Title: Exposed Spaces
Rating: R/NC-17
Timeline: Before Phase 1, Sequel to Enclosed Places
Disclaimer: The character and Alias universe belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

Summary: After Sydney and Sark escape, they must find some way of dealing with their time in captivity. Written for the Cover Me JJ Challenge.

Feedback: Always welcome. You can email me at lunasky @ gmail.com.

A/N: Many, many thanks to Ms Pie for betaing this in record time for me.

Exposed Spaces

Day 4 - Debriefs

I watch Kendall rub his forehead with his hand as he scans over the report that he is holding. My report. My debrief on the failed SD-6 mission.

I should be paying attention, but honestly, I’m not really interested in what he has to say. I’m exhausted, and I just want to gone home. My brain is numb and my body aches.

It’s been four days since we escaped our prison, and washed up on a beach in Hong Kong. It’s been four days since we escaped hell, and I feel more exhausted now than I ever did during our confinement.

I look around the briefing room. My dad is sitting on my right, and he catches my eye. He gives me a tight smile before I break eye contact with him and continue looking around. Vaughn is next to me looking down at a copy of my report. He looks up and also catches my eye. His forehead is wrinkled with concern and though a part of me is touched, I don’t really need his sympathy.

I’m fine.

Really.

What I do need right now, is a nice long, warm bath... and maybe a really stiff drink.

Four days ago, we managed to hitchhike a ride into the city center where we found a payphone that we could use to report in. Sark used it first, but his call was short and nondescript. When he was finally connected to whatever number he dialed, all he did was give a series of numbers before hanging up. My call wasn’t as simple.

I had to call my handler.

I remember Sark standing next to me, listening in on my conversation as I did to his.

“Vaughn.”

“Vaughn. It’s Sydney.”

“Oh my god! Syd are you ok? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m in Hong Kong. We were captured and detained on a ship but we managed to escape.”

“We? You and Sark?”

“um…yes. Listen could you tell my father that I’m fine?”

“Sure, no problem. Do you want me to send an extraction team? You should probably call SD-6, but if you’d rather not…”

“No, you’re right. That’s what Sark suggested as well. We-”

“Sark?” There was a pause on the other end. “Syd wait, does he know about you?”

“Yes. Listen I can’t get into it now, but I think I’m fine. I have to go. I will come in when SD-6 is done with me.”

“Ok. Syd take care.”

The conversation would have been awkward enough without Sark listening but he didn’t say anything to me. I just remember him watching me with those piercing eyes of his.

Kendall breaks my reverie by throwing the file folder with my report in it dramatically down on the table. “So, Agent Bristow, you are telling me that Sark now knows you are a double agent for the CIA but that that’s okay, because he’s really an agent for the SIS?”

I can feel my lips pursing together in anger. “He’s known since last year. He said that Agent Haladaki was a mole for Derevko’s organization. That he told them about me.”

I look to my father to see if he believes me, but strangely enough, my father is looking away. Even Vaughn says nothing. I don’t completely understand it, but it seems that Haladaki is a topic that no one wants to talk about.

“And you believe that he’s British Intelligence?”

“Yes.”

“Need I remind you that everything we know of Mr. Sark, points to him as a ruthless, conniving, mercenary who runs from one employer to another, depending on who will pay him the most.”

“That would be the image he would have to portray in order to infiltrate all the organizations that he has.”

“He has also conveniently told you a story that by its very nature cannot be verified. He’s told you that MI6 will deny all knowledge of his employment with them. He has no ID to show you, he has nothing to prove to you that what he has told you is true, and yet you believe him.”

I force the words out through my clenched teeth. “Yes, I do.”

Kendall turns to my father. “Jack?”

My dad looks to me and then back to Kendall. “Agent Kendall, perhaps it would be best if we continued this tomorrow or the next day. Sydney just got out of debrief with SD-6. Arvin Sloane told me that Sark is going to a clinic in Switzerland to recover. He will be there for at least three months. This isn’t something that we need to solve tonight.”

I want to kiss my father. Debrief with SD-6. Sure if that’s what you want to call it. The extent of my debriefing with SD-6 was forty-eight hours of questioning by McCullough.

A battle for dominance is going on in front of my eyes, but finally Kendall decides to cut his losses. “Fine. We’ll resume this in two days. In the meantime Agent Vaughn, I want you to try and get some confirmation from MI6. I doubt you’ll be successful but try all avenues. Jack, I want you to talk to Sloane. Try to see if he is any more suspicious of Sydney than he was before. You,” he points to me like I don’t deserve a name. “Go home and rest. We’ll reconvene on Thursday.”

As I stand and start picking up my papers Kendall addresses me once more on his way out of the room. “Oh by the way Agent Bristow, you need to arrange for an appointment with Dr. Barnett before Thursday.”

I feel like crying. When did people just stop being happy that I made it home alive? Why is it that now when I survive some horrible ordeal, they just ask themselves if I am a security risk? I think that they would almost be happier if I was dead. It would certainly be a lot less work for them all.

SD-6 thinks that I broke and that I may not be reliable now. The CIA instead thinks that I am crazy and doesn’t trust my judgment.

I always thought debriefs were the thing to look forward to. They used to mean that I got home safe, that I survived another mission and that more often than not, I was successful. After which, it usually meant that I got a day or two off to recover and become whole again.

Now it seems like these debriefs are only the start of a struggle that will end up being much harder than any mission I ever faced in the field.

I’m just thankful that there were some things I didn’t put in my report. If these last few days are any indication of people’s reaction to what happened on the mission, then I’m very glad that I kept some things to myself.

Besides, I learned a long time ago, some things are none of the government’s business.

Just my own.

Day 5 – Fourths and Sixths

I’m sitting curled up on my sofa luxuriating in how soft it feels against my back. I can see the sun rising through the windows as I take a sip of my bitter coffee.

As I allow myself to feel human again.

It’s strange though. The bright orange rays of sunlight shining through my windows seem almost a little too orange. And the freshly-brewed coffee I'm drinking seems almost a little too bitter. The couch that I can feel along my back – it is almost a little too soft.

But I am so glad that I am alone for the moment. The last two days have been almost overwhelming. It’s like my life now has taken on a surreal quality. Back in confinement, everything was black. There was no escaping the reality of the situation. There were no distractions; there was no relief from its starkness. During those three weeks, I would have given anything for a sip of coffee, a pillow to sleep on or a glimpse of daylight. But now, for some reason they seem almost a little too much for me.

It’s like there are too many distractions for me now.

But I know that I can’t push my inner turmoil aside. I won’t let me. I need to think on it and come to some kind of resolution with myself. Because at the moment it feels like my life is split in two. And more so than it was before.

Before I had my real life working with the CIA and then my double life working for SD-6.

Now, there is my life before captivity and after it. I can't avoid the effect of my thoughts and actions while locked away with Sark, but people expect me to carry on like it never happened. Like my life beforehand is that easy to return to.

Maybe it’s because people think that I am used to splitting my focus. They think that I am used to living two lives and so now that I am back, I should be able to carry on easily. My life during captivity has no bearing on my real one. My other life is always a lie.

But the problem is that I am not really sure which life is real now, and which one is a lie. I know something inside me has changed - but it’s not what everybody is worried about. I still hate Sloane, I still despise SD-6. I am still loyal to the CIA. These things still hold true.

But there has been a shift in my perceptions. A month ago, Sark was my enemy. Now he’s my lover. Something inside of me must have changed.

Even though the word lover feels like a cancer in my thoughts, I force myself to acknowledge the truth.

But was I wrong before, or am I wrong now?

And is my life now split into fourths?

Francie cuts my thoughts off with a squeal from the hallway. “SYDNEY! You’re home!”

I get up from the sofa and put my coffee down to hug her. “Hi Francie.”

“Oh my gosh, how was your trip? Your dad stopped by a few weeks ago to tell me that the bank called you in at the last moment and asked you to go with a client up to his mountain hideaway to settle a deal. He said you would be gone for a little while, but jeez, you were gone almost a month! So how was northern Italy?”

Northern Italy? Oh right.

“Great. It was actually pretty intense. The scenery was beautiful but the work was pretty hectic. I’m glad to be back home.”

“The scenery? You’re gone for a month and that’s all you have to talk about? Come on, I’m sure you didn’t work everyday. I’m sure you got a chance to do some cool stuff? Cool enough that you didn’t even think to call me or anything!”

I try to force out a lighthearted laugh. “Sorry Francie, the client’s cabin was in a really remote village. I didn’t really have contact with anyone except the clients that I was working with. It was supposed to be their little retreat away from the hectic business scene.”

Francie rolls her eyes at me. “Oh yeah, that sounds like a retreat. All the executives getting together in a village to setup a bank deal.”

I try to shrug to show that I can’t even begin to understand the thought patterns of the filthy rich.

“Okay. I’m sorry. I can’t stay and chat with you this morning, I have to go to the restaurant early for a delivery, but we’ll chat when I get home ok? I’m sure you can think of some fun stories to tell me about your trip in the meantime.” Francie leans over to give me a peck on the cheek before she grabs her keys off of the counter and waltzes out of the apartment.

Sure Francie. Sure. A fun story? So I have to split my life once again now to accommodate everyone?

First, there’s the reality of what I lived on the ship.

Then there’s the reality of what I should have lived, had I not opened myself up to Sark.

Now I have to create the reality of what I would have liked to live instead?

This isn’t even counting my double life with SD-6.

I think I’ve lost track. Does the further split in my life make it fifths or sixths?

Week 2 – The Hard Part

“Ok Syd. Spill it,” Francie says, joining me on the couch as I attempt to work on a paper that was due yesterday.

“Spill what?” I ask, not having a clue what she’s talking about. But I put aside my paper, perhaps a little too eagerly.

“You’ve been acting all weird ever since you got back from that long trip. I think something happened that you’re not telling me about.”

I try not to sigh, but I can’t meet her eyes. Do I really dare tell her anything about what happened?

She leans towards me sympathetically. “Syd, you know me. I want you to be happy. You can tell me anything.”

I look into her eyes, and I know that she is my friend. Perhaps the only friend that I have that I can hope to even remotely talk to about this. “You’re right, Francie, again. I guess I’m just not sure how I feel about it all.” This time I do sigh as I proceed with some reluctance “I…I slept with one of my coworkers on the trip.”

“Really? The Michael guy you told me about?” Francie has a smile on her face like she’s happy for me.

I want to groan inwardly. “Um…no. Actually it was with a guy I hated before the trip started. I just got to know him better when we were stuck in the mountains for so long together.”

Francie’s eyebrows scrunch up with worry. “Wow. That’s a pretty big jump, to go from hating a guy to…sleeping with him. What about the non-dating policy at the bank?”

I try not to snort. “I think that’s the least of our problems.”

“Well, what about Michael?” she asks me after a moment’s consideration.

I can only shake my head. “I don’t know Francie, I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.”

She opens her arms to me and embraces me in a hug. “It’s okay. I’m sure you’ll figure out what you want. You just have to take the time to look in your heart.”

I pull back after a moment and nod. “I guess.”

“Of course, then you actually have to trust what your heart is telling you.”

I smile. “I think that’s going to be the hard part.”

Francie returns my smile. She gets up and is about to turn away, when she stops and turns back.

“So what’s this new guy’s name anyways?”

I only wish I knew.

Week 3 – One Paragraph

I’m sitting in Dr. Barnett’s office looking patiently around as she looks softly at me. Kendall insisted that I talk to her again, so here I am, but there’s not too much talking going on. She’s just sitting there, looking at me. For once, I just wish she would speak. She’s been looking at me for several minutes, and it’s starting to drive me nuts.

Pun not intended.

“So Sydney, how have you been?”

Finally.

“Fine,” I say.

She nods but she just continues to look at me.

“Really, I’m fine. It’s been three weeks; I’m fully recovered and ready to get back into the full swing of things. SD-6 already has me back on the job. After all, it’s not like I was actually tortured or anything. The entire experience could have been a lot worse.”

She nods again and smiles. “I suppose, but you know, sensory deprivation is a form of torture in itself. Though some people use it to achieve a meditative state, living in it for three weeks is something else entirely. Are you sleeping well at night?”

No. Last night I woke up in a cold sweat for no apparent reason. Two nights ago, I woke up Francie with a blood curdling scream. I have nightmares regularly, and that’s when I can get to sleep at all.

“More or less,” I say. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

She nods and writes something down on her pad of paper. “Sydney I’ll be honest. There are two things that I am worried about with you. The first is fact that, though you are not openly admitting it, I think you must be feeling a certain amount of disconnectedness from you life. You spent three weeks in the dark, in an enclosed sea container. Now you are thrust back into your life and I’m certain that most people expect you to carry on as if nothing has happened. But something has happened. You spent three weeks probably re-examining your life because there was nothing much to distract you from it. You are going to have changed a little as a result of all that introspection. The second thing is—”

“Please” I hold my hand up to stop her. “I don’t want to hear anymore about the change in my attitude towards Mr. Sark.”

She looks at me peculiarly, “No, that’s not what I was going to say.” She pauses as she considers my words though. “I was reading over your debriefing report and something struck me as a little strange. You mention that the guards came and got you and brought you to…” she looks down at her pad, “Jian Xie. But then all you say is that you managed to disarm him and the guard that was with him. You then headed to the engine room where you rigged an explosive, rescued Sark and then swam to shore.”

“And…? What’s the problem with that?”

“Your entire report is ten pages long and your escape takes up one paragraph.” She puts her pad down on her table and leans back. “Sydney, I know that you are self reliant and that you see me as more of a threat to you then a man with a gun, but I just want you to know something. My job is to help you do yours better. I am not looking for reasons to pull you out of the field and especially in your case, since I know you just can’t leave, but rather I am here to help you. Sometimes there are things that are just too difficult to handle on your own.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know. That’s what you keep telling me. But just in case, I want you to know that if there are things that you need to talk about, that maybe I can help.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

“I know.”

“Are we done?”

She nods. I quickly get up and move towards the door.

As I reach for the doorknob, my vision shifts slightly, and for a second all I can see is my hand covered in blood. I jerk my hand back and shake my head, but when I look back down at my hand it is normal.

“Sydney, are you ok?” I hear Dr. Barnett’s voice behind me.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was just a bug on my hand.”

This time I reach for the door, yank it open and walk out.

I am fine. Really.

More or less. It’s nothing I can’t handle.

Some things are just my own business, that’s all.

Month 1 – International Tension

For all their might the CIA has been able to uncover nothing about Sark’s true loyalties. Vaughn gave his report yesterday. He said that the director of the SIS was so insulted that we would even come up with such a ludicrous story that he pulled the British team out of the joint training exercise next month.

Kendall, I’m sure, blames this new international tension on me.

I don’t know what to think anymore. My heart still believes him, but my brain keeps telling me that I am a fool.

But I still remember his convulsions and moans.

I still remember the frantic way that he touched my face when he awoke from his nightmare. It’s like I can still feel his fingers burning my face where they touched.

No man should have to suffer that much and be called a liar.

But again, a part of me wonders, what if that’s the point?

It’s strange though. My nightmares have shifted once again. Now instead of only seeing blood on my hands or face, I dream of Sark’s nightmares as well; the images that he described to me of his sister and family. I also dream about all of the things that they did to him, though he didn’t describe nearly all of them to me. But I was always there when they brought him back. I got to see the brief image of him, stark and pale, with blood running down his hands. I saw the gash across his knuckles. I saw the bruises on his face.

I want to tell him that he’s been vindicated though. That the same knife that was used to cut open his hand was used to cut open the throat of his tormentor as well. I couldn’t tell him back then, but I want to tell him now.

I want to see him and make sure it wasn’t all in my head.

But if Kendall really wants to blame me for international tensions, perhaps he should start with the burning boat I sunk in the Hong Kong harbor. The last I heard they were still trying to clean up the mess and that there was a two week backlog of ships waiting to get in and out of the docks.

Month 3 - Propaganda

The reports started coming in a month ago from all over. First there was the bank robbery in Ireland. A small team invaded the national bank and cut off all security cameras and alarms. They used tranquilizer darts, but a security guard still died. The bank manager described the leader of the team as being a young, blond man with an English accent.

Next came the murder of the wife of the French ambassador to Canada. The last time she was seen alive, she was dancing with a young blond man at a private dinner function that she had attended with her husband. Later, none of the guests could identify the man except for one of them that mentioned that he walked with a small limp. The wife was found in her hotel bedroom, alone, strangled to death.

Reporters in Sudan described the burning of a village in the heart of the desert. This village was supposed to hold the sacred remains of one of their gods. The village was burned to a crisp and all the invalids or elderly villagers that couldn’t get away burned down with their huts. The sacred remains were apparently the only things that the gang was after. An old blind man was the only survivor of the horror, and he spoke with tremors in his voice about the English man that had killed his family.

On and on the reports came. Some more outlandish than the others, but all hinting at the same thing. Sark was back in business, and he was back with a bloody vengeance. His previous crimes paled compared to the new ones that were coming in every day.

…

I take a deep breath as I exit the elevator to the SD-6 offices. It is just another day for me.

That’s all it can be. I’ve stopped trying to feel.

First the doubts, then the nightmares, then the gruesome reports of his crimes.

I just try not to feel anymore.

Of course none of the reports I have received about Sark came from SD-6, and I have to wonder what Sloane thinks about all this…unless of course Sloane ordered Sark to commit them. If that was the case, that would certainly explain his good mood lately.

Dixon isn’t at his desk as I walk by, but there is a note on mine telling me to go to the briefing room. I check my watch to make sure that I’m not late, but as I enter the room it is obvious that the meeting has already started. I force myself to nod cordially to Sloane before looking around the room.

Then I notice that the speaker has stopped talking and that everyone is looking at me.

And the speaker is Sark; in all his fine glory. And I forget that I promised myself not to feel anymore.

“Good morning Agent Bristow. So good of you to join us.” His face is cold and sharp. His suit is impeccable. The veneer of his mask is securely in place. His eyes look like the eyes of a killer.

It was all just in my head. It had to be.

I can feel my lips pressing tightly together, but I force myself to nod slowly in apology for my tardiness and take my usual seat.

Sark continues speaking, but I’m not really paying attention. My mind is in a whirlwind. I was not expecting to have to confront him so soon.

I catch fragments of his speech. He is going into great detail about the mines in Argentina. He has assets in place looking for something. Sloane seems very pleased. Dixon looks like he’s swallowed a bad pill, but he always looks like that when he has to interact with Sark. Marshall just looks at him with fear and awe all in one.

I try to force myself to bring some order into my disheveled thoughts, but I have to settle for clenching my fists so that my hands don’t tremble.

How could I have been so gullible?

How can part of me still want to believe him?

Finally Sloane stands to adjourn the meeting. I stand quickly so that I can escape without having to talk to him, but it seems like fate is just not on my side.

“Sydney I’d like you to stay behind for a moment and brief Sark on what we know about the Henderson case so far. He will be working on it as well.” Sloane smiles his patronizing smile at me, and I can feel my stomach bottoming out.

No, not here.

Everyone files out of the room, and I try not to look at Sark.

I can’t scream at him here. That would definitely blow my cover.

Sloane shuts the door behind him, and I have no choice but to look at the only man left in the room.

And I really wish I could scream at him.

As the door shuts softly behind us, I can see his face change ever so subtly. The tension in his face lessens, and the glare in his eyes changes to one of perception. I couldn’t tell anyone exactly how, but it seemed like in the space a few seconds, Sark’s face has changed from one of ruthlessness to humanity, and he never moved a muscle.

He almost looks like the person I imagined him to be…

How dare he be the person standing in front of me and the person I’m scared he might be.

“It’s safe to talk here for a few moments.”

But I can’t stop the words from rushing out of my mouth. I know my face is twisted in anger. “You son of a –” but I stop myself. I also can’t help but wonder if the fact that I stopped myself means that he has already won. “How could you do all of those things?”

It takes no more than a millisecond but the mask is back in place. “What are you talking about Sydney?”

“The bank robbery, the murder of the ambassador’s wife, the village outside Sudan. The bombing of a school yard in Germany. How could you do all of those things. How could you lie to me…”

Sark looks at me coldly. “I didn’t lie to you.”

“There’s no proof. The CIA thinks that I am crazy.”

“You told the CIA?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? If we’re fighting on the same side why wouldn’t I tell them?”

Sark turns away and is quiet for a moment. Finally he turns back to me, his voice betraying his anger. “Well that certainly explains a lot. The CIA tried to verify my story.”

I shrug. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” he responds tightly. “I told you that only two people know of my cover. Well there is a reason for that Sydney, one which I thought you could appreciate. The more important an asset is, the less people know about it. There are moles everywhere. Your CIA triggered this propaganda campaign against me.”

“What are you talking about? The CIA wouldn’t make up these stories; they got them from a variety of sources.”

“The stories aren’t made up; the incidences actually occurred. But they must have been set up by my enemies and employers. Obviously someone that the CIA talked to, spoke to someone who had a vested interest in my loyalties. They want the world to think I committed all those acts because they want to scare MI6 into acting. If they can get a reaction out of them, then it confirms that I am in their employment.”

“So the dead bank guard…”

He looks at me coldly and shakes his head.

“…and the burned village…”

“Why would I burn a village?”

“…and the ambassador’s wife…”

Sark stares directly at me. “No her I did kill. She was selling information to the Argentineans about the mining project. She was spying on her husband who financed part of the deal. She found out about my interest in it and decided to see if there was anything else that I knew. She just didn’t count on me seeing her pull out her gun from under her dress.”

I stare at him openly, shock plainly visible on my face.

“I can’t make you believe me Sydney. Either you do or you don’t.”

“Ah—” I can’t make my mouth form the words that it needs to. Is it possible? Can he really be telling me the truth or is this just part of his elaborate set of lies? And does it matter? He still has more blood on his hands.

I just don’t know what to think anymore.

Finally my mind decides on asking the only thing that it can. “What were you doing in her hotel room, watching under her dress?”

He smirks at me slightly, though the anger is still visible in his eyes. I curse myself for giving my feelings away so easily. “Did you also tell the CIA about our little tryst?” he asks coldly.

I respond in kind by narrowing my eyes at him. “No. Some things are none of their business.”

“Hmph.” He looks away for a second before facing me again. “I have to agree. But tell me Sydney, when did you stop trusting yourself?”

If I’m really honest with myself I’d say about two years ago when I started this whole life. When I realized that I’d been lied to so completely.

“You trust your body to get you out of tight physical jams with opponents twice your size, you trust your mind to out think your enemies and solve life and death puzzles and yet you don’t trust your heart, which is the only reason why you should be doing any of this in the first place. You are an enigma Sydney.”

I turn away. There’s so much to say, but I can say none of it. I don’t need to remember my nightmares from last night because now they are flashing before my eyes.

The blood, the fire, the dark, the pain - they all really happened.

I turn back and look at Sark. There are no bruises on his face, but I can see slight circles under his eyes. His jaw is set tightly, but his eyes are trying to see into my very soul.

Finally he steps back and gathers his papers. When he gives me one last look before opening the door, I can tell he’s become a killer once again.

I’m the enigma? I think to myself as I watch him exit the room.

Month 5 – A Circular Argument

Between missions and counter-missions, SD-6 and the CIA have certainly been keeping me busy for the last few months. They have been a great cure for my dilemma, but only in the sense that they don’t let me dwell on it.

Sark has been in Argentina for the last month and a half so it’s not like I’ve been confronted with the problem either.

After some prodding on my part to look further into the matter, the CIA was finally able to verify that at least one of the acts was not committed by Sark. They found surveillance of Sark at the same time that the robbery in Ireland was occurring. He was still in Switzerland in rehab. In fact, further investigation showed that he was in surgery at the time of the robbery, having the pins removed from his shattered ankle.

Even the CIA was able to acknowledge that he’s good, but not that good.

As for who wanted to set him up, well the CIA doesn’t really care about that, and they’re tired of listening to me ask about it. In that sense, Sark has joined the topic of Haladaki’s death; people accept that something weird is going on, but they don’t want to pursue it.

I guess the CIA is just perfecting the ostrich avoidance technique.

So know I’m going to the only person I can think of to help me. My father.

I ring the doorbell to his apartment. I’ve hardly ever been here, but then again, my father and I haven’t exactly been close.

My dad opens the door. He’s still wearing his suit from work, though his tie is loosened. “Sydney!” he exclaims, obviously surprised to see me.

“Hi Dad.”

“Is something wrong?”

It says so much that that would be the first question he asks his daughter when she comes to visit him. “No, I just wanted a chance to talk to you. I thought it would be easiest if I just came over.”

My dad looks at me blankly for a moment before remembering that he’s supposed to invite me in. He cautiously opens the door a little wider for me.

As I walk into his living room, I’m struck by how like my father it is. Everything is in its place. There’s a drink on the coffee table, the newspaper is open and CNN is on in the background. The only thing to indicate that this is my father’s residence and not his office at work is a small picture frame on a side table. It’s a picture of me when I graduated high school.

I sit down on the edge of the couch.

“Um…Do you want anything to drink Sydney?”

“No, no thank-you.” I pause. There’s no easy way to talk to my father about this, so I decide to dive right in. “Dad, I just came here because I need your advice. Kendall doesn’t want me to talk about it anymore, but I still need answers. You’ve been pretty silent on the issue. Do you think that what Sark told me is true? Do you think he’s MI6?”

My father sits down on the sofa as well and looks at me. “Why is it so important for you to know one way or another? Why can’t you just accept that his loyalties are irrelevant because they can’t possibly be the same as yours?”

“It just is Dad. When we were stuck together in that sea container, I saw a side of him that I didn’t think existed. Now I need to know if I can trust that judgment that I made, or if he was just playing me. I need to know for myself.”

My dad looks away for a moment. I can’t begin to guess if he knows the real reason why I’m asking.

“I don’t want you to expose yourself to danger by risking trust in any person that doesn’t have a vested interest in your safety.”

“Dad, I just need to know if you think he could be telling the truth.”

I hear my father sigh quietly. “I don’t think so. He gave you a story that cannot possibly be verified in any way. I am sure that even being such a high level operative that he claims to be, the SIS would not leave him on his own. They would have given him some kind of fail-safe.”

“Maybe the fail-safe doesn’t include telling anyone that he is working for them. Maybe they intend to be the silent partner; what with the political ramifications of having him as an employee.”

“Possibly, but it’s doubtful. But then there is also the fact that from your reactions he seems eager for you to believe him. Why does he care? Why would he risk his cover?”

I can’t answer that. Except for wanting me to lock out his codes when he thought he would be broken, I can give my father no reasons. At least none that I care to.

“If he was lying, he would have given you the exact story that he has. He would trust in your logic that you would see that he has nothing to gain by telling you his secret. If he has nothing to gain and everything to lose, then he is counting on you believing him. If he was telling you the truth, then he would realize that logic wouldn’t be enough.”

“He told me to look into my heart to believe him.”

My father’s eyes grow a little bit sharper. “Well if he’s as smart as everyone thinks that he is, then that’s the exact thing he would tell you. Especially if he believed that you would seek advice from me.”

“But Dad, there isn’t any way to win your argument. It’s a circle. You can always claim that he’s taken his plan one step further. I can say that he knew I would come to you, but that I would disagree with you and so I wouldn’t take your advice. Does that make him a liar or not? I can’t keep track of it all.”

“Sydney, trust me. Just let this go. I realize that you don’t have many people in your life that you can trust and that the idea of a hero residing inside of a villain might even seem a little romantic maybe, but it’s not worth it. When this life is all said and done for you, a little loneliness can be cured. Death because you trusted someone you shouldn’t have, cannot.”

I stand up, angrily. I guess I should have expected as much from my father.

“You’re not going to let his drop are you?”

I shake my head. My father sighs and stands up as well. He almost looks slightly older now.

“Sydney, before you go and do anything rash, let me see what I can do. I…I’m not promising anything, but there is one person that I can call. But it’s out of official channels and even he might not be able to help.”

I feel like hugging my father. “Thanks Dad.”

He looks down awkwardly so I decide against it. I guess I will just have to be happy with baby steps where my father is concerned.

Month 6 – The Best Kept Secret

“Sydney, before you leave, can I speak to you for a moment?” I hear my dad’s voice echo slightly through the hallways of SD-6. I nod and move towards an empty briefing room.

I sit down as my dad clicks the button to shut the doors and pulls out his pen-bug killer.

“Tomorrow, when you are at school, go to classroom 132 sometime between ten and twelve. There will be a display set up to interest students in various exchange programs. When the program coordinator asks if you have any questions, ask him how much rain they really get in London. I don’t know what he will be able to tell you, but this is the only lead I was able to turn up for you.”

I smile gratefully at my father. “Thanks Dad.”

He nods, but this time he meets my eyes. “Just be careful, Sydney.”

…

I wander up to the display for England. The poster features a gorgeous campus and describes the year long program available. I casually pick up a pamphlet and pretend to flip through it as the presenter finishes talking to another student.

After a few minutes the coordinator comes over.

“Are there any question I can answer for you Miss?”

“Sure,” I reply, putting the pamphlet down and studying the man in front of me. He’s tall and lanky, but he carries himself with a bit of grace. He casually runs a hand through his reddish-brown hair.

“I know this is going to sound silly, but I have this friend that was telling me how great this exchange program was, except for the fact that there was hardly ever a sunny day there. Now I’ve lived in Los Angeles all my life, and as you can imagine, I’m quite used to the sun. So if I am considering going overseas for a year, I just want to know, how much rain do you really get in London?”

The man scrutinizes me for a moment before turning around motioning for me to take a seat in one of the desks. There are still a few students milling about so I comply.

“So you’re Sydney?” he asks me quietly as he sits down across from me, turning the chair around so that he doesn’t have to sit backwards.

“Yes. And you are?”

“James Nottingham.” He extends his right hand to shake mine. From his earlier demeanor I expected a wimpy handshake but his is firm and strong. I notice that there is a lot of intelligence behind his blue eyes “Program coordinator you could say. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “From my father? He’s the one that suggested that I visit this presentation.”

I watch James fidget with a pen that was lying on the desk. “Ah, yes, well your father did mention that you were considering applying for this program. But I was thinking of one of your friends that has already participated in the exchange program. Ah…his name escapes me at the moment but I remember that he spoke very highly of you.”

“Really? Well my friend told me some things about the program and it sounded very exciting, but I’m just worried that it might be too good to be true.”

He looks at me for a moment, his expression softening slightly. “Yes well, you understand why we don’t advertise much. There are only so many spots available, and the competition is always very tough.”

I nod. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, I’m not even sure if I will apply.”

I notice that another student has approached us and is waiting for him to finish talking to me. It’s obvious that James sees him as well.

“Well, even if you decide not to apply to the program I sincerely hope that you come and visit sometime. London is a beautiful city, and there are some excellent tour packages that you can buy. Just make sure that you get one that includes a visit to the Tower of London. It’s not included in all the packages and some people don’t think about visiting it until the end of their trip. They call it our best kept secret. Funny isn’t it?”

I try and smile, but instead I feel like crying. All my doubts, all my worries, they were for nothing. I had been right in the first place to believe him. “Thank-you for your time,” I manage to push out of my mouth.

“My pleasure Miss Bristow.” He shakes my hand again before getting up and moving to another student.

I walk quietly out of the room.

I would have thought that receiving confirmation of his story would lighten the weight on my shoulders somewhat, but it doesn’t really. I feel guilty for not believing him, and I am also angry with myself for letting other people’s opinion change what I believed was right.

I don’t know how I can possibly hope to apologize to him for all my doubts; in him and in myself.

Month 10 - Angels

The lights are dimmed around the ballroom as Vaughn gently sways me from side to side in tempo to the music. We’re in a hotel in Vienna this time, trying to intercept bank codes for weapons sales to SD-6.

The tension between us since I returned from Hong Kong has started to lessen, allowing us to gradually revert back to our old friendship. I am glad because honestly, I missed it. These last ten months have been very lonely for me.

I look around the dance floor to my left, but I don’t see the contact that is supposed to be making the exchange. I try to stifle a sigh. He’s late, but there is little we can do except bide our time.

Suddenly I see Vaughn turn his head to the side, and I see Sark tapping him on his shoulder. “I’d like to cut in for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

Vaughn’s mouth closes tightly in anger. “Over my dead body,” he mutters.

I watch as Sark smirks openly, but he doesn’t take the bait. “I have intel to share with the fair lady.”

By this time we’ve stopped dancing. I try to motion to him, but Vaughn is ignoring my attempts to let this be and to just let Sark talk to me

Vaughn scowls. “Why don’t you share it with me instead?”

Without missing a beat, Sark shrugs and picks up Vaughn’s hand that I just let go of and makes to bridge with his other. “Fine, if that is what you want, but I’m leading.”

It doesn’t take long for Vaughn to disentangle himself from Sark, but by then Sark has positioned himself in front of me and Vaughn can’t reclaim me without making a scene. People are already starting to look over at us, but Sark quickly gathers up my right hand and leads me into a waltz.

“Your handler is simply dreadful,” he whispers into my ear.

I can only shake my head at him. This is the first time I have seen him in seven months, and I’d almost managed to forget how very blue his eyes are.

How do I apologize for everything?

“I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you.”

He nods as he looks at me, accepting my apology. “I understand that you met James.”

I try to keep the shock from my face. “Yes, how did you—”

“He’s one of my handlers. Interesting chap isn’t he?”

Figures. “Well, I don’t know, I hardly…”

Sark smiles. “He’s a good guy, actually one of the best. Don’t let his lankiness fool you. He’s 98% accurate up to three hundred yards with a small bore rifle.”

“I see.”

“He just has this small nervousness when it comes to women.”

“Really?” I can’t help but get caught up in the silliness of our conversation while wondering where it is leading.

“Really. He’s always trying to get me to set him up with my other handler even though he’s never met her.”

“Bizarre.” I can see Vaughn following us with his eyes.

Sark nods again. “He says she has a sexy voice. I can’t imagine what he would say if he saw her.”

“Would he be disappointed?”

“No, on the contrary she’s quite beautiful.”

“Is there a point to this conversation Sark?”

“Not really, I was just curious if I could make you jealous after watching two grown men fight to dance with you.”

I laugh. “That’s it?”

“No. I also wanted to dance with you. You look quite stunning this evening.”

I can’t stop the blush from spreading over my face as he tightens the embrace. I’m suddenly glad that I decided to wear the black, low cut gown. He whirls me around in a complicated step until I am back in his arms. “Besides, the courier you are looking for is the man in the navy blue suit with the gold and silver tie. He’s on your three o’clock.”
I turn my head casually to the right and sure enough I recognize the man that he’s talking about. I look back at Vaughn and he catches my glance. He starts to head over towards him.

“How do you know it’s him?” I ask.

Sark smiles. “Who do you think that he’s supposed to give the codes to? If he was smart, he would have just found me and made the exchange, but it appears that he has a weakness for pretty girls and alcohol.”

We dance for a moment before I have the courage to ask him my next question. “You seem to have forgiven me so easily, for not trusting you, for telling the CIA about you, but after everything we’ve been through…”

Sark looks at me solemnly. “There is nothing to forgive Sydney. You must realize that I am enamored with you and everything that you are. Well, you would not be who are if you didn’t do everything that you did. Besides,” he whirls me around once more, “you think that confirming the truth of my story is the hard part. It isn’t. There is a much harder decision that you will have to make before we can truly be together, Alliance or not.”

“And what decision would that be?”

Sark gives me a half smile. “You still haven’t decided what exactly you want. You’re still afraid to demand the best for yourself.”

This time I grin. “What makes you think that I haven’t?”

He smirks and pulls me closer. “Because if you had, we would be doing other things than having this conversation right now.”

“So you are the best thing for me?” I ask him while raising my eyebrow. “That’s pretty arrogant of you.”

“Perhaps, but in the end, you should have it no other way. For your own sake.”

I roll my eyes. “You talk in riddles you know?”

Sark chuckles. “You wouldn’t believe me if I spelled it out for you anyway, Sydney. You will just have to trust, as I do, that you will understand what I mean in the near future.”

Sark whirls me around as the music comes to close. He dips me alongside his lean body and then raises me again. He gives me one last smile before kissing my hand and letting me go.

I reluctantly realize that it’s mission time again.

I have no time to give him anything more than a quick smile though before he turns away.

And I turn and head towards my prey.

At least I hope that Sark has the satisfaction of knowing that the smile that remains on my face is because of him.

…

Back in business mode, it isn’t hard for me to entice the courier over to the side of the ballroom. A little wink, the suggestion of a smile…it’s almost too easy except for the revulsion I feel. I push my nausea aside and force myself to continue with the mission.

His hair is greasy and he smells like cheap aftershave, but I try to hide my disgust as I look him over with my eyes. He meets my stare slyly, and with my eyes I suggest a little rendezvous in the men’s washroom. After all, the men’s washroom is always less busy.

He eagerly follows my cues, and I casually signal to Vaughn to meet me in the washroom.

Once we’re together inside, I lead my new companion to an empty stall, and he follows readily.

Thankfully, he doesn’t even know what’s happening before I have him on his knees with his head pinned back. Vaughn is quick to meet me, and between the two of us, it doesn’t take long to find a small notebook in his inside pocket. Though we’re cramped inside the small stall, I quickly open the notebook to check the contents. I am immediately disappointed though; the bank codes are all in code.

“It’s a single use cipher bitch. Good luck cracking it.” The man on his knees spits out at me.

Vaughn quickly answers him with a hit across his face. The man screams as he clutches his nose; blood starting to pour out of it.

“Where’s the cipher code?” Vaughn asks him, pulling his head back by his hair.

It takes some motivating on our part, but we eventually find out that the code is in a safe, in his employer’s suite on the fourteenth floor.

“Vaughn, I’ll take the safe if you deal with our friend here?”

Vaughn nods and I waste no time leaving the cramped washroom.

It’s easy enough for me to make my way up to the hotel room and to pick the lock. Op-tech was nice enough to supply me with a universal key card. The safe cracking is going to be a little harder though.

I quickly make my way to the hotel safe located in the wall on the side of the bed. I quickly set up my eye shadow compact, which is also an electronic safe cracker, but it takes me a few minutes to crack open the side of the safe so that I can expose the wires.

I am so intent on my task that I don’t even hear the man moving up behind me until it is too late. The last thought that I have before I am swallowed up by darkness is that I should have checked the washroom.

…

As awareness slowly comes back to me, I suffer from a moment of panic when I feel my arms bound above me and all I can see is darkness. All I can think of is that it’s happening again.

I almost scream out loud in blind panic at the thought of being enclosed in darkness again, but in the process of waking, I’ve now opened my eyes. And I’m not enclosed in darkness. In fact, the bedside lamp is casting a stark glow on the surroundings.

And I find that the light doesn’t help the situation much.

I’m lying on the bed and my hands are tied to the headboard. My ankles are taped together and secured to the baseboard. My mouth has been taped shut.

I try to test out my bonds but my movements only get me two things. One is that knowledge that I am effectively restrained and the second is the attention of my assailant who is busy talking on his cell phone.

I glance at him briefly to search for any weakness that I can exploit, but unless you count six feet in height and about two hundred and fifty pounds in weight as weaknesses then I am out of luck. I watch as he flips his phone off and looks directly at me.

His mouth turns into a leer and I have to force the panic from returning as he moves closer to me.

I realize that I am almost paralyzed with fear.

As he approaches me, and I feel my heart beating slowly in my throat, I hear knock on the door.

I watch frozen, as my captor reluctantly stops his path towards me and walks over to the door instead. He looks through the peephole and apparently he likes who he sees because he quickly unlatches the door and opens it.

And I find that I am holding my breath.

I hear his voice before I see him, but it takes me that long to register that it’s him.

“You have something for me?”

“Si Signore Sark – ”

I see Sark as he steps through the door and then he turns and sees me.

I see his head jerk back slightly in surprise. His eyes enlarge for a millisecond before his masks slips back into place.

I don’t think my captor noticed.

Sark looks at me and turns to face the man. He makes a point of ignoring me. “Well?” Sark demands. “It is bad enough that your courier got lost and that you make me come to you, but now you make me wait as well?”

“No, Signore Sark, I have the codes in my safe.” The man quickly hurries over to the wall safe and opens it up. He removes a disk and an envelope. “Copies of the codes that the courier was carrying are inside the envelope and the decoding cipher is on the disk. You will find that all is in order. I promise.”

“We shall see.” Sark replies coldly as he takes the items. “And what about her?” he gestures dispassionately at me as if I were a stain in the carpet that he was displeased at seeing.

“Ah, well her and I have some business to discuss.” The thug draws a finger slowly across my cheek, and I have to force myself not to tense anymore. “She tried to take something from me without asking, I am only going to return the favor.”

I can see him standing over me looking down at my chest, and suddenly I am not so glad that I wore this black, low cut dress. I can see him moving his hand off my cheek and down to where the front of my dress has bunched open slightly, and I can feel the bile rising in my throat. He goes to slip his hand under the front of my dress when suddenly he is being jerked away.

Sark has grabbed him by the shirt collar and is reeling him away from me. The crack in his mask only lasts a second, but it is long enough for me to see the rage that has overtaken his face. His eyes are cold as ice, but the set of his jaw and the curl of his mouth give away his anger. Before the man can recover from the unexpected aggression, he is greeted by right jab that sends him flying into the mirror on the far wall.

The crash of the mirror breaking resonates throughout the room.

The man clearly has the wind knocked out of him, but he foolishly decides to stand back up. He’s angry now as well and determined to take it out on Sark.

He lunges for Sark, but Sark sidesteps at the last minute forcing the man to loose his balance and go crashing into a small side table.

I’m momentarily distracted from the fight as I see Vaughn come racing though the hotel door and towards me.

“Syd!”

I watch transfixed as Sark and my captor battle it out using any piece of furniture or fixing that they can find. Vaughn rips off my gag before starting to work on my arms.

Sark avoids the front end of a flying chair, but the man manages to knock him down onto the floor with a small tackle.

“Are you ok Syd?” Vaughn asks me over the commotion.

“I’m fine,” I answer as Sark picks himself up and grabs the overturned chair lying to his right. He brings the chair up and smashes it across the man’s face.

The man falls to the floor, and Sark uses the opportunity to hoist him up and throw him through the glass balcony door.

The crash of the window sends splinters of glass flying everywhere.

Vaughn cuts through my remaining ties and helps me sit up on the bed. I don’t have time to wonder what is happening on the balcony before I hear the distinctive sound of someone being thrown over. It’s the sound of fingernails scraping across a metal rail and the sound of hands grappling for any kind of holding. It’s also followed by the sound of a scream fading away and as someone loses the fight against gravity.

I am thankful that I can’t hear the final thump of the body as it contacts the ground.

Sark comes back through the broken doorway. He has cuts on his face, and his right hand is bleeding.

Vaughn has me wrapped up in his arms.

Sark pulls a glass splinter from his hand as he walks over. His words aren’t addressed to me.

“I realize that you’re not half the man she needs, but if you can bring yourself not to screw this up and ensure that she gets what she needs while I deal with this mess, then perhaps I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

I see Vaughn’s face twist with anger. “I’m going to take care of her.”

“Just leave the shrinks out of this,” Sark retorts.

Vaughn tightens his hold on me, and for a moment I think that my guardian angel and my avenging angel are going to battle it out right here.

Vaughn tries to pick me up, but I don’t want to let him.

I am fine. I can walk.

I turn to Sark and he is watching me closely. I want to show him that I am strong. I force myself to get up, off the bed.

“I am fine.” I state firmly forcing an end to their bizarre power play by making my way to the door. As I turn around one last time, I see Sark pulling out his cell phone and moving away from us, and I feel Vaughn’s hand grasping mine and leading me towards the door.

I look at Sark’s calm demeanor and as I feel Vaughn’s urgency as he pulls me away, I wonder briefly who came out ahead in that encounter.

I am leaving with Vaughn, but as I am about to turn away Sark catches my eye. His eyes tell me triumphantly that though I may be me leaving with Vaughn now, next time I will be leaving with him.

And I think I know who has won. But even stranger still is the feeling that I am the one who made the decision.

Month 12 – The Choice

Is it possible for my life to become tiresome? I’m sitting at my desk in the bowels of SD-6, with my foot tapping rhythmically under my chair and for the hundredth time today, I sigh. Dixon looks up at me.

“What’s wrong Sydney? You seem restless today.”

I look up into my partner’s eyes. “Nothing. I guess I’m just feeling blah.”

“Isn’t Sloane sending you to Argentina with Sark next month?”

I nod. Maybe that’s why I am feeling restless, or rather unanchored. I feel like a spring wound a little too tight.

Suddenly Dixon looks down and mutters under his breath. “Speak the devil’s name…”

I look up. Sure enough Sark is standing by my desk. “Agent Bristow, do you have a moment? I want to go over the briefing for your trip. I am leaving tomorrow, so I’d like to make sure that we’re together on this one before I go.”

I nod my head at him, making sure that I pinch my lips together in displeasure. Dixon looks up at me sympathetically, and I roll my eyes.

Sark leads me to his small office. After I walk through the door, he presses the button to close them. He motions with his hand for me to stay silent until he presses a button on his cellular phone lying on his desk.

Then he nods to me.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that our conversation is not the conversation that Security Section will hear.”

I smile. It’s actually quite ironic that some of the most secure conversations I ever have are all within spitting distance of Arvin Sloane.

“That’s ok. How are you?” I haven’t seen him since Vienna.

He shrugs and sits down on the edge of his desk. I sit down in the chair across from him. “I should be asking you that, but I have a feeling that you’ll just say that you’re fine.”

“I am.”

“I see. So I don’t have to maim and kill Mr. Vaughn then.”

I shake my head reluctantly. “Though he did make me go and see the shrink.”

Sark’s lips form a thin line from displeasure. “Were they able to help?”

I shake my head. “She means well, but…” Since I never told her about my nightmares, she couldn’t appreciate the fact that they were lessening before the mission in Vienna. The significance that they were back now would have been lost on her as well.

He nods in understanding.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask tentatively.

“Of course.”

“Why did you tell Vaughn to leave the psychiatrist out of it?”

Sark pauses a moment before answering me. “Sydney, you are an incredibly strong woman when you are not listening to the damning opinions of your coworkers. You have an incredible sense of yourself and what you are capable of accomplishing. And because you risk great things, you sometimes suffer great consequences. I know bureaucracy, I know governments and I know doctors. Not only will they try to hold you back when you are doing the dirty work that they demand of you, but then they will tell you I told you so and rub salt into your wounds when you are down. Instead of offering you the strength you need to recover and move on, they question your judgment and revel in the fact that even the great Sydney Bristow can get herself caught in jams. Tell me, did anyone berate you for going up to that hotel room alone?”

I nod. My father. Kendall. Even Vaughn lamented how he shouldn’t have let me go.

“Were they surprised that you got captured?”

I nod again. My father thinks that I got sloppy because of my contact with Sark. I think that even Vaughn was a little surprised that his supergirl couldn’t get herself out of a jam.

“Sydney, you don’t let their skepticism stop you from risking things in the first place so I wouldn’t put any more stock into their opinions afterwards.”

Sark slides off the desk and goes around to the back of it. He opens a drawer and pulls out a small package. “Here, I want to give you this.”

I take the small box from his hand and open it quickly.

Inside is a woman’s watch. Cartier. It looks like it is made of silver, but I have a feeling that it is white gold instead. The face is inlaid tastefully with a few diamonds and the style is distinctly feminine, without being delicate.

It is utterly beautiful.

I look up at Sark, and he is smiling at my reaction.

“Here let me help you with it.” He takes my left arm and the watch, and he carefully latches it to my wrist.

I hold my hand out and admire it. “Thank-you,” I say to him, when I finally find my voice again. “But why?”

Sark takes my hand again and points to a small button on the side of the watch. “If you ever need me for anything, all you need to do is press this button. Your watch is fitted with a miniature Emergency Locator Transmitter that I can pick up with my watch from anywhere around the world. I will receive the signal immediately.” He shows me his watch, which also looks like a normal, albeit expensive looking watch.

“Is that all that my watch does?” I ask skeptically. I should have known that I could never receive a normal gift from him.

He shakes his head reluctantly. “It also measures your heart rate and blood pressure at regular intervals and relays that information to me as well.”

Figures.

“How very James Bondish. Did Q make this for you? MI6 has better taste than I would have thought.”

He smiles wryly. “Not quite. I bought the watch myself, and then I gave it to James with strict instructions for what to put into it. I’m sorry to say that I couldn’t work a remote in for your car. I wanted to give you it to you before I left.”

I smile. “Thank-you.” I say again. “It’s beautiful. But it seems a little unfair that you should know my vitals when I don’t know yours.”

He shrugs good-naturedly.

I stand up and move closer to him. I don’t know what I intend to do, but I just feel the need to be closer to him. He stands still and lets me close the distance on my own. I stop inches away from his body.

Now at least I know why I have been feeling restless.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, but he still doesn’t move. Our nearness is almost intoxicating. I finally lift my hand and run it along the sleeve of his suit jacket.

He groans softly at my feather touch on his arm, but as my hand reaches his neck he reaches up with his hand and gently pulls mine away.

I look up at him questioningly. I can see the desire in his eyes but his mouth is twisted in pain.

“Not here,” he whispers to me. “Not now. Not just yet.”

“Why?” I can’t help but ask him. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to come to you?”

He moves to the side, putting some more space between us but his voice is still thick with desire when he speaks.

“Sydney, I don’t just want you to want me. I am so beyond needing just that. I need more and so do you.”

“I don’t understand.”

I listen to Sark as he takes a deep breath, as if he is trying to gather his control. It takes him a moment, but he finally looks back up at me. “I need you to come to me completely, Sydney; with no restrictions. I want you to submit to me totally.”

This time I am the one to step back. “Why should I be the one to submit?” I ask defensively, trying to hide my fear.

Sark looks at me with a pained expression. “Because I have already submitted to you. You have seen me, though not with your eyes, at my very lowest. You gave me your strength when I was not able to continue on my own. As a result you carry burdens that no person should have to carry alone.”

“I’m fine,” I answer sharply.

Sark nods as if I have just proven his point.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Believe me, I am not.”

I turn away, but he grabs my arm and turns me back.

“You had a hard enough time trusting my loyalties; I don’t think you are ready to give up your control just yet. That’s what I meant when I said you still had a choice to make. You are on your way to making it, but you’re not there yet. The next time you come to me, I want you to come with the knowledge that you are ready to give me control over you and yet also with the knowledge and trust that I am strong enough not to let you down. I want you to submit to me and relish in my strength. Or don’t. Pick that other man of yours, if he has anything to offer you. But that’s your choice. Take me for all that I am, but then give me all that you are in return. I just can’t have it half way.”

I turn away again. “You’re asking too much.”

“I can’t help it,” he answers me. “I love you.”

I can’t stop myself from spinning back to him. He is looking at me so sincerely. I don’t think I have ever seen his eyes so blue.

We stay like that for a second before he leans over his desk and flicks the switch for the doors and they start to open. He has effectively cut off our conversation.

Before I leave, I look back at him for a moment. I notice that his face looks serene. He expected no answer from me, like he expected me to blanch at the choice that he presented me with. His face shows none of the pain that was there before, as if in tribute to the strength that he possess and is offering to me.

He was right though. I can’t answer him yet.

As I wander back to my desk, I can’t help but feeling like my heart is ripping in two. Part of me wants to run back there to him and beg him to take me in his arms, but another part of me wants to run as far away as possible and hold onto the last vestige of control that I possess.

And as I sit down on my chair, I realize that I am trembling. My eyes wander down to the watch that now sits on my wrist, and suddenly I understand his plan.

I touch the watch, and I can’t help but feel a little bit safe. I know that if anything were to happen, I can call upon him at any time. But he has not taken away my control. I don’t have to call him if I don’t need to. That he can read my heartbeat is proof of that. I can choose not to call him and proceed on my own, even if I don’t survive to tell him about it later.

And perhaps it is the knowledge that he really believes in me that much that will sway me to him in the end.

I’m suddenly glad for the month ahead of me, that I can spend alone. I need the time to sort myself out and honestly answer the questions that I have been avoiding.

And maybe find a way to put my nightmares to rest, once and for all.

Month 13 – A Cat Named Fish

The ride is long and bumpy but the sun is shining bright along the dirt road. We’ve been driving for over an hour before I see a large construction complex hiding between the trees. The driver pulls the car up to the main building and stops the car. Before I have gathered my purse and small carry-on baggage, the driver has already opened the door for me.

“Right this way, señorita. Mr. Sark is expecting you.”

I nod to him as he turns and leads me into the building. I follow him through a few corridors before we reach a large office.

The driver knocks on the door.

Sark throws open his door, as if he’s in a hurry, but stops when he meets my eyes. He looks back to the driver and suddenly, as if remembering what had him in a hurry in the first place, turns to him. “Thanks Iago. Listen there’s been a minor cave-in in Section D. Santos is there now but he can’t get the hydraulics to work. Can you go have a look?”

Iago nods and quickly leaves, like he is used to this sort of thing. Sark motions me into his office and shuts the door.

I sit down and watch Sark as he walks around his desk and sits down as well. His movements are efficient and confident, and I realize that I could never tire looking at him. He’s everything that I admire. He looks up at me and smiles.

His smile is sincere, but his eyes look very worn out.

“So this is what you’ve been doing for the last year?” I ask him playfully.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Yes, looking for the fabled Last Rambaldi Device. Believe me, if I never hear of this bloody kook again, it will be too soon. Did Sloane brief you on the mission he wants you to accomplish?”

This time it is my turn to roll my eyes, but I do so without any humor. “What right does that bastard have, to prostitute me to whomever he wants to, so that he can chase down a five hundred year old map?”

Sark looks at me with understanding. “I know. I was less than thrilled when I received the details of your assignment as well, but it gets worse.” He rubs his forehead with his hand. “Sloane wanted you to come down here and charm a man named Emilio Lopez. As I am sure he told you, Mr. Lopez inherited the stretch of land that this mine is on from his grandfather. It has been in their family for generations. Well, according to an Italian document that Mr. Sloane acquired last year, Rambaldi was working on his greatest invention shortly before his death. But nobody seems to know where this invention was stored. His followers were able to hide his smaller works, but his last one is fabled at being over six feet tall. So far, the only information that we have been able to turn up, is that one of his followers, a young boy, ran away to Spain shortly after his death. From there, he boarded a ship to Argentina and came here. Apparently he was carrying the only map in existence that showed where Rambaldi’s last device was stored. But he took it as his mission in life, and bound all his descendants to it as well, to hide this map and guard it with their lives. Mr. Lopez is one of his last decedents. So, easy as pie, right? Sloane wants you to bat your eyelashes and find out where in these mines, that map is hidden.”

I nod in affirmation.

Sark leans back in his chair. “Well, what you don’t know is that for the last year, ever since the location of the map was traced to here, there has been a major power-play going on in the Alliance.”

“My father hinted that something strange was going on. But he didn’t have many details.”

Sark shakes his head in disgust. “Obviously Sloane wants this device to tip the balance of power within the Alliance. But the other members of the Alliance have started to stake their claim in the matter as well. Last week, Mr. Dale Brauer, the head of SD-5, turned up here, to ‘help me’. Yesterday, a top level agent from SD-9 arrived. Things are getting tense down here.”

“But I’m not supposed to know that SD-6 is part of the Alliance. How is Sloane going to explain it to me, if I report that I recognize a member of the Alliance here?”

“Well, the Alliance knows that, and I think that’s what they are counting on. Sloane wants you here to force them into hiding, but if the stakes get high enough, I don’t think they are going to care about exposing SD-6 to you. For them, you are expendable.”

“Great. Nothing like making a bad situation worse.”

Sark nods in understanding. “Can I ask you what your counter-mission is?”

I sigh. “Well originally I was supposed to report back any intel that I received from Mr. Lopez. But I know the CIA. If members of the Alliance are here, they are going to want IDs.”

He nods again. “Very well. I can help you with that, if you want. There is supposed to be a gala tonight at one of the villas in town. You can come as my date. There are no well known members of the Alliance here yet, so it should be relatively safe. I can indicate to you any members that are there and if Mr. Lopez is there tonight, you can make initial contact with him as well.”

I nod to accept his idea.

“Do you have a discrete camera?”

This time I have to shake my head. “I had to travel light. But I can meet Vaughn beforehand and get any op-tech that I need.”

Sark snorts quietly to himself but he doesn’t comment directly on the fact that Vaughn is here as well. “Fine. You have a reservation at the hotel?” I nod. “Let me arrange some transportation for you. I will pick you up at eight.”

…

The villa is lit up elegantly as Sark pulls up his convertible to the front of the round driveway. A valet attendant opens my door, and I watch as Sark hands over his keys to another attendant before coming over to my side. He offers me his right arm, so I lay my left hand gently upon it. I notice that we complement each other well this evening. I wore a black dress, cut in a Spanish fashion with red trim. He is wearing a black jacket with a black shirt open underneath. He waves at someone near the door and I look around. There is a crowd of people milling about in the house. Sark leads me through the house and into the back yard which is also brightly lit. Latin music is playing in the background. I estimate that there are over two hundred people at this party.

Sark greets several more people as we make our way around, scouting out the territory. He casually lowers his arm and takes my hand as he prepares to give me the signals that we worked out in advance. If he sees a member of the Alliance that I don’t recognize, he will squeeze my hand. If I see one that I do recognize, I will squeeze his. And then of course I will try and leave before they realize that I have recognized them. Sometimes it’s just easier to go with a simple plan.

I fiddle with the large, chunky ring on my right hand, which is actually a camera, and I turn it slightly so that it is positioned at a better angle.

Sark squeezes my hand. I look up at him and see him looking at a short, older, non-descript man. “That’s Mr. Brauer,” he whispers in my ear as he pretends to give me a caress. I lift my hand up to brush some hair out of my face and snap his picture. Sark helps me by tucking the hair behind my ear.

Easy as pie.

We mingle for half an hour or so, Sark pointing out three other operatives of various SD cells. We even indulge in a tango as we make our way across the room.

As I am sipping a drink while standing at the side of the dance floor, I suddenly feel a large amount of pressure on my hand. I look over quickly at Sark who is looking at a large, heavy set man that just walked in. The band has just started an upbeat song, and Sark quickly whirls me onto the dance floor. I hardly have time to deposit my drink on the table.

He brings me in close. “Who is that man?” I whisper as I take his picture while running my hands through Sark’s hair.

Sark whirls me around again before leaning his head into the crook of my neck. “That’s Jonathan Richter,” he whispers into my ear. He spins me around and then closes me in tight again. “He’s the Director of Operations for MI-6.”

“What is he doing here?”

Sark shrugs and then leans in again. “Well that’s Kona standing next to him and he’s a high level operative in SD-9. They are talking quite amiably together.”

I look back over at the two men talking as Sark twirls me around once more. “What does that mean?”

Sark squeezes his lips together. “Sloane told me that the Alliance had finally replaced Edward Poole. My guess is that Richer is now a member of the Alliance.”

I look around in fear. “Are you in danger?”

He shakes his head. “No, as I said, only my handlers know who I am, for this very type of contingency, but I’m positive he reads the intel that I provide.”

“Won’t he tell the Alliance that they have a mole?”

Sark holds me tightly. “I don’t think so. Not if he can use that intel to further himself.”

As we move back across the dance floor though, my eyes rest upon a tall, dark haired man. And this time it is my turn to squeeze Sark’s hand. This party has suddenly gotten very dangerous.

“We have to get out of here!” I hiss quietly and Sark quickly takes my lead without asking me any questions. He whirls me around until we are at the edge of the dance floor. As we break apart, I show him with my eyes the man that I am talking about. But as luck would have it, the dark-haired man catches my eyes. It is obvious that he knows who I am, and he knows that I know who he is.

It’s Sonny Henderson, the man that Sloane asked me to investigate seven months ago under the ruse of trying to gather intel on the Alliance.

I don’t know if Sark catches this silent exchange, but before I know it, he is pulling me back into the house through an incredibly large crowd of people.

I glance back quickly, and I see Henderson cutting across the dance floor, trying to follow us. I move quicker and Sark takes my hint. As we make our way towards the front door though, Sark suddenly pulls me back. “He has someone at the front entrance. Come on. Let’s head for the roof top!”

We turn down the main hall and I see a set of stairs leading up. Sark races up ahead of me to check the area, but I am close behind him. When I reach the landing half-way up the stairs though, I hear my name.

“Syd!”

I look back and see Vaughn at the bottom of the stairs, gesturing frantically. “Come on! This way!” He knows I’ve been spotted. I gave him the intel about Henderson last year.

I turn and look back up the stairs at Sark waiting at the top.

So this is it. This is the time for my big decision?

I look down at Vaughn again. Though there was a time when I would have thought that I would have run to him, that time has long past. The decision that I have to make really has nothing to do with him.

It has to do with me.

“Syd! Come on!” Vaughn calls to me.

I turn back to Sark. He extends his hand to me. The truth of the matter is though, that I’ve been making my decision for the last year. I turn back to Vaughn. “Here!” I shout at him as I rip the ring off my finger and throw it into the air. He catches it but he still doesn’t understand. “I have to go with Sark. I will meet you back in LA.”

I don’t wait for his response as I turn around and race up the stairs. I take Sark’s hand, and he pulls me up the last few steps. Together we turn and race down the hallway. At the end of the hallway is a trap door that we use to get up on the roof.

The villa is relatively spacious and the far side of the roof extends all the way to the small forest that surrounds the grounds. Sark leads me towards that edge at full speed.

We jump into the flower bed underneath the far side of the house and make a break for the trees.

As we’re about to enter the tree line, I glance over my shoulder. Henderson is pulling himself up through the trap door, and I can see him silhouetted against the sky. Sark pulls me forward again. As we dart into the trees, I hear bullets firing around us. Sark removes the pistol from the back of his pants and fires a return shot. I hear a shot ricochet close by, followed closely by Sark cursing as he drops his weapon.

I half turn around and see that the agent has jumped off the roof and is pursuing us. I pull Sark along, forcing him to forgo his weapon and hoping that the trees will provide enough cover to escape.

But I am tripping in my heels. By the time I turn back again, Henderson is within feet of us. Holding his weapon straight at us.

We stop.

We’re caught.

The man pulls out his cell phone.

Sark doubles over to catch his breath. Before anyone knows what is happening Sark has reached for his ankle and with one swift movement, sent a dagger flying right for the agent’s throat.

Before I see the cell phone hit the floor, Sark has pulled me forward again and we race into the bush.

…

It takes us a little while to reach his apartment, and I can tell that dawn is just a few hours away. There are no people milling about, so at least we don’t have to worry about explaining our ruined evening attire or the fact that we are approaching quickly on foot.

He leads the way as we climb the few stairs to his floor, and I lean against the wall as he unlocks his front door. I stumble inside, exhausted.

He fumbles for the light switch as I remove my heels. My feet are killing me.

I look over at Sark as he throws his jacket off and turns around. And I can see a deep red stain along the side of his arm.

“You’ve been shot!”

He looks at his sleeve and shakes his head. “It’s just a flesh wound. The running just aggravated it.” He goes over to his notebook computer and turns it on. It takes a few seconds to boot up, but as soon as it does, Sark wastes no time in encoding a message. His computer is hooked up to a small box and after pressing a button Sark removes a small cassette from the box. It looks like the cassette is half the size of his fingernail. Sark then starts making kissing noises and looking around at his feet.

I can’t help but stare at him. “What are you doing?”

He looks under the small coffee table in his living room. Finally a small calico cat runs up to him and starts winding itself through his legs.

“I was calling Fish.”

There’s a moment of silence as I watch Sark pick up the cat and put him on the coffee table.

“You have a cat named Fish?”

Sark smiles a tight smile at me. “Yeah.” He scratches the cat behind his ears. “It was James’ idea of a joke; he thought it would be hilarious for a terrorist to own a cat. I retaliated by naming him Fish. Now my cat has an alias as well.”

I shake my head. I’m suffering from input overload and I never could completely understand British humor. “What are you doing with a cat here?”

Sark unbuckles the cat’s collar. “When it became obvious that I had to move down here for an extended period of time, I brought him over with me. Damn thing sheds worse than a dog, but at least he earns his keep.” While he is talking Sark clips the micro-cassette into the collar and relatches it onto the cat. The cat starts purring as Sark rubs his head some more. Finally, Sark holds the cat’s face and speaks directly at him. “Ok Fish. Go to Marissa. Go to Marissa.”

Sark stands up and opens the front door. I watch in amazement as the cat goes bounding down the stairs.

“Where is he going?” I ask as Sark deadbolts the door shut.

“He’s going to transport the intel that we gathered tonight to my other handler, Marissa. She’s the one that travels with me. James stays strictly in the US.”

Sark goes to turn off his computer, but as he reaches forward I see him wince.

“Sark, let me look at your arm. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he responds tiredly, but he still lets me lead him to the couch. I’ve hardly taken the opportunity to notice his personal space, but I realize that it suits him. The décor is simple, yet functional. And it is obvious that some of his furniture is of high quality.

We sit down on the leather couch. I look at his arm, but the stain is on his upper arm so I can’t just roll up his sleeve.

“Let me help you take your shirt off.”

He lets me undress his upper body, but I don’t notice his naked chest until it’s too late. I force myself to look at his arm instead though and I notice that he’s right. The bullet just grazed his arm, but it is still bleeding. I go to his washroom, wet a small towel and find a roll of gauze in the medicine cabinet. I try and ignore exactly how well stocked he is. I don’t need any more reminders of the hazards of our jobs tonight.

I go back to him sitting on the couch, and I take his arm. I wash the blood off with the damp towel and then wrap his arm as gently as I can, while still providing some pressure to stop the blood flow. After I finish taping up his arm, I sit back.

But now I am no longer distracted with his arm, and I can’t help but let my eyes linger over his bare chest.

Sark breaks the silence. “Why did you come with me tonight, Sydney?” his voice is weary.

I look away for a moment. I know the answer, but I have to gather my courage to tell him. I look back into his eyes. His face is blank and his gaze is level. He is demanding complete honesty from me, and I have no choice but to comply.

“I came because I made my choice. Really I made it over a year ago, but I just wasn’t ready to accept it. I am now.”

“Why now? What has changed?”

I look at him and I am amazed at how much younger he looks, half undressed. It’s easy for me to forget that he’s in fact a few years younger than me. He always seems so sure of himself; he’s so arrogant in his actions. It’s easy to forget that he may have doubts about my feelings. That he may need me as much as I need him.

“I can’t…” I take a deep breath and force myself to continue. “I can’t keep doing this alone. I could before, when I didn’t know any different. I could keep locking things away within myself and carrying on, but that’s because I didn’t think that there were any other options. I had to be strong, I had to carry on. So I did what I had to do. But the truth of the matter is that the only way I could do that was to not feel anything at all. It’s like I was dead inside.” I pause again to catch my breath, and I notice that my pain is mirrored in his eyes.

I look closer at his chest, and I see that along his muscles are tiny, little scars and a longer scar close to his right shoulder. And I wonder if those were a courtesy from our trip to Hong Kong. I pick up his right hand and turn it around so that it is face down. I see the thick, white scar along his knuckles. I remember feeling his blood pouring out of this wound. His blood. His life.

I suddenly feel a small sob escape me but I want to carry on. I want to tell him. “He’s dead you know. Jian Xie. But not from the fire or the explosion. I slit his throat with the same knife he used on you.”

Sark remains silent, but the pain is still in his eyes. He must know what this confession is costing me.

“I have nightmares of when they brought me into his office. The leering, the half caresses. It’s almost funny. You think that evil is usually portrayed as hiding in darkness, but not in this case. In this case I see it in Technicolor…the men with their machine guns, him with his knife. I remember the dirt on the floor and the caged light bulb overhead. I can’t seem to get rid of these images in my mind.”

“I can remember exactly the feeling his tongue in my mouth.” I shudder. I can’t stop the feelings of revulsion. I have opened up the flood gates and there is no stopping the tide now.

“I couldn’t do it though, I couldn’t just lie there and feel his tongue squishing around in my mouth. I couldn’t…I’d even stopped you from doing that, but that was different. I just couldn’t. I…I grabbed the knife out of his hand and kicked him away. The other guard was going to shoot me so I threw the knife at his face. It hit him in the eye. I didn’t even think twice about ripping it out and turning to Jian Xie. And his ugly, beady little eyes. I knocked him down first. Then I slit his throat while looking into his face.”

Sark allows me to pause without any interruptions, but I don’t need any words from him to know that he is paying attention. I look at him and I can tell every fiber in his body is listening to me.

“I didn’t even think what I was doing until I felt his warm blood spraying all over me. It was horrible… But then it was going to happen all over again in Vienna. Except this time I couldn’t do anything to stop it. It was going to happen, and I had no control over it.”

I shudder and look up into his face. But there is no revulsion on his face for what I have done. There is no disapproval; there is no shame in his face for the fact that he loves a killer. There is just pain because I am suffering.

He says nothing but he reaches forward, towards me. He turns me around and unzips my dress and through my tears, I wonder what he is doing. I let my dress fall to the floor and I am left wearing nothing but my lingerie. But he doesn’t look at me with lust; he just opens his arms to me. I allow myself to climb into his arms, and I lean my head against his bare chest. He envelops me with his arms and then I know what he has done. He has given me his warmth, and he has given me himself. Completely. With no barriers to stand in our way.

And I burst into tears and cry like I haven’t cried in years.

For the blood.

For the pain.

For the nightmares.

For the things that we have had to bear alone.

And for the relief that we need never be alone again.

…

I shift slightly as a ray of sun falls across my face, and I realize that we have fallen asleep. Me with my head on his chest, him with his head resting on mine, his arms securely around me.

My stirring causes him to wake, and I look up into his face. With his hand he wipes away the dried tears on my face.

“Thank-you” I whisper to him and he just smiles. And I realize that I never had anything to fear at all, about giving up my control to him. Because rather than making me weaker, he has made me feel stronger than ever.

He tightens his hold on me and stands. And I let him carry me into his bedroom, feeling safe within his arms.

He lays me on the bed, but then he turns around and goes to the window. I don’t have time to ask him what he’s doing before he throws open the curtains and lets the sun shine inside. His apartment is at the back of the building, overlooking a beautiful park.

“This time,” he says softly, “I am going to make love to you in the sunlight, exposed to the entire world.” He climbs up onto the bed, along side of me.

And I feel shivers of longing as his words echo through my mind.

He’s going to make love to me.

And I smile.

He moves his face close to mine and lets me enjoy the sheer nearness of him as I look into his eyes. He moves his hand and caresses my cheek, and I almost feel like bursting inside. He moves his face closer to me and I can feel his lips softly caressing mine.

And I feel like dying from anticipation but I don’t make a move. I am submitting to him and reveling in his ability to make me desire.

I feel.

I want.

He presses his mouth firmly against mine, and I can’t stop my hand from snaking around his head and holding him to me. The pressure is just too great and he opens my mouth with his and devours my lips.

He’s hungry for me and I want to give him all that I am.

He teases my tongue gently with his, but it’s not enough. My nightmares are irrelevant now and I need him completely without him holding back. I force my tongue into his mouth and he understands.

And he kisses me so deeply that nothing else matters.

Finally he pulls back his head and looks at me. His eyes are wide and dark with desire. He takes my hands and puts them both above my head. He doesn’t bind them, he just lets them rest on the pillow but I understand. I will not move them.

We are both half dressed, but I think that makes the moment even sexier. He is still wearing his dress pants and I am in my bra and underwear. He lowers his head to my breasts and breathes hot air through the thin material of my bra, over the top of my nipples. He slips his finger tips underneath the edges of the underwire, but he doesn’t undress me further. He caresses my body with his hands as he moves his face lower still until he is breathing hot air through the thin material of my panties. And again his fingertips tease me around the edges of the elastic.

He’s driving me insane, and he’s hardly done anything yet. He gets up and takes off his pants, but he shakes his head at me when I begin to move as well. He wants me to stay exactly where I am. He comes back to bed completely naked, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine.

He starts back up at my face, kissing me softly before moving to my neck. I can feel him following the curve of my neck to my ears where he blows gently into them while whispering my name.

He moves his face back up so that he can look at my face. “You are so beautiful” he whispers.

This time as his hands move lower he turns my body slightly so that he can release the bra from the back. As he discards it casually behind him, he caresses me fully. I can feel the calluses on his hands as they cup my breasts but that just makes me want him more.

He rubs my nipples between his fingers on one hand while the other hand starts it descent even lower. He can’t take off my underwear with only one hand so he settles for slipping his hand underneath them and rubbing my flesh softly. Teasing me again with his fingertips, but at least this time I can feel him directly.

I don’t stop the moan from escaping my lips.

Reluctantly he leaves my breast and moves his other hand down to finish the job of removing my underwear. He casually adds them to our discarded clothing pile before he returns eagerly to me.

Except now he returns to my legs. And he pushes them apart. I am here, exposed to him completely and I want to laugh at my earlier fear of him.

He brings his face between my legs and licks me gently while teasing me with his fingers.

I almost want to cry again.

He starts to suck on my clit and I can’t help arching my back as the sensations wash over me.

His fingers tease me some more until finally he enters me with them, and I lose all semblance of thought.

All I can feel are the waves of pleasure that start at his mouth and come full circle throughout me and end at his fingers.

It’s been too long and there’s just been so much between us.

And I scream as he breaks through the last of my control.

And I move my hands down and bring them into his hair. And he continues his ministrations as I ride through my waves of pleasure until I finally collapse back down onto this earth.

And then I see him next to me, desire thick in his eyes and I can’t stand the wait any longer. I push him back on the bed and straddle him forcefully, taking all of him in me. Because really, I have never been a patient woman.

And it’s his turn to close his eyes in pleasure as I rock on top of him. It’s his turn to dig his fingernails into me, as I ride him closer to his oblivion.

And closer to mine once again.

And I guess he’s not a patient man either, because he finally flips me back over, onto my back and takes over the rhythm.

And he thrusts quicker and quicker. I can feel myself approaching the edge once again and he continues his rhythm until I find myself falling over the precipice. He joins me by exploding within me and screaming my name in my ear.

…

We lay panting together with him collapsed above of me. And I can feel his heart pounding against my chest.

Or maybe it’s my heart pounding against his.

He rolls off of me, exhausted but he gathers me in his arms and holds me tight against his sweaty chest.

I give in to my own exhaustion as I lie within his arms.

…

I awake sometime later with the sun shining fully across my face. I turn around but he’s not there.

Instead Fish is lying in his spot with his head on Sark’s pillow, purring contently.

On the pillow I see a small note with a fresh cut rose lying on top of it.

Sydney, I had to go back to the mines. The situation is too hot right now. Go back to LA and tell Sloane that I sent you home. He will understand what that means. Tell him that I will acquire the intel from Lopez.

I will try and be back to LA in a few weeks. I love you.

Fish looks at me as I finish reading the note and then flips himself onto his back, expecting me to rub his stomach. Like his master, I find it hard to refuse him and like his master, he eagerly takes all that I have to give him.

I lie back onto the bed for a moment and close my eyes. I want to bask in our moments together for just a little while longer. I need to memorize exactly how the last line of the note looked, before I have to get up and burn it. I want to replay every moment from this morning over in my mind so that I can carry it around with me forever.

So that until I see him again, I will have happy memories to content myself with.

So that regardless of what happens in the future, in our crazy lives, I will have a little piece of him with me forever, wrapped deeply within my very soul.

Month 16 – Two Lies to Hide the Truth

I pace back and forth across my living room. It’s been twelve hours since I activated the ELT on my watch and not for the first time, I wonder if that was the right thing to do.

After all, is this really an emergency?

I pace around the sofa, in the half darkness. My living room is only illuminated by the glow of a small lamp. I just feel like hiding in the darkness right now. It suits my mood.

There have been times in my life when I’ve wondered if there exists some kind of higher being. Is there some reason for all the events in my life? Are they a part of some larger, master plan? Or does God want to test me for some reason? Does he want to see if I am strong enough, for a reason that only he can comprehend?

Is there some purpose behind all the turmoil in my life?

When I was a kid, my mother was taken from me and my father abandoned me to my nanny.

When I was ready to get married, my fiancé was taken from me and I learned that my entire adult life was based on a lie.

When I thought I had lost a dear friend of mine, I found my mother instead. And she shot me.

And then when I had thought that my life was finally figured out, I was stuck in a sea container with an assassin, and I fell in love with him.

Now it seems that Fate has finally played its Ace card.

Because now I am pregnant. And the father is a man that neither of my lives can acknowledge.

I hear a small noise coming from my back yard. I casually pull out the gun that I have hidden in my couch and I move slowly towards the back of the house.

Because since learning this new truth, twelve hours ago, I’ve also become incredibly paranoid.

What is SD-6 going to do?

What is the CIA going to do?

What am I going to do?

I see a dark figure through the glass window, moving towards the back door. I level my gun and cock it.

The figure stands up at the edge of the deck, and I see him clearly in the moonlight. I quickly uncock my weapon and tuck it into the back of my pants. I unlock the back door.

Sark comes in quickly and embraces me.

“Are you ok?” He asks me quietly and I nod, my face against his neck. “You looked pretty serious holding that gun. Is someone after you? Are you worried about SD-6?”

He releases me from his embrace and I take a step back. I shake my head.

How do I tell him?

“I’m pregnant.”

My voice sounds loud, especially in the silence that follows. I see him take a small step back. I think that of all the things he expected me to tell him, that was not one of them.

At least he spares me the how’s and the why’s.

He just looks at me in fear.

“Does anyone else know?”

“No,” I reply perhaps a tad sharper than I intended, “but I’m keeping it. I am not going to pretend this away.”

He looks at me perplexed. “No…no I didn’t mean it that way.” He stutters. For perhaps the first time that I have ever known him, Sark looks unsure.

I go back to my living room and have a seat in the small armchair. Sark sits down on the couch. Finally after a few minutes, he speaks again. He is back to the Sark that I know. “Is there a safe person that SD-6 can reasonably assume is the father?”

I look at him for a moment, the choice of his wording not lost on me.

“Only my friend Will.”

The CIA will likely think that Vaughn is the father.

Sark puts his head in his hands. I know what he is going to ask me, so I answer him before he can say the words. “If I am going to ask him to do that, I will have to tell him the truth. I can’t ask him to do this while lying to him.”

Sark answers me with silence.

Suddenly I hear the key in the front door and before I know it, the door is swinging open.

I look quickly over to the couch, but Sark is no longer there. I can only assume that he is hiding in the shadows.

“Hey Syd!” Will greets me as he comes in the door carrying some groceries. He shuts the door with his foot before putting down his bags so that he can take his shoes off. As he stands back up he looks at me curiously. “What are you doing, hiding in the dark?”

“Just thinking,” I respond, as I watch him take off his jacket. He throws it onto the coat rack and comes over to me. He sits down on the couch, where Sark was just sitting.

And I wonder what right I have to do this to him.

“What’s wrong Syd?’ he asks me worriedly.

I take a deep breath. There is only one way to do this. I know that. For the safety of my unborn child, this is perhaps the only way. “I’m pregnant, Will.”

Will looks at me in shock. I am thankful that I think he is long past any romantic feelings towards me, but that’s not why I think this is going to hurt him.

“Oh my God. Are you sure?” he asks me, in shock.

I nod.

He sits back, and I can see all the questions running through his mind. Finally he has to ask. “Is it Vaughn’s?”

I shake my head.

“No, it’s not.”

I turn and watch as Sark emerges from the darkness. Then I turn back to Will.

Will is staring at Sark, like he has seen a ghost. And then the shock fades, as the entire situation clears itself in his head. Then he jumps up.

“YOU!” Will shouts. His fists are clenched and I don’t think I have ever seen Will this angry.

Sark has resumed his usual calm demeanor. “Mr. Tippin, I need your help.”

“My help! You need my help!” Will turns away, but he turns back angrier than ever. “I hope you rot in hell you bastard!”

“There’s no doubt that I will.” Sark answers honestly and reaches back and takes something from his jacket. He brings his hand forward and offers Will his pistol. “Will you talk to me in private for a few minutes, Mr. Tippin?”

Will looks at the gun and then back at Sark. He shuns the pistol and turns away. Sark walks forward and heads down the hallway towards my bedroom.

Will looks at me. His eyes pleading with me, to tell him that it is all a lie.

I look away.

After a moment, Will turns from me and follows Sark down the hall.

And suddenly I am glad that Sark chose to do this in private. I can’t bear to watch the sacrifice that each of these men will make.

Sark, for a man whose pride is everything is going to beg mercy from a man he once denied it to, though his actions may have ultimately saved his life.

Will, not understanding any of this, will be forced by loyalty towards a woman he once loved, to come to terms with a man he hates.

I stare at Will’s forgotten groceries by the door and I wonder if things will ever be normal again.

…

Finally my bedroom door opens and Will comes out. He goes into the kitchen, and I see him open up the liquor cabinet and pour himself a drink. He keeps his back turned to me.

I get up and go to find Sark standing in the hallway. He is zipping up his dark jacket and heading towards the back door. He turns as he hears me approach.

“He’ll do it.” Sark says quietly and I can’t help but reach for him.

He embraces me tightly. “Will you be alright by yourself for a little while?”

I nod. “Why, what are you going to do?”

He pulls back and brushes an errant strand of hair off my face. “I will have to change my plans slightly. I am not about to leave you and our child exposed to these kind of dangers.”

“But it’s my fight too! Don’t go taking this all on your own.”

Sark smiles slightly. “No, your fight has always been for your right to live a normal life. So go fight your fight, and live your life as normally as you can. Give our child as normal a life as possible. My fight is to destroy the Alliance. It’s going to take me some time, but I promise you I will be back. And then we won’t have to hide anything from the world.”

He leans forward and kisses me hard on the lips. It feels like he’s trying to imprint the feel of our kiss permanently onto his lips.

We break apart and he turns away. He opens the back door and before I can say another word, he is swallowed up into the night.

…

A few days later, I sit in the dusty warehouse alone, waiting for Vaughn to come in.

Finally I hear his footsteps on the cement floor.

He takes one look at my face and sits down across from me. “What’s wrong?”

I look at him and my heart constricts. I wonder if it will get easier to say the words, the more times I say them.

“I’m pregnant,” I utter for the third time.

Vaughn stares at me in shock.

I can see in his eyes that he knows the answer to the question that he hasn’t asked.

But I also know that he now believes Sark’s story. I gave him the ring. He developed the pictures, including those of Jonathan Richter. He knows who Richter is.

‘Do you need a cover set up for SD-6?” He asks me quietly.

I shake my head. “No. Will knows. I am going to tell them that Will is the father. Will has agreed to be seen around with me, enough to convince Security Section that it’s true.”

Vaughn looks at me painfully and he knows what I am asking him. The CIA will think that Will is doing this to cover for him being the father. And hence the two lies will be in place to protect the truth. So that if there is a leak between the CIA and MI6, then the truth will still be safe.

Vaughn looks down at his hands. “Just tell me one thing, Syd. When did I lose my chance with you?”

“Vaughn…”

“No, maybe I’m being presumptuous but I thought for a while there…I could have been strong enough for you.”

“Maybe.” I sigh and look away for a moment. “But I guess I was just never worth the risk for you.”

“It would have endangered you! Your life is not worth the risk.”

“But it’s my life and my life to risk if I so choose. You didn’t even give me the choice to make. You didn’t trust me enough to know the value of what I was risking.”

Vaughn stands up and moves away from me.

Right now, he is angry, but I know he will keep my secret. He will keep it, even though he knows what it will mean. People will think that the child is his.

Some people might not understand why he would do this, but I think I do. He’s going to do it as a tribute, to what might have been if he’d had more courage.

It’s only tribute he can give me to me now.

“Syd…” he looks at me pleadingly, for one last time. He’s begging me to tell him that it doesn’t have to be this way.

But the truth is, it does.

It’s Sydney not Syd.

It’ll never be Syd again.

Month 24 – Aftermath

My mother cried when I told her that I was pregnant. She cried again when I showed her her granddaughter. She came up to the glass and pressed her face against it as she stared at her.

I named her Christina.

She begged me for a picture. I finally gave her a small one of shortly after she was born.

She was cooperating with us for so long, that I think we became complacent.

Two weeks ago, she agreed to accompany my dad on a mission to the Middle East. But while they were there, she managed to escape.

My dad came back with ten stitches on the back of his head.

In the aftermath of it all though, I think I am the only one that wonders why the cut he sustained was on the lower part of his head. She would have had to hit him underhand for that to happen.

But I don’t question him, and my father doesn’t question me. In fact, my father has never said a word about Christina’s paternity.

Vaughn carries my secret like a penance and perhaps that’s why I could never have really been with him. But I think he’s forgiven me. He just hasn’t forgiven himself.

Only Will has never forgiven me. But he did the job. He took me to my doctor’s appointments, and he went with me to my prenatal classes. But everyone has their breaking point and his came shortly before her birth. He set up an affair and ended our relationship spectacularly.

He left me and moved to Chicago. SD-6 doesn’t suspect a thing.

But the truth of the matter is, it still broke my heart. Will’s friendship was a casualty that I never anticipated losing.

I haven’t heard from Sark in over a year. In the reports from SD-6, he has finally found the map.

I haven’t seen Sloane this giddy since I brought him back my first Rambaldi device.

Year 4 – The Flight of Ravens

The heat is going to kill me I think. The air conditioner has broken down and all I can do is lie on the couch, watching mind-numbing TV. Over and over again the images haunt me of the news coverage from when the Tower of London exploded. It happened three months ago, but I can still remember it clear as day. I had been at the Joint Task Force building that day, turning in a report that I had worked on at home. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing now; work that it is. They let me do analysis from my home, so that I can spend more time with Christina.

But that day, I had gone in. That day CNN had exploded with the news that the Tower of London had fallen in a flurry of rumble, ash and fire. As we stood spellbound in front of the satellite monitors trying to comprehend this horrible tragedy, there was one thing that I already knew.

Somehow, this involved Sark. It was just too much of a coincidence otherwise and needless to say, I don’t believe in coincidences.

We received confirmation three hours later. Sloane and all the members of the Alliance were dead. Including Sark. They had died assembling the final Rambaldi piece within the Tower.

Since then I’ve asked myself over and over again, how is that possible? He can’t be dead. Nothing can kill him. That man has more lives than his cat.

But somehow it seems that it must be true, and the irony of the situation is not lost upon me. The great Tower that got him involved in this life, is the very Tower that ended it.

Ironically enough, the British have a legend, dating back to the time of Charles II. It said that if ever the ravens flew away from Tower, the White Tower would crumble and so would the British Commonwealth.

Well, Britain is still reeling from the shock. The ravens flew and the tower crumbled. And the depth of betrayal is still being uncovered in the British parliament. It seems that Richter wasn’t the only high ranking official to betray his country.

But all that seems hollow to me now.

Now I’m empty. Though I had told myself many times not to dare to imagine any sort of future with him, a part of me did nonetheless.

A part of me dared to hope.

And now I’m paying dearly for that hope.

And so today I lie motionless on my couch, the heat and my depression making me lethargic while Christina plays with some blocks on the floor.

My father stops by to visit me in the afternoon. He plays with his granddaughter for a little while before turning her back over to the nanny so that we can talk.

I ask him if they ever uncovered any intel on the Last Rambaldi device or any other news regarding the fall of the Tower but he merely shakes his head. But he has my clearance papers for me. I’ve asked to resign from the CIA and for once Kendall has decided not to be an ass about it.

My father takes a few moments to go over the papers with me, showing me where to sign and indicting which benefits I will still receive. It’s boring and tedious but I need to do it. I need to start putting everything behind me and moving on.

Somehow, I need to find a way to move on.

The door bell rings but I ignore it. I’m not in the mood to entertain anyone, so I let the nanny act as my secretary. I think she understands why.

A few minutes later, Anna comes to the door of my study and knocks. “Miss Bristow? There’s a Timothy Sharp here to see you.”

I look at her peculiarly. I don’t know a Timothy Sharp and I don’t feel like getting to know one today but already my father is packing up his things, taking away my excuse.

I follow my father out of my study and towards my front door. I see him stop slightly ahead of me blocking my view. Actually I’m thankful for it. Maybe he’s dealing with my visitor so I don’t have to.

I see my father reach into his suit jacket and I hear the familiar sound of a pistol cocking. I can’t help myself but move forward towards my father. I need to understand why there might be blood shed in my new house. Why?

I go around my father, and open the door further.

My father has his gun out and under Sark’s chin.

“…If you hurt them, or try to take either of them away from me, I will kill you.” My father’s voice is low and deadly.

Sark hasn’t seen me yet; he’s slightly focused on my father’s unrelenting face. “Yes sir. But neither of those were my objective, I swear.”

My father pushes him away with disgust, before turning to me. He’s looking at my face. He’s asking me with his eyes, if he should go ahead and finish the job that apparently was left incomplete by the burning tower.

I don’t know where I found my voice. I’m in so much shock that I can barely breathe. “It’s ok Dad, you can go.”

“Sydney I’m not leaving you with this--”

I shake my head. “It’s ok Dad. Please. I need to talk to him.”

If I was ever unsure if my father knew that Sark was Christina’s father, I’m not anymore. Of course he knows. He knew all along. My father always knows everything. I think that’s the only reason he agreed to go; but perhaps also the reason why he gave me his gun with the bullet still in the chamber and told me that I was free to use it should the need arise.

My father grudgingly leaves; though I’m sure he’s just parked his car a block away and has every intention of checking back up on me.

But that aside, I glance at Sark as he shifts his focus to me. My god, he looks different. But then, I haven’t seen him in three years.

He’s dressed casually with jeans and a t-shirt, but his pale leather jacket still shows off his expensive tastes. His hair is slightly more messed up than usual, but between the insufferable heat and my father’s threats I can hardly blame him.

“Sydney--”

“I thought you were dead.”

“You could still arrange that if you liked.” He points to the loaded weapon that I’m holding casually in his direction.

I take a long look at the man before me before I unload the gun. He’s changed a little but I’m hard pressed to say how. There’s the brief look of pain that I see in his eyes, but that’s nothing new. He’d hate to know it, but I’ve seen it before. It’s been creeping out of him a little bit at a time. But now, along with his pain, I see a sadness deep in his face and I know he means the next words that he says to me.

“Sydney, I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should run to him and hold him in my arms, cry and beat his chest or just scream until my throat is raw but I feel like doing all of them. This moment seems like just too much.

And then I feel a small pair of hands behind my legs and I know that this is it. This is the true moment of truth. I turn slightly so that Christina can’t hide behind my legs, and I motion to the nanny, who is in mid stride towards her, to let her be.

I look back to Sark and the expression on his face is worse than if I’d punched him in the stomach. I don’t know if his legs just gave out on him or if he wanted to get a better look, but he’s kneeling down on the floor so that he’s closer to her height.

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t smile but I can imagine what’s going on in his head.

All his life, he has been the destroyer; the avenger. He has taken pride in his ruthlessness and his own brand of justice. Now, for the first time in his life, he sees the beauty and innocence that he is able to produce. And I have no doubt that he feels unworthy and completely shocked that something so pure and good can come from him, because I felt the same way when I first saw her as well.

But she’s shy around strangers and so she sticks her finger in her mouth and reaches for me with her other hand. I give her hand a squeeze for a moment and then motion for her to go with the nanny. She’s just too young to really understand what’s going on.

After she leaves I turn back to the broken man in my doorway. He’s still crouched down, staring at the spot she was standing in until he feels me staring at him. He stands and looks at me, and I know now that he will never be the same again. His mask has been shattered. His very soul is exposed to me now.

He makes a move to reach for me and then stops himself, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to touch me any longer. I move towards him and embrace him tightly and he wraps me in his arms.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.” He whispers into my ear. “But it’s over now. It’s finally, truly over. I’m out. You were right. Sark is dead. I have my life back now.”

“I’m sorry.” I say. “I didn’t know how to contact you. You never reactivated my watch. I didn’t know how to tell you that you’d had a daughter…”

He releases me and steps back. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a folded picture. The creases in the paper speak volumes of how many times it has been unfolded.

It’s the picture I gave my mother two years ago.

And I sit down on the steps of my porch and I lay my head upon my hands. Sark comes and sits beside and I remember that I don’t have to do this by myself anymore.

He holds me tightly and whispers gently into my ears. “I’m glad that I don’t have to do this by myself anymore.”

Epilogue

We are sitting on the couch, relaxing after a small dinner, and Christina is tucked away in bed.

The doorbell rings. Sark motions that he will get it and gets up.

I hear him open the door, and happy voices float in from the hallway. It’s been a long time since I heard laughter in my house, so I get up and walk to my front door.

As I approach the front foyer, I see a man I recognize standing next to a woman I don’t. It’s James Nottingham and the woman next to him is indeed beautiful.

“Hey, old chap! I see you didn’t waste any time in reclaiming what is yours.” James laughs at him lightly.

Sark laughs. “Sydney, you know James and this lovely woman is Marissa.” She shakes my hand strongly.

Sark turns to James. “And I see you didn’t waste time in following up with Marissa on my debrief.”

James laughs, and then holds up the small cat carrier that he was carrying. “Here’s your cat, Timothy.”

I watch as James can hardly contain his laughter, as Sark…or Timothy rather, opens up the cat cage. I watch as Fish jumps out and looks around. “Hi Fish.” Sark calls out and motions for the cat to come to him.

The cat ignores him and walks away.

Sark turns to James. “What in bloody hell have you done to my cat?”

James lets out the howl that he was holding in and then bends down so that he’s crouching on the floor. He makes a few kissing noises. “Here’s James. Come here James.”

The cat goes bounding up to James and he picks it up. As he stands, he turns to Sark. “Well, since you no longer need your alias, I thought it only fair to rename your cat. After all, you were giving him an identity crisis.”

Timothy laughs and takes back his cat. “How kind of you. I suppose in repayment I should take back all those nice things I said about you to Marissa!”

…

That night he comes to my bed and I revel in how normal it feels.

Sark.

Sharp.

Timothy.

This whole new world is going to take some getting used to.

He holds me in his arms and I say the thing that I have been meaning to, for over two years now.

“I love you,” I say.

He looks at me in the moonlight and smiles.

“I think you should know that I imagine myself as an overprotective father. There’s a large likelihood that Christina may never go out on a date.”

I lift my head from his shoulder and look at him. “Why? Are you going to scare them all away?”

He laughs and pulls me back into his arms. “Scare them? I wouldn’t do that. I’m just going to introduce them to your father.”

I smile, and drink in the warmth around me.

“I love you,” he whispers to me, and I exult in the normality of it all.

And I know.

I need never fear the darkness or the daylight again.

The End.

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