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!
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!