed." He corrected me.
"I'm sorry." I smiled in embarrassment.
"I could never be mad at someone as beautiful as you." He took my hand into his and kissed it briefly before replacing it. With a bow he was gone back downstairs.
After browsing through the menu for a few minutes I knew what I wanted.
"So, I'm guessing that this is an expensive place." I noted.
"What makes you say that?" Sark questioned, searching through his menu.
"The prices aren't listed; which suggests that if you have to ask how much money it is, you can't afford it."
"Most likely." he responded.
"Are you done?" I asked. Without waiting for his reply I pressed the button.
In less than a minute Farid had arrived at our tableside. "What would you like to eat?"
"I will have a sliced top Sirloin steak in Portobello sauce and for desert, your delicious Tiramisu."
"And what drink would you enjoy?" Farid questioned.
"The best wine you own." Sark answered without hesitating.
"And for the lady?" Farid began, turning to me.
"I would like some Filet Mignon and for desert I will try some of your Banana Foster." I smiled.
"And what drink would strike your fancy?" he questioned.
"She will take some Apple Cider." Sark interrupted.
I scoffed, softly. "Well, excuse the hell out of me. I think I can decide what I would like the drink without your help."
"I don't think so. It doesn't seem like you've been doing a hell of a job so far." He snarled.
I glared at him.
"Miss?" Farid began, unsure of how to respond.
"I'll take the apple cider." I spoke softly.
Farids’s brown eye's reflected his sympathy towards my situation. Even though he knew very little of it.
"I'll be back later with your food." he promised us, whisking away our menus.
"You amaze me." Sark began.
I chose, instead of responding, to read the note left on our table. It welcomed us to the restaurant and things along that line.
"How someone can shift, so fluently" he accenciuated, "between the stages of grief is amazing."
I decided to not respond to this.
And, until the arrival of our food, silence ensued.
I gazed down at my beautiful dish and tried not to cry. The dish reminds me of so many things. It reminds me of Vaughn, of Francie, and of Danny. It reminds me of my past and all that I have lost. And so, in an effort to hide the tears that threaten to fall, I lean my head on my half-opened fist.
Despite my effort, tears soon spoil the perfectly cooked Filet Mignon.
Sark remains quiet, eating his Sirloin steak.
When the tears threaten to get out of hand, I speak up in a shaky voice. "I have to go to the bathroom."
Sark glances up, this time, noticing that something's wrong.
"You are the only person I know who can take away the enjoyment of eating a perfectly prepared Sirloin steak."
I stare down at my food, ashamed. "Can I ask you something? You loved her didn't you? How did you deal with the death of Lauren?"
"Like she was gone. Nothing to fret about." he lied.
I stared him in the eye. "No, you didn't."
He stood up silently and moved around the table, sliding into my chair and enclosing me in a tight hug.
"You get over it. You have to. Otherwise it kills you." he whispers into my ear. "But most of all, you can't look on the bright side. It makes it worse."
He must have held me for 15 minutes before his phone rang. He made a move to disentangle himself but thought otherwise.
"Sark." He greeted the person.
I couldn't quite make out what the person's response was.
"I can't talk right now, I'll get back to you tonight." With that he turned off his phone and pocketed it, to the best of his abilities.
"That's a first." I began softly.
"What?" he questioned, repositioning me in his arms so that I had more room.
"Don't look on the bright side?" I asked him.
"It makes it worse. You tend to hide your feelings from other people so that they think that you're better. If they think that you're better, they can't help you; if you take so much time convincing them that you're better, you're only going to prolong the recovery process." he replied, matter-of-factly. "You just take the pain, without the alcohol. And you push it into something else. Like exercise and completing missions. Things that are beneficial to you anyways. Then the pain starts to dull until one day you don't feel it anymore. And then that will hurt you. Soon, that feeling goes away. And all you feel is calm, and complacent with a hint of sadness."
"No." I pushed at him. "That's not how I've ever dealt with it. I've gone through the death of loved ones before; several, in fact."
"This time is different. You've never experienced this. Perhaps, you don't know what to do. You are already amazing at hand to hand combat, lingual skills, lying, typing, physically demanding things, education, helping others, etc. You can't be good at everything." Sark pointed out.
"You said it yourself, I know how to help others, I am great at solving problems, I should be able to..." I trailed off.
"You're not allowed to know everything. One head cannot contain all wisdom."He whispered.
“But I want to…” I whispered back.
I could hear a throat being cleared as I looked up.
"Your desserts." Farid smiled at me, setting them down before us.
I grabbed a fork digging into the wonderfully prepared stylish cake-like dessert.
"What are you doing?" Sark asked.
"Eating. "I answered, after swallowing a bite.
With a gentle tug at my fork, Sark pulled it out of my hand. "Eating my Tiramisu."
I gave him a sheepish smile.
"That is your Banana Foster." He pointed to something that appeared to be bananas hidden underneath vanilla ice cream.
"It looks just like a fancier, richer version of Banana Split." I responded.
"Actually, not really. It's bathed in alcohol before the alcohol is burned off. It gives it a distinctive taste." He corrected me.
"I don't want a Banana Split." I yelled, grabbing for his plate.
"Fine." He gave in, switching plates with me.
"Hey, Sark." I began uncertainly.
"Yes?" he answered, reaching for another bite.
"What you said before, about me fluctuating. Why do I do that?" I questioned.
"My best guess? You're not really fluctuating. You're in an actual stage of grief where the other emotions lie beneath the surface. Maybe your accessing them at times." He answered. "Hell if I know. I never took a day of psychology in my life."
---Steve's POV---
I watched Sydney and Sark on top of the roof, while I dialed a number that I knew by heart.
"You took so long I thought you were dead." A voice greeted me.
"Nice to hear from you too, Irina." I responded.
"Anything new?" she asked, getting straight to the point.
"Sark was on the ship." I informed her. "But he wasn't by himself. He was with some girl."
"Explain." she demanded.
"She's in high school." I clarified. "Claims her name is Samantha Ashley Shoemocker."
"So?" Irina asked with a hint of boredom.
"So, Samantha Ashley Shoemocker died 12 years ago." I informed her.
A/N: Keep reading... another chapter is up...
Disclaimer: As if I am stupid enough to try and claim Alias as mine. (I'm not.)
A/N: I hope you enjoy this transitional chapter.
"Here's everything I know about war: somebody wins, somebody loses, and nothing is ever the same again." -- Admiral Constanza Stark from Andromeda, episode #104, D Minus Zero
---Irina's POV---
I sat back in my chair, slightly taken aback by this piece of information. Silently, I reprimanded myself for allowing this emotion to take over me. Look what kind of business your in. I reminded myself.
"Find out what you can about this Samantha girl. Both the real one and the girl behind the alias." I ordered him.
"Of course." he replied back as automatic as an automaton.
The chair I was currently occupying had been accompanied at the store with the wooden table in front of it. The rich mahogany texture of it had fit so well with the reddish-brown color of the wooden walls of this cabin that I knew instantly that the set would be purchased. In an effort to minimize the attention drawn to the place, minimal furniture had been purchased. A queen sized bed beside a brown nightstand that supported a lamp, another brown nightstand across from the bed that held up a 29' TV and 2 drawers full of books, a mini-fridge, microwave, 2 bookshelves, and a small bathroom off to the right. On top of the desk were scattered papers, mostly about Sydney.
---Sark's POV---
After my last comment, silence had ensued for a few minutes. When it was finally broken, I failed to realize it for a minute of so, due to her soft tones.
"...everyone stared at me. All of them. They had this look in their eye. I knew that they had officially begun to hold me up there-or really down there with my mother." She whispered, avoiding eye contact.
"Do they know what happened?" I questioned, turning her head so she could face me.
"They have their own version of what happened. What they consider common sense. But, I guess, I can't blame them. I guess I'll just do what everyone else tried to do- just play along." She wiped silent tear away.
"What happened?" I pried, not wanting to shut her down.
"Vaughn ... I watched them kill him." I watched her run a shaky hand through her hair. "I found this out... right before I had to leave for my mission. To find some Rambaldi manual or something. No one wanted me to go. They didn't trust my ability to pull it off with my 'current emotional state.' But I pushed and I pushed and I pushed. They broke down, sent me in. I had the manual in my hands..."
"It's all right." I whispered into her hair as she paused to cry.
"I pushed, and you know for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction. I was in a fight. I didn't know who I was fighting because they never took off their mask, and I couldn't exactly ask them to stop fighting me so I could see who they were. I remember... I remember their nails biting into my skin, the rest of their hands were cutting off my circulation. They I remember flying through the frame surrounding the stairwell. I fell- 1 story? 2 stories? What the hell does it matter? It was still a long way to fall and land on your baby. Even the doctors at the hospital... even the doctors thought that I had tried to take my own life that night. And Jack-- he refused to bring the subject up at all. Not even once. What ever the hell that means. What made it worse is when everyone asked who threw me over, I don't know. I never saw their face."
I remained silent. The rumors had been circling around for awhile that Sydney had gone crazy. She'd snapped. She'd been drowning and looking for a flotation device that was no longer there. Burying my face in her hair, I rocked her back and forth willing the pain to diffuse into my own body.
---Steve's POV---
There's nothing more to see here. I convinced myself, as I put the car in drive and took off down the road. Maybe they were right. Maybe she did snap. I turned on the radio in an attempt to forget all the work ahead of me in finding out about the teenager who had been with Sark. The only good thing was that I was able to extract more 'information' out of Samantha while Sydney and Sark danced.
---Samantha's POV---
I slammed the door shut in a fit of anger. How dare he. "How dare he!"
The condo I was currently in was extravagantly furnished. Upon entering it, one could glimpse a beautiful view of the ocean. To the left of the door was a modern kitchen. The cabinets were rich wooden color with metallic colored appliances. The tabletops were composed of black marble. One even housed an emergency hand-held mirror. To the right was the living room, filled with 2 loveseats; 3 black, petite, modern swivel chairs; a glass table; a mahogany-colored bar in the corner; a metal coat rack; 3 strategically placed petite tables all of which supported miniscule black lamps and a few pictures; and an black entertainment system. My door-less dining room was beside the living room. Complete with a square glass table decorated with a red and black silk tablecloth and 2 elegant candles encased in candleholders. 4 metal chairs surrounded the table. On the side closest to the sliding glass door, a wooden cabinet was filled with decorative plates, cups, glass, forks, knives and spoons. Via the sliding glass door, one could access my crème-colored balcony. Next to the kitchen was a hallway which led to the 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and the den. The ground was covered in black and white decorated tile. Standing lamps, fluorescent lights, ceiling fans, regular lights and dimmers were all scattered throughout along with 3 beautiful paintings.
I glanced at the main living room table. Papers had been spread out all over it. With a sigh, I grabbed them up and headed for the den. Vacation's over. Time for homework.
---The Next Day---
---Sydney's POV---
With all my intune spy skills I could only use my common sense to guess how or even, what time I got home. My recollection of the previous night ended shortly after confessing to Sark about what happened the night my baby died and I fell asleep. Via a private jet, most likely, I had been flown back to L.A., to the same confines of my haunted home. A home filled with relentless memories. I knew, deep down, that now that the war was over the real healing would need to begin. I knew I still needed a lot of work, but everything took time.
I threw the covers off of me in one quick move and rolled off the bed. Quick and simple. The bed method for getting up. I ran and unenthusiastic hand through my hair as I headed for the answering machine. I stared down at the blinking number. 89. The number at which my answering machine officially stopped recording new messages. Of course, if I wanted, I could always change it so that it would delete the oldest once it hit the maximum number, but I had no desire to do that. The messages would be more or less of the same thing. The first 3 were old; the next 7 were apologies about Vaughn, and the next 19 about the baby; 27 were people calling to see how I was; 34 were people worried about my behavior and my refusal to call them back; 5 were from my Weiss, stressing his concern over all of this; 3 were from Marshall; 1 from Sloane; 5 were from my bill collectors; 2 were official requests from the CIA for me to visit Barnett; 1 was a wrong number; and the last 2 were from people wiling to take me someplace and get drunk with me. Save for the bill collector ones, I deleted all of them. Pity was not something I needed. I needed someone who understood. The only person I knew personally who even came close to knowing this pain was not someone I was ready to run to. Mom.
----Samantha's POV---
The doorbell rang, pushing my thoughts about my chemistry problem out of my mind.
"One second," I yelled, glancing back down at the paper.
However, the doorbell continued the ring, just slightly slower than would be considered demanding.
I stuffed my homework into my book and hid it in a secret compartment of a wooden dresser. The wooden dresser sat beside a comfy couch which lay across from an entertainment center which was on the other side of the square, wooden table currently occupied by a bag of chips and a Mountain Dew. On the wall beside the entertainment center was a tall bookshelf with it's last 3 shelves occupied by games including Mancala and Twister. The other shelves housed books of all genres and sizes. The other sides of the cough left enough space to play 2 games of twister on either side.
For privacy reasons and the comfort that came out of not being in the bedroom, the den lacked a window. The tile floor was covered in a brown rug. On the same crème-colored wall as the couch was an enlarged copy of a photo that I had taken 2 years ago.
I hurried over to the door where I pressed the buzzer. "Who is it?"
"You've forgotten me already?" a voice joked into the speaker.
I smiled briefly, before I pressed a button that allowed him access to my building. Hurrying over to the kitchen, I picked up the mirror and ran my hand through my back-length blonde hair a few times, tossing and manipulating it as best as I could within the short time period. I frowned at my outfit. Jeans and a red tank top.
The doorbell rang a second time. I quickly, but carefully, tossed the mirror onto the countertop before I opened up the door breathlessly in anticipation.
"Hello Sark." I grinned.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked, peering into my condo.
"Yea, sure. Come on in." I moved aside to allow him room to walk in. He surveyed my apartment briefly before turning around to face me.
"You changed it." he commented.
"Well, I got tired of the old one. Change is a good thing." I called behind me, heading to the cupboards.
I bent down and rifled through until I found what I was looking for. I grabbed 2 glasses and headed to the living room.
"So, does the visit you paid me have a reason, or have you come to bless me with your presence?" I asked, setting down the glasses as I poured the drinks.
Sark gave a taunting look at the wine bottle.
"You were able to buy that?" He questioned.
"Well, you know what you've always said," I retorted, taking a seat in one of the single-seaters perpendicular to him. I swiveled it so that I was facing him and staring into his eyes. "If you want something bad enough, you'll find a way."
"Life doesn't always work out that way." I don't know if I imagined the look of rejection he cast my way. His close proximity allowed me to hear his nearly silent intake of air as he tasted the wine. "As you suspected, I did have a source of motivation for coming all the way out here. I wanted to apologize for deserting you."
"Speaking of," I flung my back over my shoulder, "how is the lovely Miss Bailey?"
"Just as lovely as usual."
"Figures." I smiled, disgusted.
---Sydney's POV---
I punched a number into the phone and waiting for the person to pick up.
"Bristow." They greeted me.
"Dad?" I asked.
"Sydney?" Jack began. "Where are you? Are you alright-"
"Dad, I'm fine." I smiled for emphasis, even though we were communicating through the phone. "I'm at home. I figure it's time for me to start working again."
"Are you sure you don't want to wait?" he questioned.
"Maybe for a week, but beyond that... I've waited enough. It's been months dad. So anyways, what's new with you?" I questioned, moving to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
"I've been waiting in limbo waiting for you to return." He admitted softly. "Let's not talk about this.
You'll need to be briefed on quiet a lot of things when you come back in. I suggest you rest up this week so that you'll be prepared to jump back into the hot seat."
The sudden shift back into business almost made me question if I had truly heard that brief hint of emotion.
"Dad?" I began, pausing for his acknowledgement.
"Yes, Sydney?" He replied quickly, eager to give me the world.
"Could you not tell anyone that I'm back yet? At least not for a few days. I'd like to settle in first, without the horde of calls. My answering machine can't take it anymore." I laughed.
"Sydney," Dad paused. "It's good to hear you laugh again."
"Thanks, it's good to hear your voice again. Listen dad, I'll call you back later, I've got to go brush my teeth."
The line remained quiet for a moment, as quiet as the aftermath of a war, each of us wondering if the other would say 'I love you.'
Finally, I gave in, knowing already what would happen. "I love you dad."
"I'm glad that you're back."
The other end disconnected.
I turned of the phone and picked up my toothbrush.
Well, it's good to see that things here haven't changed. I thought to myself.
---Dixon's POV---
I picked up the phone after the second ring.
"Hello?" I greeted the caller.
"Dixon, this is me, Jack, we might have just found the solution to our problems." He offered me.
"What do you mean?" I questioned, sitting up farther.
"Sydney's back in town." He revealed.
A/N: This was just a transitional chapter. Sorry if you didn't like it. Kudos if you did. Answers are coming, but ,sorry, so are more questions.
pm list:
A/N: If you're thinking, 'finally, an update,' well then you would be correct.... kinda. There are 2 chapters in this update. Skip past the italics if you remember what is going on.
Dedication: nicewoman, who was nice enough to point out an error in a link of mine.
Previously on Wasted Time:
I buckled myself in and pressed lightly on the gas and screamed. "Holy felgercarb!" I yelled, pushing on the breaks. I put it in park and laid on the steering wheel, my whole body shaking.
"I should have warned you. The Bugatti Veyron can reach 62 mph in 2.5 seconds." Sark smirked. "Whoops."
"Yeah, whoops. I nearly had a heart attack. I think you should drive."
"No. You drive her. It'll help." he assured me.
This time when I started driving I was ready for it. I weaved my way through the normal Fort Lauderdale fast-moving traffic. I have no clue how much time passed while I was behind the wheel. At least until I turned down a street, at Sark's request. He directed me through a complicated neighborhood until at last I parked us at a beautifully decorated brick building. The edges of the windows were decorated with vines with Roses attached to them. Unrealistic, but still beautiful. On the patio, circular tables decorated the area. Inside the building was slightly darkened.
"Sark, what is this place?" I questioned.
"I've found a fair trade off for helping you." He responded.
"But you didn't really help me." I insisted.
"I did a much better job fulfilling my promise than you have." he pointed out.
"So?" I asked.
"So go out to dinner with me."
Chapter 4- Lessons in Wisdom and Grief
"One head cannot contain all wisdom." -- "The Olduvai Cycle", Systems University Archives.
Andromeda, episode # 114 Harper 2.0
---Sydney's POV---
The wind blew past us, picking up stranded leaves and allowing them to know the brief sensation of flying before they were dropped back onto the ground again. Save for that rustling sound and the low volume of people engaged in private conversations, the road was eerily quiet.
Sark remained silent, awaiting my answer. After a minute, he gazed out of the car window to the one-story building I had driven us to. His fingers tapped an unknown beat on the car door while he awaited my answer.
I sat there, listening to the persistent rumbling of my stomach while I considered it.
"Well it's not bloody brain surgery." he spat out.
"Khaki pants, red flip flops, and a red shirt?" I questioned. "This place doesn't look like it accepts my current choice of attire."
However, my stomach grumbled at my protest. It was demanding, in the same demeanor as a 6 month old, to be fed.
Looking at me, he cocked an eyebrow upwards at this sound.
"Fine." I acquiesced with a defeated sigh. "But you foot the bill."
I opened the door and considered slamming it for a second, but one glance at the beauty of it in the setting sun convinced me otherwise. I closed it softly, enjoying the elegant click it ensued in.
"Sark?" I called, glancing around for him but coming up with nothing. I mumbled under my breath, "The guy disappears more than Houdini."
However, a quick walk to the other side of the car revealed that he was still sitting inside.
"You plan on coming out?" I asked, coldly. "Or perhaps you intend to eat the interior of your car."
"I'm glad to see your manners are still intact." He retorted. "Aren't you supposed to open my door now?"
"No," I shook my head. "I think this is where I kick you in the balls if you don't get out."
He pondered this for a moment before he stepped out of the car and turned the alarm on.
I followed him inside of the restaurant where a tall brunette Russian man dressed in a suit behind a wooden podium asked us for our reservations. The inside of the building was decorated in shades of red.
"Oh, I didn't- just-they didn't- follow me." The man stumbled along after he saw us.
He led us up a long, winding flight of stairs.
"Stairs?" I mouthed to Sark who refused to acknowledge my question.
"Here we are." the man smiled, opening the door to the... roof.
At least that’s what it used to be. It had now been transformed into another floor of the restaurant with green and black marble tiling. 3 petite circular tables occupied the space along with an area for a band and a small 10' x 12' dancing area. Flowers decorated the edges of the building, giving it a florid appearance. On one of the tables, on top of the silk white tablecloths were appropriate silverware, a rose, candles and note. The man helped me to my seat and pointed Sark to his.
"Here are your menus." He handed us red and black engraved menus that has been laminated.
"They smell like..." I began. "...lilies."
"You know, that's the fastest anyone's ever acknowledged that." the man smiled. He pulled out an oblong blue plastic device from his pocket..
“Did I win that?” I joked.
"Almost, press this button when you're ready to order. When you see this light go off and it vibrates, that means that your food is done and I'm on my way. If, afterwards, you would like anything else, feel free to press the button again." He spoke with the confidence of a man who had been repeating the same phrase for years.
"Well, thank you... Farid?" I began, unsure of how to pronounce his name.
"Farid. It's pronounced Fa-reed." He corrected me.
"I'm sorry." I smiled in embarrassment.
"I could never be mad at someone as beautiful as you." He took my hand into his and kissed it briefly before replacing it. With a bow he was gone back downstairs.
After browsing through the menu for a few minutes I knew what I wanted.
"So, I'm guessing that this is an expensive place." I noted.
"What makes you say that?" Sark questioned, searching through his menu.
"The prices aren't listed; which suggests that if you have to ask how much money it is, you can't afford it."
"Most likely." he responded.
"Are you done?" I asked. Without waiting for his reply I pressed the button.
In less than a minute Farid had arrived at our tableside. "What would you like to eat?"
"I will have a sliced top Sirloin steak in Portobello sauce and for desert, your delicious Tiramisu."
"And what drink would you enjoy?" Farid questioned.
"The best wine you own." Sark answered without hesitating.
"And for the lady?" Farid began, turning to me.
"I would like some Filet Mignon and for desert I will try some of your Banana Foster." I smiled.
"And what drink would strike your fancy?" he questioned.
"She will take some Apple Cider." Sark interrupted.
I scoffed, softly. "Well, excuse the hell out of me. I think I can decide what I would like the drink without your help."
"I don't think so. It doesn't seem like you've been doing a hell of a job so far." He snarled.
I glared at him.
"Miss?" Farid began, unsure of how to respond.
"I'll take the apple cider." I spoke softly.
Farids’s brown eye's reflected his sympathy towards my situation. Even though he knew very little of it.
"I'll be back later with your food." he promised us, whisking away our menus.
"You amaze me." Sark began.
I chose, instead of responding, to read the note left on our table. It welcomed us to the restaurant and things along that line.
"How someone can shift, so fluently" he accenciuated, "between the stages of grief is amazing."
I decided to not respond to this.
And, until the arrival of our food, silence ensued.
I gazed down at my beautiful dish and tried not to cry. The dish reminds me of so many things. It reminds me of Vaughn, of Francie, and of Danny. It reminds me of my past and all that I have lost. And so, in an effort to hide the tears that threaten to fall, I lean my head on my half-opened fist.
Despite my effort, tears soon spoil the perfectly cooked Filet Mignon.
Sark remains quiet, eating his Sirloin steak.
When the tears threaten to get out of hand, I speak up in a shaky voice. "I have to go to the bathroom."
Sark glances up, this time, noticing that something's wrong.
"You are the only person I know who can take away the enjoyment of eating a perfectly prepared Sirloin steak."
I stare down at my food, ashamed. "Can I ask you something? You loved her didn't you? How did you deal with the death of Lauren?"
"Like she was gone. Nothing to fret about." he lied.
I stared him in the eye. "No, you didn't."
He stood up silently and moved around the table, sliding into my chair and enclosing me in a tight hug.
"You get over it. You have to. Otherwise it kills you." he whispers into my ear. "But most of all, you can't look on the bright side. It makes it worse."
He must have held me for 15 minutes before his phone rang. He made a move to disentangle himself but thought otherwise.
"Sark." He greeted the person.
I couldn't quite make out what the person's response was.
"I can't talk right now, I'll get back to you tonight." With that he turned off his phone and pocketed it, to the best of his abilities.
"That's a first." I began softly.
"What?" he questioned, repositioning me in his arms so that I had more room.
"Don't look on the bright side?" I asked him.
"It makes it worse. You tend to hide your feelings from other people so that they think that you're better. If they think that you're better, they can't help you; if you take so much time convincing them that you're better, you're only going to prolong the recovery process." he replied, matter-of-factly. "You just take the pain, without the alcohol. And you push it into something else. Like exercise and completing missions. Things that are beneficial to you anyways. Then the pain starts to dull until one day you don't feel it anymore. And then that will hurt you. Soon, that feeling goes away. And all you feel is calm, and complacent with a hint of sadness."
"No." I pushed at him. "That's not how I've ever dealt with it. I've gone through the death of loved ones before; several, in fact."
"This time is different. You've never experienced this. Perhaps, you don't know what to do. You are already amazing at hand to hand combat, lingual skills, lying, typing, physically demanding things, education, helping others, etc. You can't be good at everything." Sark pointed out.
"You said it yourself, I know how to help others, I am great at solving problems, I should be able to..." I trailed off.
"You're not allowed to know everything. One head cannot contain all wisdom."He whispered.
“But I want to…” I whispered back.
I could hear a throat being cleared as I looked up.
"Your desserts." Farid smiled at me, setting them down before us.
I grabbed a fork digging into the wonderfully prepared stylish cake-like dessert.
"What are you doing?" Sark asked.
"Eating. "I answered, after swallowing a bite.
With a gentle tug at my fork, Sark pulled it out of my hand. "Eating my Tiramisu."
I gave him a sheepish smile.
"That is your Banana Foster." He pointed to something that appeared to be bananas hidden underneath vanilla ice cream.
"It looks just like a fancier, richer version of Banana Split." I responded.
"Actually, not really. It's bathed in alcohol before the alcohol is burned off. It gives it a distinctive taste." He corrected me.
"I don't want a Banana Split." I yelled, grabbing for his plate.
"Fine." He gave in, switching plates with me.
"Hey, Sark." I began uncertainly.
"Yes?" he answered, reaching for another bite.
"What you said before, about me fluctuating. Why do I do that?" I questioned.
"My best guess? You're not really fluctuating. You're in an actual stage of grief where the other emotions lie beneath the surface. Maybe your accessing them at times." He answered. "Hell if I know. I never took a day of psychology in my life."
---Steve's POV---
I watched Sydney and Sark on top of the roof, while I dialed a number that I knew by heart.
"You took so long I thought you were dead." A voice greeted me.
"Nice to hear from you too, Irina." I responded.
"Anything new?" she asked, getting straight to the point.
"Sark was on the ship." I informed her. "But he wasn't by himself. He was with some girl."
"Explain." she demanded.
"She's in high school." I clarified. "Claims her name is Samantha Ashley Shoemocker."
"So?" Irina asked with a hint of boredom.
"So, Samantha Ashley Shoemocker died 12 years ago." I informed her.
A/N: Keep reading... another chapter is up...
Disclaimer: As if I am stupid enough to try and claim Alias as mine. (I'm not.)
A/N: I hope you enjoy this transitional chapter.
Chapter 5- The War's Half Won
"Here's everything I know about war: somebody wins, somebody loses, and nothing is ever the same again." -- Admiral Constanza Stark from Andromeda, episode #104, D Minus Zero
---Irina's POV---
I sat back in my chair, slightly taken aback by this piece of information. Silently, I reprimanded myself for allowing this emotion to take over me. Look what kind of business your in. I reminded myself.
"Find out what you can about this Samantha girl. Both the real one and the girl behind the alias." I ordered him.
"Of course." he replied back as automatic as an automaton.
The chair I was currently occupying had been accompanied at the store with the wooden table in front of it. The rich mahogany texture of it had fit so well with the reddish-brown color of the wooden walls of this cabin that I knew instantly that the set would be purchased. In an effort to minimize the attention drawn to the place, minimal furniture had been purchased. A queen sized bed beside a brown nightstand that supported a lamp, another brown nightstand across from the bed that held up a 29' TV and 2 drawers full of books, a mini-fridge, microwave, 2 bookshelves, and a small bathroom off to the right. On top of the desk were scattered papers, mostly about Sydney.
---Sark's POV---
After my last comment, silence had ensued for a few minutes. When it was finally broken, I failed to realize it for a minute of so, due to her soft tones.
"...everyone stared at me. All of them. They had this look in their eye. I knew that they had officially begun to hold me up there-or really down there with my mother." She whispered, avoiding eye contact.
"Do they know what happened?" I questioned, turning her head so she could face me.
"They have their own version of what happened. What they consider common sense. But, I guess, I can't blame them. I guess I'll just do what everyone else tried to do- just play along." She wiped silent tear away.
"What happened?" I pried, not wanting to shut her down.
"Vaughn ... I watched them kill him." I watched her run a shaky hand through her hair. "I found this out... right before I had to leave for my mission. To find some Rambaldi manual or something. No one wanted me to go. They didn't trust my ability to pull it off with my 'current emotional state.' But I pushed and I pushed and I pushed. They broke down, sent me in. I had the manual in my hands..."
"It's all right." I whispered into her hair as she paused to cry.
"I pushed, and you know for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction. I was in a fight. I didn't know who I was fighting because they never took off their mask, and I couldn't exactly ask them to stop fighting me so I could see who they were. I remember... I remember their nails biting into my skin, the rest of their hands were cutting off my circulation. They I remember flying through the frame surrounding the stairwell. I fell- 1 story? 2 stories? What the hell does it matter? It was still a long way to fall and land on your baby. Even the doctors at the hospital... even the doctors thought that I had tried to take my own life that night. And Jack-- he refused to bring the subject up at all. Not even once. What ever the hell that means. What made it worse is when everyone asked who threw me over, I don't know. I never saw their face."
I remained silent. The rumors had been circling around for awhile that Sydney had gone crazy. She'd snapped. She'd been drowning and looking for a flotation device that was no longer there. Burying my face in her hair, I rocked her back and forth willing the pain to diffuse into my own body.
---Steve's POV---
There's nothing more to see here. I convinced myself, as I put the car in drive and took off down the road. Maybe they were right. Maybe she did snap. I turned on the radio in an attempt to forget all the work ahead of me in finding out about the teenager who had been with Sark. The only good thing was that I was able to extract more 'information' out of Samantha while Sydney and Sark danced.
---Samantha's POV---
I slammed the door shut in a fit of anger. How dare he. "How dare he!"
The condo I was currently in was extravagantly furnished. Upon entering it, one could glimpse a beautiful view of the ocean. To the left of the door was a modern kitchen. The cabinets were rich wooden color with metallic colored appliances. The tabletops were composed of black marble. One even housed an emergency hand-held mirror. To the right was the living room, filled with 2 loveseats; 3 black, petite, modern swivel chairs; a glass table; a mahogany-colored bar in the corner; a metal coat rack; 3 strategically placed petite tables all of which supported miniscule black lamps and a few pictures; and an black entertainment system. My door-less dining room was beside the living room. Complete with a square glass table decorated with a red and black silk tablecloth and 2 elegant candles encased in candleholders. 4 metal chairs surrounded the table. On the side closest to the sliding glass door, a wooden cabinet was filled with decorative plates, cups, glass, forks, knives and spoons. Via the sliding glass door, one could access my crème-colored balcony. Next to the kitchen was a hallway which led to the 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms and the den. The ground was covered in black and white decorated tile. Standing lamps, fluorescent lights, ceiling fans, regular lights and dimmers were all scattered throughout along with 3 beautiful paintings.
I glanced at the main living room table. Papers had been spread out all over it. With a sigh, I grabbed them up and headed for the den. Vacation's over. Time for homework.
---The Next Day---
---Sydney's POV---
With all my intune spy skills I could only use my common sense to guess how or even, what time I got home. My recollection of the previous night ended shortly after confessing to Sark about what happened the night my baby died and I fell asleep. Via a private jet, most likely, I had been flown back to L.A., to the same confines of my haunted home. A home filled with relentless memories. I knew, deep down, that now that the war was over the real healing would need to begin. I knew I still needed a lot of work, but everything took time.
I threw the covers off of me in one quick move and rolled off the bed. Quick and simple. The bed method for getting up. I ran and unenthusiastic hand through my hair as I headed for the answering machine. I stared down at the blinking number. 89. The number at which my answering machine officially stopped recording new messages. Of course, if I wanted, I could always change it so that it would delete the oldest once it hit the maximum number, but I had no desire to do that. The messages would be more or less of the same thing. The first 3 were old; the next 7 were apologies about Vaughn, and the next 19 about the baby; 27 were people calling to see how I was; 34 were people worried about my behavior and my refusal to call them back; 5 were from my Weiss, stressing his concern over all of this; 3 were from Marshall; 1 from Sloane; 5 were from my bill collectors; 2 were official requests from the CIA for me to visit Barnett; 1 was a wrong number; and the last 2 were from people wiling to take me someplace and get drunk with me. Save for the bill collector ones, I deleted all of them. Pity was not something I needed. I needed someone who understood. The only person I knew personally who even came close to knowing this pain was not someone I was ready to run to. Mom.
----Samantha's POV---
The doorbell rang, pushing my thoughts about my chemistry problem out of my mind.
"One second," I yelled, glancing back down at the paper.
However, the doorbell continued the ring, just slightly slower than would be considered demanding.
I stuffed my homework into my book and hid it in a secret compartment of a wooden dresser. The wooden dresser sat beside a comfy couch which lay across from an entertainment center which was on the other side of the square, wooden table currently occupied by a bag of chips and a Mountain Dew. On the wall beside the entertainment center was a tall bookshelf with it's last 3 shelves occupied by games including Mancala and Twister. The other shelves housed books of all genres and sizes. The other sides of the cough left enough space to play 2 games of twister on either side.
For privacy reasons and the comfort that came out of not being in the bedroom, the den lacked a window. The tile floor was covered in a brown rug. On the same crème-colored wall as the couch was an enlarged copy of a photo that I had taken 2 years ago.
I hurried over to the door where I pressed the buzzer. "Who is it?"
"You've forgotten me already?" a voice joked into the speaker.
I smiled briefly, before I pressed a button that allowed him access to my building. Hurrying over to the kitchen, I picked up the mirror and ran my hand through my back-length blonde hair a few times, tossing and manipulating it as best as I could within the short time period. I frowned at my outfit. Jeans and a red tank top.
The doorbell rang a second time. I quickly, but carefully, tossed the mirror onto the countertop before I opened up the door breathlessly in anticipation.
"Hello Sark." I grinned.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asked, peering into my condo.
"Yea, sure. Come on in." I moved aside to allow him room to walk in. He surveyed my apartment briefly before turning around to face me.
"You changed it." he commented.
"Well, I got tired of the old one. Change is a good thing." I called behind me, heading to the cupboards.
I bent down and rifled through until I found what I was looking for. I grabbed 2 glasses and headed to the living room.
"So, does the visit you paid me have a reason, or have you come to bless me with your presence?" I asked, setting down the glasses as I poured the drinks.
Sark gave a taunting look at the wine bottle.
"You were able to buy that?" He questioned.
"Well, you know what you've always said," I retorted, taking a seat in one of the single-seaters perpendicular to him. I swiveled it so that I was facing him and staring into his eyes. "If you want something bad enough, you'll find a way."
"Life doesn't always work out that way." I don't know if I imagined the look of rejection he cast my way. His close proximity allowed me to hear his nearly silent intake of air as he tasted the wine. "As you suspected, I did have a source of motivation for coming all the way out here. I wanted to apologize for deserting you."
"Speaking of," I flung my back over my shoulder, "how is the lovely Miss Bailey?"
"Just as lovely as usual."
"Figures." I smiled, disgusted.
---Sydney's POV---
I punched a number into the phone and waiting for the person to pick up.
"Bristow." They greeted me.
"Dad?" I asked.
"Sydney?" Jack began. "Where are you? Are you alright-"
"Dad, I'm fine." I smiled for emphasis, even though we were communicating through the phone. "I'm at home. I figure it's time for me to start working again."
"Are you sure you don't want to wait?" he questioned.
"Maybe for a week, but beyond that... I've waited enough. It's been months dad. So anyways, what's new with you?" I questioned, moving to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
"I've been waiting in limbo waiting for you to return." He admitted softly. "Let's not talk about this.
You'll need to be briefed on quiet a lot of things when you come back in. I suggest you rest up this week so that you'll be prepared to jump back into the hot seat."
The sudden shift back into business almost made me question if I had truly heard that brief hint of emotion.
"Dad?" I began, pausing for his acknowledgement.
"Yes, Sydney?" He replied quickly, eager to give me the world.
"Could you not tell anyone that I'm back yet? At least not for a few days. I'd like to settle in first, without the horde of calls. My answering machine can't take it anymore." I laughed.
"Sydney," Dad paused. "It's good to hear you laugh again."
"Thanks, it's good to hear your voice again. Listen dad, I'll call you back later, I've got to go brush my teeth."
The line remained quiet for a moment, as quiet as the aftermath of a war, each of us wondering if the other would say 'I love you.'
Finally, I gave in, knowing already what would happen. "I love you dad."
"I'm glad that you're back."
The other end disconnected.
I turned of the phone and picked up my toothbrush.
Well, it's good to see that things here haven't changed. I thought to myself.
---Dixon's POV---
I picked up the phone after the second ring.
"Hello?" I greeted the caller.
"Dixon, this is me, Jack, we might have just found the solution to our problems." He offered me.
"What do you mean?" I questioned, sitting up farther.
"Sydney's back in town." He revealed.
A/N: This was just a transitional chapter. Sorry if you didn't like it. Kudos if you did. Answers are coming, but ,sorry, so are more questions.
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