Tell Me How It Ends

[Gadgett]

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to ALIAS or any of the characters included in this fanfic.

This is my first ALIAS fanfic. It will eventually be Sarkney, and if you don't like that pairing, give it a read anyway. You might just change your mind

The hallway was cold and damp with the slight smell of mold lingering in the air. The woman followed closely behind the prison guard, her brown ponytail swinging to and fro with every step. She pursed her lips and wondered again why she was doing this. Was it out of pity? Was it because the same thing had once happened to her? Or was it purely out of curiosity? She wasn’t sure what had driven her to this place but she had learned a long time ago to trust her instincts. They had kept her alive this long anyway.
The guard stopped in front of a heavy, iron gate at the end of the hall and entered a series of numbers into the access panel on the right. The gate obediently parted, allowing access to an even darker hallway ahead.
“Last cell to the right, number 24,” mumbled the guard. “You have five minutes.”
With that, the guard disappeared down another corridor. The woman was still for a moment, unsure of whether to proceed. “It’s now or never, Sydney,” she whispered to herself. With a deep breath, she started towards the mysterious cell number 24, trying her best to ignore the various catcalls from some of the rowdier inmates she passed. When she reached her destination she stopped and peered into the dimly lit cell. There he was, the man she had come to see. He was sitting on a cot and staring down at his hands, oblivious to her arrival. She could just make out his expression, one of deep contemplation and solemnity. His eyes were fixed on the wall, and for a moment, Sydney wondered if he could see through to the other side, so intense was his gaze.
After a moment of silence, Sydney cleared her throat, causing the man to jump up in alarm. He faced her and stood there staring, examining her with the utmost of scrutiny. It was then that Sydney realized it was true. He didn’t recognize her.
“Who are you?” asked the man, his eyes a mixture of apprehension and alarm.
Sydney took a few steps closer to the cell. Her face was expressionless, not a trace of a smile on her lips. “You don’t know who I am?” The answer was obvious but she had to be sure.
The man was silent for a moment and Sydney could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. He took in her every feature, her every word and gesture, but yet he couldn’t recall a thing. Sydney was taken aback by the intensity in his eyes. It was almost as if he was staring into her very soul.
“Who are you?” he repeated again. Sydney could see she wasn’t going to get anywhere until she answered.
“I’m Agent Sydney Bristow. We’ve come into contact numerous times but it’s apparent that you don’t remember me.” She waited for a response but got none. Obviously his condition was worse than she had thought. Sydney bit her bottom lip and put her hand on a bar of the cell. “Do you know who you are?” she whispered.
The man tilted his head slightly, wondering exactly how much he should reveal to this woman. She was CIA. Of that he was positive. He could sense it, her demeanor, her expressions. How he knew, he had no idea, but he knew. Though he was wary of telling her the truth, a part of him considered the fact that she of all people might be able to help him. They obviously had some sort of history, though of what kind, he was unsure.
Sydney waited patiently for an answer. She was about to ask again, thinking perhaps he hadn’t heard, when finally he replied. “They tell me my name is Julian. I assume that is accurate.”
Sydney couldn’t help but feel a slight degree of pity for this man who wasn’t even sure of his own name. She nodded her head in response. “Many of us know you better as Sark.”
He considered this for a moment and slowly nodded his head. The name seemed familiar, it seemed to fit. Perhaps this woman could help him after all.
“Time’s up,” shouted a voice from down the hall. Sydney was jerked from her thoughts as she realized that the guard was calling for her to return. She glanced back at Sark and thought she caught a slight look of disappointment on his face, but it was gone before she could be sure.
“I have to go,” she said and turned to leave, but before she could move, a hand touched her shoulder, causing her to jump back in alarm. Sark was leaning against the bars of the cell staring at her yet again with his powerful gaze. She felt slightly unnerved that he was standing so close.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t my intent to startle you. I was just hoping…perhaps you could return and tell me more about our… history.”
Sydney thought this over, scolding herself for even considering the possibility. He was a killer, a terrorist. Sure he didn’t remember any of the things he had done but he was still a killer at heart. People don’t change just because they forget their past. Do they?
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said before she even realized what she was saying. With that, she turned and left, Sark’s last words still lingering in her mind. “…you could tell me more about our… history.” What a history it was.

Please review and let me know what you think!

 

[Gadgett]

Sark ran… faster than he ever ran before. He flew down the endless stairwell taking first five, then ten steps at a time, until soon he was jumping whole flights of stairs, grimacing each time his feet made contact with the hard concrete. The distant gunshots grew nearer and nearer and Sark knew he had little time. He misjudged one leap and braced himself for the impact. Instead of landing on both feet, he landed partially on his left foot, partially on his right knee. Unable to maintain his balance, he fell backwards and hit his head on the railing. The manila folder he had been clutching under his arm flew from his grasp and landed half-way down the next flight of stairs.
“Bloody hell!” he shouted, cursing himself for his painful mistake. He touched the back of his head, not at all surprised to find there was blood, and cursed yet again.
The gunshots were getting closer and Sark knew that if he lay there much longer, he would be dead. He used the railing to pull himself up and felt a wave of panic when he realized his folder was gone. After wasting a few precious seconds searching the immediate area, he caught sight of the folder’s location and ran to retrieve it. Sark picked it up and sighed with relief. He knew that in that folder lay the answers to all he had been searching for. That folder was all that mattered now. It was even worth dying for.
Which was exactly what was going to happen if he didn’t get out of there, fast. After hurrying down the last few steps, he saw an exit up ahead. “About time,” he muttered under his breath. Using all the strength he had left, Sark bolted for the door and upon reaching it, turned the handle. What he saw on the other side was not what he had expected.
“Leaving so soon?” asked the masked man who was blocking the exit. Before Sark could react, the man pinned him to the wall and punched him in face. Sark’s world went black. The masked man didn’t take notice of the manila folder falling silently to the floor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sark awoke with a start. Sweat was dripping from his forehead and for a moment, he thought that it was blood. He clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking and then took a deep, calming breath. It was a dream. At least he told himself it was only a dream, but he knew it was more than that. It was a memory, something that happened not too long ago. It had all seemed so real, much too real for Sark’s liking.
He stood up and began pacing the tiny prison cell, trying to make sense of the dream. A part of him was thankful for the memory since it was the first thing from his past that he actually had recollection of. Another part of him was scared, very scared. Just who exactly was Julian Sark? What kind of things was he capable of? Did he really want to find out?
Sark hoped that that woman, Sydney Bristow, would return again soon. She promised she would help him and Sark believed that she would. She was, after all, his only hope.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I don’t want you to see him again Syd! He’s a liar and a killer. You know this, yet you’re letting him manipulate you.”
“I’m not being manipulated,” Sydney replied coldly. “I truly believe he has no memory.”
Vaughn sat down at his desk and started idly playing with a pencil. He was all too aware that Sydney was standing in front of him with her arms crossed, waiting for him to answer. He also knew that there was no use arguing with her. She would do what she wanted no matter what he thought.
“Just tell me one thing,” he replied, putting down the pencil and looking up at the dark-haired beauty before him. “Why do you want to do this? Why help Sark?”
The question caught Sydney off guard and for a moment she was slightly irritated by Vaughn’s little interrogation. She had the right to make a decision without needing Vaughn’s permission to do so. After Lauren’s death only three month’s prior, Vaughn had insisted that he and Sydney take up where they had left off. Sydney had her doubts about jumping right back into a relationship, but Vaughn had seemed so eager, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. Now he was more controlling than ever. She told herself he was only being protective because he had lost her once and didn’t want that to happen again. Still, something about the relationship just didn’t seem right.
Sydney ran a hand through her hair and tried to formulate a response that would appease her boyfriend. He had a point. Sark was a killer, memory or not, but for some reason, Sydney wanted to help him. She remembered how she had felt when two years of her life were washed away. The emptiness and uncertainty. The feeling that she couldn’t truly trust anyone.
“I just…have to do this. I can’t explain why,” she finally explained, hoping that Vaughn would just be able to trust her. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Vaughn was not satisfied with her answer but he tried his best not to show it. He managed a smile and gave a small nod. “If it’s something you have to do, then I can’t stop you.”
Sydney smiled in return and leaned over to give Vaughn a kiss on the lips. “I knew you’d understand. I‘ll call you later.”
With that, she turned and headed for APO’s secret exit. As soon as her back was turned, the smile disappeared from Vaughn’s face. He didn’t like this idea. Not at all.

 

[Gadgett]

Sark entered through the glass doors and surveyed the inside of Le Relais de Pouilly. The restaurant was full of people. Business men and women. Love stricken couples sipping their wine and exchanging smiles over a candlelight dinner. The enticing smell of French cuisine filled his senses, but he quickly cleared his mind and focused on the task at hand. A man. He was looking for a man wearing a navy blue suit, reading a book. Sark saw such a man sitting near the back of the restaurant and made his way over to the table.
“The stars shine brightly this evening,” said Sark, initiating the agreed-upon procedure.
“As does the moon,” replied the man, with a smile. “Ah, Mr. Sark. It is you. Won’t you take a seat?”
Sark sat opposite the dark-haired man and rested his hands on the table between them. “Mr. Wesley I presume? I trust that you have retrieved the information I requested?”
Mr. Wesley took a sip of wine and produced a white envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Of course, though I must warn you. It is not what you are expecting.”
Sark was slightly taken aback by this answer but he didn’t let it show. “What do you mean?”
Without answering, the man smiled again and placed the envelope on the table. “Shall we complete the transaction, Mr. Sark?”
Though Sark was slightly irked at the man’s arrogance, he knew he couldn’t risk losing the document that lay before him. Sark reached inside his jacket and produced a similar envelope, only this one was filled with hundred dollar bills. He handed it to Mr. Wesley and took the other envelope from off the table.
“I will leave you with your purchase, Mr. Sark. If you require my services in the future, you know how to contact me.” Mr. Wesley handed the waiter payment for the wine and left without another word.
Sark tore open the envelope and removed the first document. It was a single sheet of yellowing paper, the word “Confidential” printed in bold letters near the top. In the corner, it was dated June 2, 1985. Underneath the words “Child Liberation Agency” was the following:
“On today, the 2nd of June 1985, four children were liberated and brought to the training facility. Their former names are Alicia Mikinski, Rachael Woojink, Julian Emerson, and Sydney Brown.”
There was nothing more on the page. Sark didn’t know what to make of this since he didn’t recognize any of the names on the list. Frustrated by the apparent lack of information, he pulled the second and final document from the envelope. Except for the change in date, it looked similar to the prior page.
“On today, the 15th of July, a child was liberated. The liberator is Adrian Lazarey. From this day forward, the child will be known as Julian Sark Lazarey.”
Sark suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He reread the words again, thinking that perhaps he had made a mistake. It was the same as before.
“No. It can’t be,” he whispered. It couldn’t be true. That bastard Wesley had produced fake documents. That had to be it. It just wasn’t possible. Lazarey couldn’t have adopted him.
As a million thoughts raced through his mind, Sark noticed a single sentence at the bottom of the page. It simply read, “A second child was also liberated on this day. The liberator is Jack Bristow. From this day forward, the child will be known as Sydney Bristow.”
Sark was awakened by the sound of footsteps outside his prison cell. He opened his eyes and saw a guard unlocking the door. A slender woman dressed in black pants and a gray sweater stood to the side. It was the same woman from the day prior. Sydney had kept her word.
Sark’s head was still spinning from the dream but he forced himself to stand. He was surprised when the doors parted and Sydney entered the tiny cell, her black heels clicking with every step on the cold, stone floor. Sydney stood tall, her face void of all expression, but Sark sensed a hint of unease beneath her otherwise calm exterior.
“You were sleeping,” said Sydney, finally breaking the silence. She was all too aware that the guard had relocked the cell doors and was now retreating down the hall. They were alone.
“Dreaming actually,” said Sark. His eyes never left her face.
Sydney was surprised at his disclosure. “You were dreaming?” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and Sark was suddenly distracted by her beauty. Brown eyes sparkled beneath hair the color of chocolate. Full lips parted slightly as she prepared to speak. He almost smiled at the slight furrowing of her brow as she formulated her next question. “You can dream without any memories?”
“Apparently,” replied Sark, leaning casually against the wall. “Actually, I think my dreams are memories. I know they’re important. I just can’t make sense of them.”
Sydney tilted her head slightly and studied Sark’s expression. He seemed genuinely troubled by whatever it was he had dreamed. Still, Sydney wasn’t ready to completely trust Sark, no matter what he said.
“Can you tell me what you remember?” she asked gently.
Sark closed his eyes and tried to relive the first dream. “I was running down a stairwell and someone was shooting at me from behind. I had something important. A folder. I’m not sure what it contained.”
He opened his eyes and Sydney signaled for him to continue.
“I reached a door but when I opened it, a man was blocking the way. I remember feeling a blow to the head and then everything went black.”
“Do you know who the man was?” asked Sydney, wondering if it had been CIA.
Sark shook his head. “He was wearing a mask. The way he talked…I think he was German.”
“That makes sense,” replied Sydney, nodding her head. “Two of our agents found you in Germany. You were lying unconscious on a street with two gunshots in your back. From what I heard, it’s amazing you were still alive. A blow to the head would account for your amnesia.”
A tiny smirk appeared on Sark’s lips. “The bastard took my memory. He wasn’t about to take my life as well.”
Sydney couldn’t help but smile. “That sounds more like the Sark I know.”
Sark raised an eyebrow. “Is that right? Tell me more about the Sark you know.”
Though she had been expecting that question, Sydney wasn’t sure how to respond. She decided that honesty was the best answer.
“Well let me see. Sark is sarcastic, extremely obnoxious, and has the tendency to always show up at the worst possible moments. CIA hates him because he always foils their plans. Terrorists hate him because he’s not a team player. If you make him angry, he won’t think twice about shooting you in the back.” Sydney stopped and tried to gauge his reaction. She was surprised to find that her words had had more of an affect on him than she had expected. He looked utterly shocked.
“I’m a killer then?” he asked softly, unable to look her in the eyes.
Sydney suddenly felt very guilty for her little rant. “Yes.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the cell, and Sydney suddenly wished very much that the guard would return. Sark sighed and Sydney looked up, completely unprepared for what he was about to ask.
“Do you hate me too Sydney?”
Sydney couldn’t remember another time when he’d called her by her first name and his voice hadn’t been laden with sarcasm. She saw a desperateness in his gaze that almost frightened her.
“I used to hate you. Now I’m not so sure.”

 

[Gadgett]

Sark still had dozens of questions for Sydney; only now, he was hesitant to ask them. He wasn’t sure how much more he wanted to know about his former self. Was it true what she had said? Was he really a killer? Maybe he didn’t want to remember his past after all.
Sydney also remained silent, lost in her thoughts. She recalled a time following her own amnesia when a terrifying aspect of her past had come back to haunt her. It began when Jack found a surveillance video of Sydney during her missing years. The video contained footage of Sydney viciously killing an unarmed man, a man by the name of Lazarey. For a long while afterwards, Sydney had to live with the fact that she had killed an innocent man. Though the video later proved to be a fake, she never forgot the horror she had felt after learning that she was a killer. She wondered if Sark was now experiencing a similar emotion.
After a few more minutes, Sark broke the silence with a question. “Do you know of an organization called the Child Liberation Agency?”
The question took Sydney by surprise. “No, I don’t believe so. Was this another part of your dream?”
Sark nodded, grateful that Sydney was stilling willing to listen. “In the dream I’m at a restaurant, and a man hands me an envelope containing classified documents.”
“Do you know the name of this man?” asked Sydney.
“Wesley. His name was Wesley. Heavy-set bloke. Dark, thinning hair and a navy-blue suit. I think it was Armani.”
Sydney rolled her eyes and grinned. “Oh that you remember,” she said sarcastically.
A tiny smirk formed on Sark’s lips. “Do you want to hear my story or not, Agent Bristow? I haven’t all day you know.”
“No,” replied Sydney without missing a beat. “You don’t want to miss your allotted ten minutes in the exercise yard.”
Sark had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing. He was amused to find that Sydney had a sense of humor quite like his own.
“As I was saying,” he continued. “On top of each document were the words ‘Child Liberation Agency.’ Both were dated 1985. The first document referred to an Adrian Lazarey...”
Sydney inhaled sharply and Sark paused, intrigued at her apparent reaction to the name ‘Lazarey.’ He himself had no recollection of such a person. When Sydney made no further movement, Sark went on with his story.
“The document indicated that Adrian Lazarey was given a child, a child by the name of Julian Sark. I assume then that Lazarey is my father and that I was adopted. Is this correct?”
Sydney shook her head in disbelief. “I had no idea. The CIA has no record that you were ever adopted.”
Sark found this news intriguing. He knew from his dream that he had not been aware of the adoption either. Why had such a thing been kept secret?
“There’s more,” he said, unsure as to whether he should disclose the rest. “There was another child adopted on that same day.” He took a deep breath and then stated the words verbatim, his eyes never leaving Sydney’s face.
“A second child was also liberated on this day. The liberator is Jack Bristow. From this day forward, the child will be known as Sydney Bristow.”
Sydney stared at him, stunned. She half expected him to laugh and say that it was just a joke, but he didn’t. Was he serious? Did he actually expect her to believe that she was adopted?
“That’s impossible,” she replied, her voice noticeably colder than it had been only moments before. “I wasn’t adopted.” The more she considered the absurdity of the idea, the angrier she got. “How dare you tell me such a thing! You have no right!”
“Sydney, I’m sorry,” Sark insisted, seeing his only chance for help slipping away. “I thought you knew.”
By then, Sydney had made her way to the cell door and was shouting loudly for the guard to return.
“Sydney, please!”
The guard hurriedly ran over and unlocked the doors so that Sydney could exit.
“Is there a problem Agent Bristow?” The guard glared threateningly at Sark.
“No, there’s no problem,” responded Sydney, her mind a blur of thoughts and confusion. “I just need to leave now.”
She made her way down the long, dreary corridor, aware that Sark was watching her every move. Though she tried to ignore it, a single question repeated over and over in her mind. If Sark had no memory, how had he known her father’s name?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sydney spent the next few hours walking and thinking. Having no particular destination in mind, she wandered about the city streets, stopping now and then to rest. The warm summer breeze and the constant drone of passing vehicles helped to clear her mind. Upon reaching a park, she stopped and sat down on an empty bench. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her earlier conversation with Sark.
He had implied that Jack was not her real father, but the idea was preposterous. Sydney had never doubted that Jack and Irina were her parents, even if their family situation was somewhat unusual. And now there was Nadia. Was she truly to believe that her long-lost half sister wasn’t really her sister after all?
Sydney thought back to all the things she remembered about her childhood. She recalled a memory of her father taking her to the zoo when she was eight. Then there was the time she had fallen off her bicycle and broken her leg.
“That happened when I was seven,” Sydney mumbled to herself. “Why can’t I remember anything earlier?”
It troubled Sydney that she couldn’t recall any memories from before the age of seven. Though she still didn’t believe Sark, she found that his words were causing her to doubt things, things that she’d never doubted before. What she needed was proof. Once she had proof that Jack really was her father, she could put all her worries to rest.
Sydney knew what she had to do. She pulled out her cell phone and searched under her contact list for the right number. After a push of a button, the phone started ringing.
“Hey Syd!” answered a familiar voice. “What a strange coincidence! I was just talking to Dixon about you. Not that we were saying anything bad of course. Except Dixon did mention that he saw you and Vaughn in sort of a heated discussion before, but I told him that you were probably just having a normal discussion because Vaughn always has that expression where his lips are really tight and it looks like he’s frowning. Not that Vaughn is always angry because…”
“Marshall, I need you check something for me,” interrupted Sydney, too anxious at the moment to focus on her friend’s ramblings.
“Sure Syd. What do you need?”
“I need you to look up my birth certificate. I know it’s an odd request but I’m asking you to just check on this for me. Ok?”
“Umm, no problem Syd,” replied Marshall. Though he thought that it was indeed a strange request, he knew enough to keep from asking questions. “I can check on it right now. Just give me a minute to search the database.”
Sydney waited patiently until Marshall returned to the phone.
“Umm Syd? There’s sort of a problem.”
A feeling of dread washed over Sydney. “What is it Marshall?”
“Well it’s the strangest thing. Your birth certificate doesn’t seem to be on record. Usually the CIA doesn’t overlook things like that. I mean I found my birth certificate, Vaughn’s birth certificate, even Sloane’s birth certificate is here, but yours is just…nonexistent. If you want, I can ask Jack if he has a copy…”
“No, that’s ok,” Sydney quickly replied. “You don’t have to bother him with this. I’m sure that the CIA just made a mistake. Thanks Marshall.”
“No problem Syd. Anytime.”
Sydney ended the call and realized that her hands were shaking. She found that she had more and more questions and very few answers. Why had she never seen a baby picture of herself? If she and Nadia were half sisters, why did they look so different? The more Sydney thought about it, the more she became certain. Sark had been telling her the truth.

 

[Gadgett]

Sydney walked briskly down the familiar hallway, afraid that if she didn’t hurry, she might change her mind. She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face and checked to make sure she still had her bag. The tiny black purse hung casually off her shoulder, its contents concealed from the world. That bag would prove to be very important.
Sark’s expression was one of pure disbelief when he saw Sydney arrive at his cell. It had been nearly eight hours since their last conversation and Sark had never expected to see her again. He noticed that she wasn’t smiling as the guard opened the doors to let her in, and she still wasn’t smiling as the guard locked the cell and walked away.
They stood there in silence, neither knowing quite what to say. Sark decided that it was up to him to make the first move. He leaned casually against the wall and smirked. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you Bristow?” He knew it was c***y and would probably get him into even deeper trouble, but anything was better than silence.
To his surprise, Sydney ignored the remark. Something else seemed to be troubling her. She glanced around at the ceiling as though searching for something. ‘Camera’s perhaps?’ thought Sark. When she was done, Sydney took a deep breath and walked over to where he was standing. They were so close that he could smell the light scent of lavender on Sydney’s skin. A part of him wanted to reach out and touch her, to breathe her in, yet his instincts told him that something was wrong with this situation. Very wrong.
Finally Sydney spoke. “Do you trust me?” Her words were merely a whisper yet the intensity of them filled the room. Sark was unsure of many things but of this he was certain.
“Yes Sydney. I trust you.”
That was enough. Without another word, Sydney leaned forward and kissed him. Shock and alarm soon turned to pleasure as Sark pulled her close to deepen the kiss. He could feel her, taste her. For that one moment everything was right with the world. As her lips brushed against his, his heart began to race with excitement. His entire body felt like it was on fire.
Sark withdrew for a moment to catch his breath but learned all too quickly that he couldn’t. Struggling desperately for air, he locked eyes with Sydney. That’s when he knew. He saw the guilt and pain written all over her face. He knew then, without a doubt, that she had poisoned him.
Sark fell to the floor and grabbed onto the metal leg of his cot. He tried to pull himself back up but found that he hadn’t the strength. As the room started spinning and his eyesight began to blur, Sark looked up at Sydney.
“Why?” That was the only word he could manage. He could fight no more. His body grew limp and his head hit the floor, a dull thud that sent shivers down Sydney’s spine. She stared at the lifeless body before her, a single tear trailing down her cheek.
“Guards!” she shouted, trying her best to sound alarmed. She watched as they came running and waited patiently until they reached the cell. “He fell and he’s not moving. I think he’s had a heart attack!”
The guards quickly undid the lock and Sydney stepped back so they could do their job. After a few minutes of trying to revive the prisoner, one of the guards rose to his feet and shook his head.
“It’s no use. He’s long gone.” He turned to Sydney and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to witness that Ma’am. It couldn’t have been pleasant.”
Sydney did her best to smile. She didn’t trust her voice so she merely nodded in response.
One guard led Sydney to the exit as the rest waited for the inevitable body bag to arrive. As soon as she was out of sight, Sydney stopped and wiped a stray tear from her face. That had been harder than she’d thought. She carefully peeled the thin strip of plastic from off her lips and discarded the poisoned film in a trash container. “Betrayed with a kiss,” she muttered to herself. “That’s pretty low Sydney.” Glancing down at her tiny black bag, she sighed deeply. It was almost time for stage two of her plan.

It didn’t take long for Sydney to break into the prison’s morgue. Since the prison personnel were already acquainted with her, they weren’t the least bit suspicious when Sydney returned an hour later, insisting that she’d left something of value in the bathroom. When she was sure that no one was following her, Sydney headed to the stairwell and made her way to the bottom level. As expected, the morgue wasn’t heavily guarded. Security had more important things to do than protect dead bodies.
The morgue consisted of several rooms and Sydney had to guess as to which one housed Sark. She tried the first door and found it unlocked. Inside, it was quite dark but Sydney didn’t dare search for a light switch. There was an eerie stillness about the room. A pile of empty body bags lay in one corner and several gurneys were lined up against the back wall. Only one gurney appeared to be occupied, making Sydney’s job much easier. She wasted no time in reaching the gurney and unzipping the body bag that lay on top.
Sydney braced herself for the worst but was still startled at Sark’s appearance. His face and hands were white and dark circles lay under his eyes. The classic smirk was gone from his lips, now a shade of pinkish-blue. His hair, usually styled to perfection was now tangled and a mess. Sydney touched a lock of his hair and felt the coolness of his skin against her warm fingers. ‘I did this to him,’ she thought with a hint of remorse. ‘But now I’m going to undo it.’
She reached for her black bag and undid the tiny clasp. Inside laid a syringe and a vial of milky fluid. After filling the syringe, Sydney reached for Sark’s arm and plunged the needle into the largest vein she could find. She then placed the syringe back into her bag and waited for the drug to work its magic.
It didn’t take long. Within seconds the color returned to Sark’s face and his lips and fingernails lost their purplish hue. His eyes shot open and he started gasping for breath. Sydney waited for his breathing to steady before she spoke.
“I thought I lost you there for a minute.”
Sark turned quickly to face her, aware for the first time that he wasn’t alone. It took him a moment to make sense of his surroundings. When he did, he was more than a little surprised.
“We’re in a morgue,” he exclaimed, his breathing still slightly labored. “You killed me!”
“Guilty as charged,” said Sydney, a small smile playing about her lips. “Although you weren’t really dead. The poison just slowed your pulse rate and your breathing so that they were practically imperceptible. Although, if I hadn’t arrived in time with the antidote, you would have died eventually.”
“That’s oh so comforting to hear,” he replied with a frown. “So what? You just decided that it would be fun to play a round of kill-the-Sark? Or do you have a better explanation?”
Sark attempted to get down from the gurney but was still a bit wobbly from the poison. Sydney offered a hand to help him, and to her surprise, he accepted.
“It was the only way I could help you escape,” she said with sincerity. Sark was now standing but neither moved to break contact. “I believe now what you said about my father. I think you were on to something Sark, and because you were getting close to the truth, somebody made sure that you wouldn’t remember any of it.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I think that together, we can get your memory back. We can find the truth.”
Sark thought about this for a moment. He saw the earnestness in her face. She was scared yet certain. Worried yet calm. So many emotions lay hidden behind those beautiful brown eyes. Sark swore then that he would do everything he could to help her.
“Alright then, Agent Bristow,” he said, gently squeezing her hand. “Where do you suggest we start?”
Sydney smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting the gratitude she felt in her heart.
“Follow me.”

 

[4clouds]

She was surprised to find that her words had had more of an affect on him than she had expected. He looked utterly shocked.
“I’m a killer then?” he asked softly, unable to look her in the eyes.
Sydney suddenly felt very guilty for her little rant. “Yes.”

This was so intriguing and sad.

Loved this fic, and truly hope you continue it. So many wonderful moments!!

Kindly add me to your pm list, should you choose to update at any time lease:

~vana

 

[Queen of hearts]

plz plz continue and plz plz add me to the pm list

thanks

 

[Faye Vaughn]

This is great!!! please update soon!! I love SArk!! he is my farorite ALIAS caracter....

 

[AliasSydney502]

this is awesome! i sooo want a pm when you update!
wow. just wow.
~Elektra~

 

[meg_loves_Alias]

Wow, you're fic is excellent. Will you please add me you to your PM list when you update the story? Thanks!

 

[campcathryn]