Every time she thought her life couldn't get worse, something like this would happen. It was bad enough that Dixon kept partnering her with Vaughn even though they could barely manage to be in the same room without dredging up their myriad issues; starting off what ought to have been a simple personnel retrieval by being shot down and trekking through the Korean jungle hoping to avoid attracting military attention was really too much.

This defector had better have some really good intel, that was all there was to it. They didn't pay her enough for this, so the only thing that might make it worthwhile would be finally being able to do some serious harm to the people who'd stolen so much from her.

"Over there," she said, pointing out to Vaughn the requisite sugar cubes. The table's occupant was hidden behind a newspaper, a not unreasonable precaution for someone about to double-cross the Covenant. They crossed the street and were just sliding into the seats on either side of the contact when an all-too-familiar voice came from the other side of the paper.

"You're late, Agent Bristow," Sark said, lowering his paper enough to give her a sharp glance over the top. "I was about to conclude you weren't coming."

Sydney was briefly struck speechless at the idea that Sark was the defector they'd been sent to retrieve, but it didn't take long for her automatic Sark-reflexes to kick in. "So sorry to disrupt your schedule, but we were a little held up by having our plane shot down," she fired back.

That caught his attention; he sat up straighter and let the newspaper fall to the table, forgotten. With a quick glance at Vaughn, he shifted from taunting to business mode. "Shot down? We must leave here immediately."

"Oh, we're fine, thanks for asking," Vaughn said sarcastically.

Sark's glare turned his way. "We don't have time for trivialities. And you, Agent Vaughn, aren't even supposed to be here. Does no one at the CIA know how to follow directions?"

"We haven't shot you yet, so I'd say we are following directions."

Apparently dismissing Vaughn as unimportant, he turned back to her. "Sydney, I'll explain once we're someplace secure. But first, we must get out of here. I don't need to tell you how bad it would be if we're still here when the Covenant arrives."

She made a snap decision. "Fine. I don't trust you, but I'm not about to sit around and wait for the Covenant to show up. Let's go."

They didn't have a back-up plan for getting out of Korea without the plane, but that wouldn't matter if they fell into a trap. She motioned for Vaughn to take the lead, allowing her to keep a close eye on Sark as they left the village and headed into the surrounding forest. Once she felt they were sufficiently isolated, she called a halt and demanded to know what was going on.

"I'm sure you'll know everything in time, Agent Bristow, but I'd rather not have to explain more often than necessary. I would appreciate it if you would call Mr. Dixon's secure line--using your phone, not Mr. Vaughn's--and allow me to speak with him."

"Now why would I want to do that?"

"If you want to return to LA safely, you will do as I request. And, Sydney--it is imperative that you warn him not to say my name."

"Let me guess, you're not going to explain that, either."

"I believe the reason for such a precaution will become clear. Make the call, please."

"Syd, I don't think doing anything he wants is a very good idea."

"Do you have a better one? As long as I'm the one dialing, it's not like he can contact the Covenant or anything. And we'll need to call in for an extraction anyway." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sark start to open his mouth. Before he could say something...Sarklike, she snapped, "And I don't want to hear another word from you until I hand you the phone, is that clear?"

"Perfectly," he replied. She got out her phone and began dialing Dixon's secure line before she could give in to the temptation to wipe the smug look off of his face.

"Dixon, it's me," she said when he picked up. "Vaughn and I are fine, though we're going to need an extraction. The plane was destroyed. We made the pickup, but our contact insists on speaking with you before we go any further."

"With me? Do you know why?"

"He's promised to explain later. Um...he also seems to think it's important that you don't say his name, though again, he hasn't said why. So before I put him on, I'd better warn you--it's someone we know."

"Sydney, what are you trying to tell me here?"

"Just...don't react. Otherwise we'll probably never get an explanation for this whole secrecy thing, and at this point I think I need one."

Dixon sighed. "All right, put him on."

She handed the phone to Sark. "You're up."

"Hello, Mr. Dixon. I can see you got my message, so I can't help but wonder why you didn't follow the instructions. The part about not informing anyone other than Agent Bristow wasn't included on a whim, you know."

Hearing just one side of their conversation was really going to drive her crazy, but at least it was the side that supposedly had all the answers.

"Then your 'inner circle' is in need of reevaluation, because you have a mole.... Yes, I know who it is, and that will be among the information I provide once we have come to an arrangement; however, before we get to that point certain rules must be followed. To begin with, assume that wherever I was to be taken has been compromised; find a new safehouse somewhere, and inform no one of its location. Once our agreement is in place, I will speak--in person--with only a short list of people whose loyalties I know don't lie with the Covenant."

Startled by the news of a mole, but not terribly surprised, given how badly so many of her recent missions had gone, Sydney started to wonder who it might be, and why Sark would be willing to tell them about it. It was entirely possible, knowing Sark, that he was trying to deceive them somehow with this unexpected sign of cooperation.

"I know who's responsible for this operation's derailment, yes, but I have reason to suspect the CIA is host to more than one Covenant agent, and I refuse to take any chances. Therefore, the only people to be present at this meeting are yourself, Ms. Bristow, Agent Vaughn since he's already aware of my identity, and, for technical assistance...Mr. Flinkman, I believe."

Sark sighed, clearly not happy with something Dixon said. "Very well, if he must. He's not involved, though I'd prefer it if he were...elsewhere when he learned some of what I have to say. Additionally, if you were to let it slip that the unidentified Covenant agent was gone by the time your people arrived, that would be helpful, from a purely personal perspective. One last thing--I must insist you order Agent Vaughn not to use his phone under any circumstances whatsoever until after we've had our little chat." Sark apparently judged whatever Dixon said in response to not be in need of a reply, because he simply handed the phone back to Sydney, saying, "He wishes to speak with you."

Casting him a suspicious look, she took it. "Dixon?"

"What do you make of all this, Sydney?"

"I have no idea. But if he's telling the truth...."

"We can't take chances, I know. I'll see what I can come up with that will get you home without involving CIA personnel, and set up the rest of it. For now, perhaps it's best if you take Vaughn's cell phone, just in case."

"Oh, come on! Surely you don't think--"

"That he's the mole? No, of course not. But if our new ally is being adamant about it, there must be some reason. His self-preservation instincts are legendary, aren't they? Maybe the phone's been compromised in some way without Vaughn's knowledge. Even if not, it can't hurt to be safe."

"Fine. Just...get back to us with those plans soon, okay?"

"Will do, Sydney," he confirmed with a chuckle before hanging up.

She took a moment to prepare herself for the trial that cooperating with Sark would undoubtedly prove to be before turning to Vaughn. "I need your phone."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, Dixon's orders. It looks like we're humoring him for now."

"I don't believe this," he muttered as he surrendered the phone. She tucked it into her pocket and turned back to Sark.

"Now yours." He complied, looking amused at her insistence. "And your gun."

"You do realise, do you not, that if I intended to shoot you I could have done so by now."

"Sure. But what's to say you won't change your mind and decide to shoot us later? Hand it over."

Sark shrugged, as if to say that regardless of who had the gun, he'd still come out on top in any physical confrontation, and handed it to her. She in turn gave it, as well as her own, to Vaughn. She needed to make sure he wasn't hiding any other weapons, and didn't want to take the chance he might grab them from her in the process. She could have given the task to Vaughn, but if Sark did try something she stood a far better chance against him hand-to-hand.

Although he didn't protest, Sark didn't do anything to make her task easier, either. Ignoring the gun Vaughn had aimed at his head as a precaution, he just stood there, smirking at her as she patted him down, an amused look in his eye. Silently she dared him to make even one suggestive comment, almost hoping he would. Then they might have an excuse to hurt him.

Unfortunately for Sydney, their prisoner made no remarks at all as she removed a second gun, two knives, and a garroting wire from their hiding places and passed those, too, to Vaughn. No doubt he had a few more surprises tucked away somewhere, but she wouldn't be able to find them without a far more...thorough search than she was willing to undertake.

"Good enough," she decided. "While we're waiting for Dixon to contact us with the new extraction plan, let's lay down some ground rules. For starters, don't forget that Vaughn and I are the ones in charge here; from now on, you don't give the orders. We're keeping the phone and weapons unless Dixon says otherwise."

"And what am I to do if the Covenant tracks us down in the meantime, Agent Bristow? Hope they suddenly forget I'm defecting?"

"No, you'll just have to hope we still think the chance to destroy the Covenant is worth the trouble--and annoyance--of keeping you alive. The last circumstances under which I'd be willing to let you have a weapon is with the Covenant around. After all, you might decide to save yourself by showing them the whole defection thing was a ruse. Frankly, this whole thing already seems more like an elaborate set-up every minute."

Sark's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Ah, yes. Your mother. I assure you, Sydney, I have no ulterior motive here. I'm not fond of being forced to work for someone not of my own choosing, nor do I appreciate having a very large sum of money extorted from me. My reasons for wishing to destroy the Covenant and your own may not be the same, but our goals are."

"We'll see about that," she heard Vaughn mutter. She was inclined to agree.

Lacking any better ideas, they continued walking as they waited to hear back from Dixon, reasonably confident that he wouldn't be sending them back to the village and risk their walking into a Covenant trap.

When he did call, Dixon told them to make their way north and find a way across the Russian border. A personal contact her father considered reliable on the Russian side would get them to Vladivostok, where a private plane would be waiting to return them to LA. For safety's sake, neither Jack's contact nor the pilot had been told their identities, just that someone would be coming. Sydney wasn't looking forward to the long trek; not only was the company not what she would have chosen, she could already feel herself tiring after the walk from the crash site.

At least they happened to already be heading north. Everything else--Vaughn, Sark, that business about a mole--could be dealt with later.

Part II

By the time they arrived at the safehouse, Dixon and Marshall were already there--along with her father, who must have been the person whose presence Sark hadn't wanted but couldn't find a reason to object to. Considering how close she'd come to dying just the day before, she might ordinarily have risked going to hug him, but no matter how much closer they'd grown recently she didn't think he'd be comfortable with such a display in front of so many people.

They settled into the living room, and Sydney couldn't help wondering if it was coincidence or if Sark had deliberately chosen the seat furthest from her father. Clearly something about what Sark had to reveal wasn't going to go over well, and it was amusing to watch someone like him seem almost afraid. Or it would be, in less troubling circumstances.

As soon as they were all seated, Dixon got down to business. "What's this about a Covenant mole in the CIA?"

"I don't think so, Director Dixon. We come to a firm agreement first, then I'll talk," Sark countered smoothly.

"I'm not promising you anything until I have some proof that what you're telling us is valid."

"Very well, as a gesture of good faith. Mr. Flinkman?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Sark?"

"If you would, examine Agent Vaughn's cell phone. I believe Ms. Bristow still has it."

With a glance at Dixon for permission, Marshall took the phone from her and, after a cursory surface examination, opened it. "Well, uh, it's standard CIA issue, so I don't know what you expect me to--whoa."

"What is it, Marshall?"

"Hold on, let me just...." Setting the phone down on the end table, he dug through the toolbox resting at his feet, and emerged with a pair of tweezers. After extracting something from the innards of Vaughn's phone, he held it out so they could all see. "I'll have to do some tests back at the office to learn more, but see this little baby? It's a tap. I won't be able to figure out where the signal's going with the equipment I brought with me."

"Well," Sydney said at last, too surprised to come up with something more intelligent. "That's one question answered, at least."

"How did someone bug my phone?" Vaughn asked plaintively.

"I trust that was a sufficient illustration," Sark said smugly, ignoring his question. "Now, what can the CIA do for me in return for the details?"

"You tell us everything you know about the mole, the Covenant in general, and whatever's left of Irina Derevko's organisation," Dixon began. "In return, we won't give you the death penalty."

"I assure you, Mr. Dixon, my information is worth far more than that. I will provide you with all I know on the mole and the Covenant--but not Irina, with whom I haven't been in contact since she turned me in to you more than two years ago--as well as anything I may be able to uncover on Agent Bristow's time with them, in exchange for immunity and the eight hundred million dollars that were stolen from me."

That last bargaining chip caught her attention; of course the Covenant knew what they'd done to her--and what she'd done for them--but somehow it had never occurred to her that their defector might be able to access that information. Though she knew he had to have ulterior motives for the offer, suddenly Sydney was almost glad that it had turned out to be Sark. Some random mid-rank lackey might not have known enough to suggest it, and she wasn't at all certain they'd have thought to ask. She couldn't help paying closer attention to the negotiations, hoping fervently that Sark would settle for something Dixon could agree to.

"Limited immunity, conditional upon your active assistance in bringing down the Covenant, and you forfeit the money."

"I'm afraid I must object. That money is legally mine; without it, I'm not inclined to make a deal."

Sydney couldn't help jumping in at that. "It's only yours because you had your father shot."

"Coming from the woman who slit his throat, I hardly think that's a fair objection. In any case, I wasn't involved in Lazarey's latest death; it was both ordered and carried out by other Covenant operatives, not myself. I only learned of it after the fact. Therefore the inheritance is still rightfully mine."

"Everything you know about the Covenant and Sydney's missing time, plus your help, for immunity--to be granted only after the Covenant is dismantled, so if you have any plans to double-cross us, you might want to reconsider. At that time, you may retain whatever portion of your funds you manage to recover from them, up to the full eight hundred million, but you're on your own for that. Helping you get your hands on that kind of money is not, and never will be, a CIA concern," Dixon warned him. "And that's my final offer; take it or leave it."

"And even that," Sark mused, "is more than I would get were I not in the position of being able to assist Agent Bristow's search to recover her memories." Since everyone in the room knew that it was true, that Dixon's concern for Sydney was leading him to stretch the rules to the breaking point to make this deal, no one bothered putting up a token protest. "Very well, then. I accept."

She hid a sigh of relief that Sark's greed hadn't extended so far that they couldn't reach a deal. Gaining his cooperation had been important enough back when they just thought he could help against the Covenant; once he'd volunteered to help her figure out what the blank spot in her memory was hiding...well, at that point she'd been tempted to say she'd raise the eight hundred million dollars herself if she had to. A quick glance at her father showed his gaze already on her. She detected in his usually unreadable expression hints of concern that dampened her excitement somewhat. Did he know something he hadn't told her, something he'd uncovered in his search while she was missing?

"Good. I'll have the documents drawn up in the morning. For now, let's start with the mole."

"Come now, Mr. Dixon. Do you really expect me to provide the information you want most before we have anything in writing?"

"Mr. Sark," her father replied instead, "let's not play games here. You know that even if you didn't have other intel we also need, Dixon is not the type to go back on a deal. I, on the other hand, could kill you if you continue to be uncooperative and not lose any sleep. Let's cut to the chase, shall we?"

After meeting Jack's stare for only a few moments, Sark inclined his head in concession. "Before I begin, I would like to remind all of you that I was in your custody when certain plans were put into place, and it would therefore be pointless to take your certain displeasure over what I'm about to say out on me."

"Yeah, yeah," Vaughn cut in. "Quit stalling. Do you have any actual information or have you just been playing with us?"

"Are you quite certain you want to know?" Sark challenged him. "As it happens, the mole I'm aware of is not working for the CIA, technically speaking."

"But you said--"

"Wait, what do you mean, 'technically'?" Ordinarily she wouldn't interrupt Vaughn like that, but this was Sark. You couldn't let him slip something by you without pinning him down, or you'd never get anything useful out of him.

"I mean that, though currently assigned to the Joint Task Force along with the rest of you, she is technically an employee of the NSC." He paused as if waiting for the implication to sink in before confirming, "The Covenant mole is Lauren Reed."

Chaos broke out. Vaughn, of course, furiously protested his wife's innocence; with less vehemence, Marshall piped up in support of his friend. Even Dixon demanded that Sark produce proof of his claim, but her father just looked more thoughtful than usual. Sydney put up a token protest; while she doubted Sark would tell them something like that without being able to back it up, she wasn't inclined to simply take his word for it--no matter how much she disliked Lauren.

Sark just sat back and drank it all in.

When Dixon had managed to get them all settled down again, he turned back to Sark. "I'll need more than just your word for it," he repeated now that there was some chance of being heard.

"Of course," he agreed easily. "If someone would be so kind as to provide me with my phone, I'd be happy to call Ms. Reed and elicit sufficient confirmation for anyone. I'm sure Mr. Flinkman is more than capable of throwing together a recording device."

"Um, yeah, I guess I could, uh--sure," Marshall managed. Taking the phone Sydney handed him and his case, he went to the kitchen table, darting nervous glances over his shoulder.

As Marshall worked, Dixon continued eliciting what information Sark would give them on Lauren's supposed position within the Covenant and some of the CIA operations he claimed she'd sabotaged. Sydney tried to stay out of the conversation entirely; everyone--probably including Sark--knew she didn't like Lauren, so nothing good could come of anything she might say at this point. Particularly since she knew her mistrust wasn't founded on anything logical. Much as she'd love to be able to claim that she'd noticed something fishy about her, Sydney knew no one would believe it.

To keep herself out of trouble, she went to the kitchen to watch Marshall instead, letting his freely offered explanation of his work drown out the others. She suspected some of the embellishments he was adding were a way of putting off rejoining the others. She didn't think Marshall would ever quite get over his fear of Sark, though he himself seemed to inspire more amusement than anything else. Come to think of it, Sark had always been--back in their mutual SD-6 days--remarkably tolerant of Marshall. Interesting.

At length Marshall couldn't avoid it any longer, and began to gather up all the equipment. Seeing him juggling everything, Sydney helped by taking the earpieces, leaving him to manage just the phone, the laptop, and some wires and earning his effusive thanks as they returned to the living room.

Luckily for everyone, Dixon stopped Marshall's detailed explanation of how everything would work before it got too far, suggesting he simply hand out the necessary equipment and do whatever needed to be done. Once everything was in place, Dixon gave Sark the go-ahead to make the call.

"Yes?" Lauren's greeting came through her earpiece clearly; what would they do without Marshall?

"We need to talk," Sark said bluntly.

Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "I've told you not to contact me here!"

"And yet, you've frequently called me just moments after leaving a briefing," he observed. "If you would only learn to make your side of the conversation less conspicuous, you wouldn't have to worry. However, that's neither here nor there. You have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"According to my sources, you have just made some very serious mistakes, for which I refuse to accept any of the blame."

"What mistakes? I've just been trying to do my job."

"And doing it remarkably poorly." Lauren started to protest, but he ignored her interruption. "I understand you ordered a certain plane shot down over North Korea yesterday."

"Yes, I did," she admitted smugly. Vaughn looked ill. "A team was sent to retrieve a Covenant defector. Clearly we couldn't allow that to happen."

"And yet, Ms. Reed, you failed to consider the consequences of such a precipitous action. Namely, you should have informed someone so we could send operatives in to pose as the CIA and retrieve the defector ourselves, rather than risk losing them and whatever knowledge they might possess. Additionally, you never stopped to think what would happen if your attempt to take out the real CIA team were successful, under the circumstances. Which, I might add, it wasn't." Sark's voice hardened further. "Within twenty-four hours, you will be informing the Covenant of both your failure to stop the defection and your sole responsibility. If you do not, I will be informing certain people of how close you came to succeeding in this personal vendetta you seem to carry."

"Oh, let me guess, once again all that matters is everyone's precious Sydney," Lauren spat, the venom in her voice surprising. "She's making it impossible for me to do my job."

Sydney blinked, taken aback. She'd done everything in her power to avoid any unnecessary interaction with Lauren since the moment they'd met; how on earth could she be accused of interfering with anything?

"On the contrary. I've read your file, and if you had carried out your initial assignment properly, Bristow's return wouldn't have changed anything. If you're having problems keeping Mr. Vaughn under control, you have only your own incompetence to blame. And if you kill her, rest assured that your aunt will not take it lightly."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Are you quite certain of that?"

"Even if you wanted to, you don't know how to contact her anymore."

"Perhaps," Sark allowed, "but I can assure you that is one message Katya can be relied upon to deliver." Sark's gaze, now wary, fixed on Jack, though his voice remained as cold as ever.

Lauren scoffed, while those in the safehouse exchanged glances, wondering what any of this could have to do with Sydney. "She can't do anything to me."

"If you're trusting in your mother's ability to defend you, you're even more of a fool than I thought. She was always less skilled than her sisters, which was why she was given the easiest assignment. Clearly the relative levels of talent have been passed on to this generation intact, based on your performance." Apparently seeing something he'd been looking for in Jack's expression, he nodded slightly as if in confirmation. Her father's jaw clenched. Sydney's impatience for the call to be over so she could find out what was going on--on top of the whole "Lauren's a double agent" thing, of course, which was now obvious--grew exponentially.

The pause lengthened, filled only with Lauren's breathing. Presumably she was trying to get some reaction under control before replying. "Fine. I will inform them as soon as I can do so safely. If Michael gets home tonight, I may not have a chance to meet your deadline. I'll have to spend the evening being concerned over his close call."

"Very well. I'll expand the twenty-four hours to forty-eight, but no longer. And if I'm asked about these events before you confess, I will have to inform them just who bears the responsibility myself, which will not go well for you."

"I understand." Lauren's voice turned coy. "When will I see you again?"

Sydney's eyes flew from her father's unfathomable reactions to the whole "aunt" business back to Sark, who was actually rolling his eyes. "Not for a while, certainly. I have to try and salvage something from this mess you've made, starting with trying to uncover the identity of this defector. I don't appreciate having to waste my time on damage control, Ms. Reed, particularly not when it's made necessary thanks to a monumental screw-up by someone who ought to know better. I'll contact you if I need your assistance." Without waiting for a reply, he ended the call.

There was a moment of stunned silence, no one quite knowing what to say when faced with this undeniable proof of Lauren's treachery. Sark, of course, probably attributed it to admiration at his performance, or something equally absurd. Bastard.

"Well. That certainly settles the question of proof," Dixon said at last. "I'm sorry, Vaughn. I'll do what I can to spare you unnecessary investigation, but I'm going to have to report this."

"Yeah," he replied, not seeming to care about Dixon's implied faith in his own innocence. "I just--I can't do this right now." Still looking like he was about to be sick, Vaughn stood abruptly and left the room, avoiding meeting anyone's gaze.

She didn't know about anyone else, but for her part Sydney was torn between wanting to follow him and hoping that, considering her father's presence, no one would bring up the obvious parallels. Lauren's marriage to Vaughn being an "assignment" certainly explained why Sark hadn't wanted her father present; killing the messenger wasn't generally his style, but she knew as well as anybody that his responses were frequently...off, where his own marriage was concerned.

To head off anyone's--okay, Marshall's--making such an observation, and to keep herself from going after Vaughn, Sydney finally broke the increasingly awkward silence. "Okay, Lauren's evil, we got that part. But why the hell does her aunt care if she gets me killed?"

She could have sworn she saw Sark give her father a nervous glance. What the--?

"If I'm not mistaken, Sydney," her father began in the detached voice she'd grown so familiar with after her mother "died", "that portion of the conversation was Mr. Sark's way of informing us you have a cousin."

"A--?" Not sure what to make of the implication, she turned back to Sark, who nodded. "I think I need to sit down."

"Um, Syd?" Marshall said. "You are sitting."

"Then it's not helping. Lauren's my cousin? How is that possible?"

Perhaps sensing that Jack wasn't going to explain whatever he knew about the matter, Sark spoke up. "Irina has two sisters, both of whom are also in the business. The youngest has been spying on Senator Reed and his colleagues for the past thirty years or so without detection. She likes to believe this is attributable to her great skill at deception, but from what I've heard it seems the good Senator is in possession of even less intelligence than their daughter."

"And Lauren is following in her mother's footsteps," Dixon concluded, looking as if he were trying to remember every piece of information Lauren might have had access to.

"More than that. She's taken it into her head that Sydney is somehow a direct threat to not just her marriage and hence her job, but Lauren herself. I suspect, but cannot prove, that she or her mother may have been involved in the Covenant's original abduction of Ms. Bristow. My understanding is that they've long been jealous of her professional capabilities."

"That's absurd. I'm good at my job so my...aunt and cousin, neither of whom I'd ever met, had me kidnapped and brainwashed?"

"I understand how you might be tempted to think otherwise, Sydney, but not everyone in this business is motivated by Rambaldi. Since being forced to join the Covenant I have picked up on several indications that the idea for your abduction may have originated with Mrs. Reed, who has worked with some of the organisation's founders since shortly after the KGB was dismantled. I know Irina has been in contact with her over the years, and Lauren's antipathy toward you has been obvious from the beginning of our own acquaintance. It's possible that she simply became too invested in her marriage to Mr. Vaughn, of course, and saw you as a threat of that nature, but there seems to be more to it than that."

"I don't believe this. I just--don't believe it. As if the Rambaldi thing wasn't bad enough, now I've got people out to get me just because they don't like me?" she complained.

"It's not as bad as all that," Sark commented mildly. "You get used to it after a while."

Reminding herself that they needed Sark's cooperation--for now, Sydney refrained from responding. If he thought there was any similarity between the two of them, well, she'd never been entirely convinced Sark's reputation wasn't exaggerated, and that would be proof. As far as his intelligence was concerned, at least.

"Sydney's right," her father said unexpectedly. "The idea that Irina's relatives would abduct Sydney for what is effectively no reason is a little far-fetched. Her success in the field means she has made quite a few enemies over the years; any one of them would make a more logical suspect, as would Rambaldi followers who still believe she is the woman in the prophecy."

"As I said, I have no proof," Sark said casually. "If you'd like me to add this to the list of topics I'm to investigate, I'm open to the idea of renegotiating."

Suddenly things became clear. "Our deal is set," Dixon told him firmly. "You've gotten all the concessions out of us that you're going to."

"If Sydney doesn't want to know why she had two years taken from her, far be it from me to insist."

She snorted. "You don't actually expect anyone here to believe you have my interests in mind, rather than your own, do you?"

"You wound me, Sydney. Aren't you the least bit curious about what happened to you?"

"Of course I am. Just not so much that I'm unable to see through you."

Sark opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted before he had a chance to begin.

"You're sleeping with her, aren't you, you bastard?" They all looked up to where Vaughn stood at the end of the hallway, looking like...well, like he'd just lost his wife.

Sark leaned back in his chair and shrugged as if it were inconsequential. "Lauren's under the impression that sex will get her anything she wants. When she tried that tactic on me, I decided to let her, since it's easier to control someone if they believe they're the one manipulating you. Even Irina's been known to fall for that on occasion. Isn't that right, Jack?"

To Sydney's surprise, her father met Sark's challenging look head-on. "Even Irina Derevko has her weaknesses, one of which is an unshakable belief in her ability to get others to overlook her own prior actions. We came very close to capturing both of you in Stuttgart because of it."

"If the CIA's surveillance vans were less conspicuously 'inconspicuous', you might have caught Irina, at any rate," Sark conceded.

Vaughn exploded. "I don't believe this. How can you all just sit here like this, having a casual conversation as if nothing has happened? We just found out my wife's a traitor! The past two years of my life were a lie!"

Sydney snapped. "And there are two years of my life that are a blank, possibly due to relatives I didn't even know I had until a few minutes ago. My father didn't find out the truth about Mom until they'd been married a decade and had a child. Look around you, Vaughn; you're not the only person in this room to go through something traumatic." After getting a better hold on her emotions, she forced herself to continue more calmly. "I'm sorry. I know this has to be hard on you. We've all got stuff to deal with now, though obviously it's going to be worst for you. But don't take it out on us. We're not the ones responsible here. Not even Sark."

"She's right. Take some time, try to deal with it as best you can," Dixon suggested. "Let us do the planning for now; you don't need to worry about the bigger picture just yet. We'll call you back in here once we've made some decisions about how we're going to handle the situation."

"So you're just going to shove me to the side and make decisions about my wife without consulting me?"

"Agent Vaughn," her father said dryly, "if you'd rather not retreat to the other room, I'm sure the CIA would be happy to take you into custody. It's amazing how much reflection is possible when you're in solitary confinement."

That reminder that, no, Vaughn's wasn't the first life turned upside down in such a manner, and that he had even gotten off comparatively easily, seemed to sink in as her own hadn't. There was something about her father when he consented to talk about that whole period of his life that never failed to grab everyone's attention. With a sullen nod and final glare at Sark, Vaughn withdrew once more.

"If you have anything else this explosive to tell us, Mr. Sark, I suggest you wait. Any more revelations at this point and I'm not sure we'd have anybody left capable of getting any work done," Dixon observed.

"I assure you, that's the worst of it. The rest is just standard information."

"I think we'll save the full debriefing for tomorrow, then," he decided. "Meanwhile, about Agent Reed: do we arrest her now, or risk making her suspicious by feeding her false intel to relay to the Covenant?"

"Arresting her will tell them right away that we got their defector, and that it was someone who knew her true affiliation," her father pointed out. "If Sark is to be of any use to us on the inside, that's something we can't afford."

"That's a good point, Jack, but we also can't have her continue to sabotage our operations--"

"If I may," Sark interrupted, "as long as you can convince Mr. Vaughn in there to play his part, I doubt Ms. Reed would catch on to any deception. Her faith in her own cleverness is too strong. Considering your histories in SD-6, I'm certain the rest of you could pull it off without any difficulty."

"Um, actually, Mr. Sark," Marshall ventured, raising his hand tentatively, "I didn't know what SD-6 was until it was gone."

"You'll do fine, Marshall," Sydney reassured him before Sark could say that any problems he might have lying would probably be mistaken for his everyday nervousness. It was true, but Marshall didn't deserve to have that pointed out.

"Then it's settled," Dixon announced firmly. "We'll meet in the morning to get the rest of the Covenant intel, determine precisely how we'll deal with Lauren Reed for now, and finalise contact protocols for Sark. In the meantime, we should all get some sleep. It's been a long day, and tomorrow will probably be even longer. Mr. Sark, I suggest you stay away from Vaughn for the time being. We'll need his cooperation to pull this off--and don't forget, our agreement only goes into effect once the Covenant is destroyed."

"Of course," Sark agreed innocently. Did he really think he was fooling anyone? He'd follow Dixon's orders only as long as they served his own agenda, whatever it may be.

The meeting broke up, and everyone sought the bedrooms. Briefly Sydney contemplated seeing if Vaughn was okay, but she thought better of it. Under the circumstances, she was probably one of the last people who should be trying to comfort him.

When she resumed her trip past Vaughn's door, she noticed Sark standing in the open doorway of a room down the hall, watching her. She met his gaze with a challenging look of her own, daring him to comment. For once, he forbore, though he continued to watch as she passed him on the way to the room she'd claimed earlier.

Part III

The next morning, most of them had sufficiently digested the news of Lauren's betrayal to be able to focus on what to do about it. Not surprisingly, Vaughn had seemed unwilling to talk to anyone, choosing instead to go for a run before Sark even put in an appearance. Dixon let him leave without attempting to dissuade him; privately, Sydney was just as glad not to have to worry about how he might take anything they were about to say. She understood he was feeling hurt and betrayed--she'd been there often enough herself--but they couldn't afford to coddle him until the threat Lauren posed had been neutralised.

She wondered fleetingly if that made her a hypocrite before deciding she didn't care.

They reconfirmed the previous night's decision to leave Lauren in place for the time being while they fed her false intel on missions they thought the Covenant might be interested in. They'd have to be careful what exactly they misled her about, in case she picked up on what they were doing; Dixon and Jack would make those determinations, and Sydney would get whatever she needed to know from her father outside of the office. Any special op tech they needed could just be passed off as some of Marshall's personal projects, if need be. Vaughn, they all agreed, would have enough to do simply not letting slip the fact that he was aware of his wife's betrayal; he'd be kept in the dark, too, for everyone's sake.

Hammering out the details of cooperation with Sark took rather longer. Contact protocols were relatively simple to set up, but there was a significant amount of debate over what information each side was required to share, and when. The one bright side was that if anyone could be trusted to cover their tracks and take care of themself, it was Sark. The fact that a chance to recover eight hundred million dollars was at stake might mean he could even be trusted to fulfill his part of the plan enough to be a real help--they hoped. It was instructive, watching her father and Dixon try to manipulate Sark into thinking he was negotiating them down when actually they settled on precisely the level and type of cooperation she knew the CIA was looking for. In fact, she half-suspected her father had built into their deal a little more than they truly needed, on the assumption that Sark would never provide everything he promised.

He could, of course, have been even more devious than usual, but somehow she thought that if Sark were aware of the situation, he would have pushed at least a little harder rather than let them get precisely what they wanted. Mutual objective or not, he was the type of person who always felt the need to have some secret advantage over his putative partners. It was one of his more annoying traits, she reflected; he'd probably picked it up from her mother.

Regardless, they reached a point at which each side believed they were getting the better of the other, and moved on to the debriefing. Sark readily gave up a surprising amount of information on Covenant operations. Considering the circumstances surrounding his affiliation with them, he said, he still wasn't considered entirely trustworthy--at which comment Sydney had to stifle an urge to snort--so he had only limited knowledge of the group's leaders or ultimate goals, but he'd nevertheless managed to learn a great deal about the Covenant's mid-level operatives and current activities. The CIA would have to confirm as much of Sark's information as possible, of course, but if even half of it was accurate, it would be a real help. And that wasn't even counting the future intel he'd promised to provide on ongoing operations.

The one downside to this whole arrangement--aside from the dangers inherent in trusting someone like Sark--was that she'd been designated his handler. Her father had argued strenuously against the idea, but Sark remained adamant, and finally Dixon had given in, overruling everyone else's objections. Sark chose not to make some smug comment about their working together, but it was clear from the self-satisfied expression he turned to her once the point was settled that he was thinking it.

Just keep reminding yourself this is necessary, she told herself firmly. Without him we may never be able to destroy the Covenant, and you may never really know what happened to you. You put up with Sloane for all that time; this should be more bearable. At least you don't have to pretend to like Sark.

As things were winding down, Sydney realised it was well past lunchtime and Vaughn still hadn't returned. Concerned, she started to call him before remembering that someone was listening to his calls. Besides, Marshall probably still had his phone. Making a mental note to make sure someone remembered to get him a new one, she tried to think of all the benign reasons he might have been gone so long. After all, the only people who knew where they were were in the room with her; the chances anything bad had happened had to be pretty slim.

She was still worrying about Vaughn when the others finally decided to break for lunch. The sounds of people shifting about, standing up, distracted her from her thoughts; she glanced up to find both her father and Sark watching her curiously. She offered her father a weak smile to let him know she was fine.

All eating ceased as the silence was broken by the sound of somebody fumbling with the front door. As if by unspoken agreement, a remnant of all their years as partners, Dixon went to meet the potential threat while Sydney drew her gun and waited just outside the living room in case he needed help. Sark moved as if to do the same, then checked himself as he remembered they still had his weapons locked up.

The tension in the air dissipated when they clearly heard Dixon greeting Vaughn. Feeling foolish for having jumped to conclusions, Sydney sheepishly returned her gun to its place at the small of her back and resumed her seat. She mustered what she hoped was a welcoming smile for Vaughn as Dixon led him into the kitchen, explaining apologetically that they'd started eating without him. Vaughn just nodded and began making a sandwich, but it was clear that his run--or whatever--hadn't done much to calm him down. Displaying a surprising amount of tact, Sark politely excused himself and left the room. The sense of relief shared by most of those remaining was palpable, but Sydney found she still didn't know what to say, this time because of Vaughn. What could you say to a man who'd recently learned that the woman he'd essentially replaced you with was betraying both her country and him?

Somehow, "I knew she couldn't be trusted" didn't seem quite appropriate.

Before long she gave up trying to make the situation easier, and decided Sark had the right idea. The only way to improve it was to leave. The living room still feeling too close, she headed down the hall toward the bedroom she'd used the night before. As she passed the open door of his own room, Sark called out to her.

"Making your escape, Agent Bristow?"

"Is that what you did, Sark? Escape? I didn't realise you felt so threatened by a handful of mere CIA agents."

He'd been lounging on the bed; now he rose and advanced toward her. "I don't. However, I am currently in a position to find the CIA's cooperation beneficial, so I thought it prudent to extricate myself before your Mr. Vaughn lost his tenuous control."

"He's not 'mine'," she objected automatically.

"I beg your pardon, then." He leaned against the door jamb, studying her. "You know, Sydney, I'm really looking forward to this opportunity to work together again."

She knew it wouldn't work, but she'd never forgive herself if she didn't at least try. "Yeah, about that.... I'm not sure it's a good idea. From your perspective, I mean," she clarified innocently. "I've never been a handler before, after all. I don't know what I'm doing--I could easily forget to tell you something really important, even get your cover blown without realising it. Maybe you should ask for another handler, someone more experienced."

His eyes now held that expression that warned her he was about to say something particularly impertinent. "Nonsense, Sydney. I'm sure your level of...experience will suit me perfectly."

She held back her first response--violence, while temporarily satisfying, had proven to be a lost cause when it came to improving Sark's personality; anyway, his cover might truly be blown if he went to the Covenant with the kind of injuries she was dying to inflict on him--and replied instead, "It's a pity, then, that you'll never find out."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and continued down the hall. She thought she heard him murmur "we'll see about that", but when she turned to glare at him, his door was closed, leaving her wondering if she'd imagined it.

For lack of anything better to do, she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think too much about everything they'd learned in the past twenty-four hours and what the consequences would be. There'd be plenty of time for analysis later, and despite her exhaustion she'd found herself unable to fall asleep for hours the night before, thanks to all the revelations swirling through her head. Right now, what she needed most was a break. Or a new reality. But failing that...some time to just not think would be good.

She managed to doze for a while before being woken by a knock on her door. Deciding that Sark probably wouldn't have bothered with that courtesy, she figured it was safe and called for the person to come in.

When the door opened to reveal her father standing there, she sat up and tried to prepare herself. "What's wrong?"

Before speaking, he closed the door again and seated himself beside her on the bed. "I wanted to see if you were all right," he began awkwardly. "You've had a lot to take in."

"So have you," she pointed out. "You know, when we were setting this up in Korea, Sark hadn't wanted you to be included. I'm glad you're here, but now I understand why. I think he's a little afraid of you."

"Good. Let's keep it that way." They exchanged amused looks, but sobered quickly.

"Do you think what he said about Lauren's mother was true?" she asked tentatively.

"Most likely. It makes sense that the KGB would send more than one operative on missions similar to Irina's, and if one of them was able to stay here long enough to actually raise a child, it wouldn't be surprising for that child to end up sharing her worst traits."

"Yeah," she agreed with a sigh. They sat in silence for a moment before she said, "Dad? I know we've had our problems and everything, but...I want you to know that I consider myself lucky that Mom didn't take me with her when she left. I'm sorry you're having to go through all this again, even secondhand."

He was hard to read, as ever, but she thought she detected a little softening of his expression. "It's not your fault, Sydney."

"If Sark's estimate of Lauren's motives is accurate, it sort of is. Indirectly, but still there."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Of course he wouldn't, but that was so typical of her father, turning her attempt, however awkward, to comfort him into his own uneasy effort at comforting her. Because everyone knew Jack Bristow no longer had feelings and therefore couldn't be hurt. Perhaps unfortunately for him, she couldn't be fooled that easily anymore. She resolved to spend more time outside the office with him in the coming months; it would keep him from being alone with his memories too much, and he could tell himself he was keeping her from brooding over the mess with Vaughn.

For the moment, though, all she could do was smile reassuringly and try not to get too annoyed when he added, "I know that the truth about Vaughn's marriage might seem like a good thing, after what you've been through since coming back, but don't rush into anything. She's still the woman he married, regardless of what her intentions may have been. Give him time to process everything."

"I know that, Dad. Even if we didn't need him to continue with the charade for a while, he's got enough to deal with just now. And to be honest, so do I. If I'm going to have to work with Sark and make sure he doesn't double-cross us, I can't afford to be distracted. I get it. And...he did marry someone else, someone he hadn't even known when I disappeared. I can't just forget that. So if you're worried I'll try and pick up where we left off, don't be. I have a lot of thinking of my own to do before I can even say for certain that's what I want."

He nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "Good. If you need someone to run interference while you're doing that thinking...."

"I'll let you know," she agreed. This time her smile was genuine, and returned. The one good side effect of her missing time was the way they had grown closer since her return, as if spending two years thinking she might be dead had made him more willing to open up than he'd been in all the years since her mother left. His "supportive parenting" attempts were still a little sad by most standards, but she honestly appreciated the effort.

Part IV

The next evening, Sydney found herself in San Francisco, surrounded by memories of trips she'd several times planned to take there with Francie, but had to cancel because of "business trips". Officially she had returned to LA only to be whisked away by an over-protective Jack; Dixon had given her some time off to try and adjust to everything they'd learned.

After Vaughn had left the safehouse, Dixon had asked her to stay a while longer; he'd felt it best if she and Sark spent a few more hours together in controlled circumstances, since they were going to have to work together. Somehow getting to know each other as non-enemies and trying to work through, or at least settle, the bigger issues from their joint past so as not to let them interfere with their ability to work together didn't seem like something she was quite ready to handle; surely she'd been given more than enough to deal with all of a sudden without adding "befriend Sark" to the list. It was one thing to know she'd have to get along with him if she wanted to get revenge on the Covenant and, with any luck, find out what had happened to her; but that didn't mean they had to be all chummy. Instead, she went over the morning's intel with him again, periodically asking for clarification or more details.

She hated to admit it, but when Sark was being strictly professional they did work well together. Once they fell into a rhythm, she even found herself forgetting for a while just who she was talking to. It was only when he made one of those comments calculated to provoke her that the reality of the situation came back to her.

The time had passed a lot more quickly than Sydney had anticipated, and she was surprised to discover how far they'd gotten in their analysis of the Covenant before calling it a night. She'd have to finish on her own later, but there was no question that her work thus far had greatly benefited from Sark's input. He may be unreliable in the field, but if they could find a way to convince him to become an analyst, even she might be able to overlook his past. He had an undeniable talent for concatenating seemingly unrelated data that Sydney envied.

Once they'd all gone their separate ways, she spent the next few days primarily doing as she'd promised her father, and thinking seriously about what Sark's revelations meant for her and Vaughn. Part of her, the secret, vengeful part, felt vindicated. She had never expected to discover that his and Lauren's marriage was no more real than her own parents', yet deep down she'd been waiting for it to fall apart ever since Hong Kong. Petty jealousy wasn't a trait she was proud of, but it was one she'd had to live with for quite some time.

From almost the beginning of her interest in Vaughn, come to think of it. Except for those few months between the Alliance takedown and her disappearance, he'd pretty much always been involved with someone else. She'd always tried to dismiss Alice as unimportant, but...if he'd cared so much about Sydney back when he was her handler, why had he continued to date Alice? They'd broken up once, but it hadn't lasted long. Sure, at the time he couldn't have acted on the feelings developing between them, but neither could she--and she hadn't dated anyone else just because she couldn't have Vaughn. Was it wrong to have wanted some similar sign of dedication on his part? What did it say about him that twice now he'd claimed to love her while maintaining a relationship with someone else?

How could she trust him not to do it again? Yes, he'd had excuses--not entirely unreasonable ones, she conceded--both times, but did that make it right? How much longer was she going to let him make her into the other woman, even if they'd never actually done anything while he was involved with Alice or Lauren?

Perhaps most importantly, would she really be able to live with herself if she took advantage of the fact that someone else's life had been destroyed in exactly the same way as her father's?

For all that she'd once hoped Vaughn and Lauren's marriage would fall apart, this was possibly the only reason for it that she couldn't take even a perverse pleasure in. She'd seen what Irina's deception had done to her father, how the effects on him were prominent even after all these years. How he'd never been able to fully trust anyone ever since. Now Vaughn was going through the same thing, and though she could feel sorry for what he was suffering, she didn't know if she could bring herself to try and mend it. Mend him. Leaving aside all her own issues, could she be involved with a man who would, more than likely, be unable to trust her, all because of something somebody else had done?

It seemed too much to ask of them both. She would, thanks to her resemblance to her mother, be a double reminder: of his father's death at Irina's hand, and of his wife's betrayal. He might be able to overlook one, but not both. Too much had happened over the years, too many things--people, ideals, emotions--had died. Expecting to just wipe everything out and start over wouldn't be fair to either of them.

In the end, she decided, she could be his friend, and try to support him through what was no doubt going to be a very difficult time--all the more so because he would have to act as if he knew nothing of Lauren's true nature for who knew how long--but she could no longer see a future for them as a couple. And the persistent hope she'd harboured since returning to life as Sydney Bristow was just the latest addition to the death count.

Part V

When she walked into the CIA offices Monday morning, Sydney felt for a moment as if she were back at SD-6. That feeling she hadn't missed, the guilt of knowing she was keeping major secrets from most of her co-workers, came flooding back. It should help that this time Dixon and Marshall were already in on the secret, but then again, that left Weiss as the only member of her circle who was in the dark. Well, assuming Vaughn hadn't confided in him already despite orders to the contrary, of course. She didn't think she'd blame him if so; it might be the best thing all around. If he knew what was going on, Weiss could be there for Vaughn in ways she couldn't, free from the awkwardness that had plagued her own interactions with him for so long.

Not to mention the fact that leaving the majority of the support duty to someone else would make it easier to stick to her decision not to become involved with him again.

For the first time she was glad everyone knew of her dislike of Lauren; she used to be able to hide her loathing of Sloane without much difficulty, but she was out of practice. Luckily, any hint of her opinion of the truth behind Lauren's patriotic, loving façade would likely be dismissed as that jealousy-inspired hatred she knew she hadn't hidden as well as she would have wished.

Their morning briefing was tenser than usual. Dixon made a point of congratulating her and Vaughn on surviving their harrowing trip to Korea regardless of the mission's failure, and she had to fight the urge to watch Lauren for her reaction. Her father was more conveniently situated for casual observation, and would likely pick up on subtle details she would miss. Hopefully, any anomalies in her or Vaughn's behaviour would be attributed to the memory of being shot down; they hadn't been able to come up with a way to tap Lauren's cell, and if she suspected anything she could call the Covenant when she left the meeting and they would never know. Low though her opinion of Covenant leadership was--they gave Lauren Reed a position of responsibility, after all, not to mention apparently failing to see through her own "brainwashed" act for two years--there had to be someone there who could reason well enough to put two and two together and come up with "Sark's turned".

As quitting time rolled around, she made plans to have dinner with her father, eager to find out what the day's briefing had hidden at last.When he told her, an amused gleam in his eyes, that everything had been real, she felt unexpectedly let down. Knowing what they now knew, her determination to make the Covenant pay for everything it had done to her and the people she cared about had grown even more urgent. She hated waiting. She'd been looking forward to finally being able to make some real progress, and now...nothing.

Even though Marshall was privately monitoring Sark's phone calls, it was a few more weeks before they had intel they felt was worth acting on. By the time her father told her she needed to initiate contact with Sark, she'd almost given up on the idea that their arrangement would ever come to anything. Despite her misgivings about working with someone they'd had in custody not all that long ago, she was so relieved to get started on their goal at last that she eagerly seized the chance now that it finally presented itself.

As they'd agreed, she placed a coded newspaper ad scheduling contact. It was laughably old-fashioned, but considering the chances that the Covenant was also monitoring all of Sark's regular communications channels, it was the simplest and safest option. It was up to him to ensure a lack of surveillance on his end when he did call; Marshall took responsibility for regularly verifying her own phone was secure.

Not surprisingly, the call came through right on time. She contemplated just letting it ring, knowing Sark didn't take well to being ignored, but duty won out, and she answered before it rolled over to voicemail. "Yes?"

"So nice to hear your voice again, Agent Bristow," he said smoothly. "I've missed your not-at-all-veiled distrust, I truly have. I was beginning to think I'd never hear from you."

"Yes, well, I'm not the one making the decisions here. If it were up to me, this whole project would be over with by now."

"How sad for you, that once again the world refuses to conform to your wishes."

"Tell me about it," she agreed. "In any case, Dixon has requested your presence in LA for an in-person briefing by Thursday. It's time to start earning that immunity he agreed to give you."

"This wouldn't by any chance happen to pertain to a certain phone call I received from McKenas Cole the other day, would it?"

"You can't seriously think I'm going to discuss details over the phone."

"Ah. No. Of course not, Sydney. How silly of me to think that all the precautions we have taken might possibly induce you to impart even the smallest amount of information."

"You'll get all the information you need at your briefing," she snapped, remembering all too well just why she'd found working with him at SD-6 such a trial.

"Now, now, there's no need to get snippy."

"Being nice to you is not in my job description."

"No, but providing me with the location for this so-important briefing is," he pointed out, sounding not the least bothered by her admittedly unprofessional attitude.

She longed to subject someone else to the kind of roundabout procedure for gaining access to the JTF building that she'd had to use once upon a time, but since the danger in this case was equally great whether Sark was seen entering the building or simply inside it, they'd had to find an alternate location for any meetings he had to attend in person. They couldn't be sure anyone's homes weren't being watched, and Dixon--quite sensibly, in Sydney's opinion--hadn't been willing to trust Sark with the locations of official safehouses, so in the end they'd had to settle for a cabin a couple of hours outside LA that she hadn't even realised her father still owned. They hadn't been out there since the summer before her mother "died", so chances were no one else knew he owned it, either. Irina might have thought of it, but since they weren't trying to hide from her at the moment that had been considered an acceptable risk.

Reluctantly, she gave Sark directions and requested he contact her again once he knew when he'd be arriving. She then hung up before he had a chance to irritate her further. He always knew exactly how to provoke her, and seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in doing so even during their more civil conversations.

She was still pondering how they'd ever make it through what was bound to be a long, drawn-out collaboration without attempting to kill each other when he called the following morning to announce he was already on his way to LA and should be at the cabin early that evening. She was taken by surprise; they'd expected Sark to try and prove his independence by making them wait until right before the deadline, and weren't quite prepared to meet so soon.

Not surprisingly, nothing was said in that day's briefing about the upcoming meet, but around four Dixon brought her a stack of files and suggested she go home early; she was looking a little unwell, he said, and she could just as easily go over the files at home as at the office. She thanked him and managed to make it all the way home before rifling through the papers for the communication she knew had to be in there.

She was right. Buried in a file from the middle of the stack was a note in Dixon's handwriting informing her that he hoped to be at the cabin by seven, but if Sark showed up before he got there she should just go ahead and start briefing him on what she'd already learned from her father. She gathered, then, that her father wasn't going to be joining them, which was a shame; he was the only person she'd ever sensed Sark might be intimidated by.

She made good time up to the cabin and was glad to have arrived first. She needed some time alone to make the place habitable again and, more importantly, to deal with the flood of memories that came rushing back. She hadn't realised just how much she'd remember after all these years; it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this was the reason her father hadn't chosen to attend this meeting. It must have been hard enough for him to offer the cabin for their use in the first place. Everywhere she turned she saw the mother she'd loved and idolised as a child; how much worse would it be for him?

She managed to get herself under control--and any pictures or other signs of the cabin's ownership hidden; no need to provide him with ammunition--by the time Sark arrived. In fact, she was relaxing on the front porch, enjoying the rare chance to do some pleasure reading, when he pulled up in a surprisingly non-flashy rental car. Somehow she'd never expected him to sacrifice image for practicality, but there was no doubt that the car he'd driven the last time they'd worked together would have drawn attention up here.

He got out of the car and took a moment to look around before turning to her. She wasn't sure if he was admiring the view, like she had, or just scanning for snipers. "A little out of the way, don't you think, Agent Bristow?"

"We thought the inconvenience was more than outweighed by the certainty that no one could possibly have thought to set up surveillance out here," she explained. She was determined to make it through the evening without letting him taunt her into reacting in any way other than "calmly professional". "Dixon should be here in about an hour, but he said we should go ahead and get started," she added, reluctantly rising from the chair she'd found surprisingly comfortable and leading him inside.

Sark settled on the worn, unfashionable couch and managed to look as though he owned it. Mentally shaking her head in bafflement at his ability to seem at home even in an environment where he should stick out like a sore thumb, Sydney claimed the armchair, trying not to remember the way her mother used to climb into her father's lap when he sat there.

"Well?" Sark prompted when she failed to begin right away.

"Okay. So, as you guessed yesterday, this is about Cole's call. According to Marshall's report, he's ordered you to find and retrieve a Rambaldi-designed hourglass." She couldn't help rolling her eyes; why couldn't everyone just give up on this Rambaldi thing already? "Have you, ah, gotten anywhere on that?"

"Not yet," he replied lazily. "Why? Does the CIA have a lead it's actually willing to share?"

"Not exactly." She waited until he arched one eyebrow quizzically; had to get her fun where she could, didn't she? "What we do have is the hourglass."

Was she imagining things, or did he actually look surprised? "I'm impressed," he admitted. "How did you manage that so quickly, without drawing attention?"

She'd been hoping he wouldn't ask that. "Actually, it's not technically in our possession, though we've known about it for a few years. We just never bothered to, ah, collect it. No one realised it was Rambaldi-related until Marshall heard the description Cole gave you and remembered something he'd read once, a footnote to an old case file he'd read for fun, I think. It's not like the CIA's crawling with Rambaldi fanatics the way your side is!" she exclaimed defensively, embarrassed by her government's apparent incompetence. "We usually only go after Rambaldi-related items when we know the bad guys want them."

"I see." He thought this was funny, damn him. She knew he would. Why couldn't Dixon have ordered her to wait until he could brief Sark, so she could safely be elsewhere? "Am I to understand, then, that we'll be retrieving the item ourselves?"

"Yeah. Well, officially I will; you'll be a few vital minutes too slow, and find that I've already taken off with it before you got there."

"But in reality, I'll be accompanying you, to provide backup and probably to make sure my presence is established on a security camera somewhere," he prompted.

"Yes, you will," she admitted grudgingly. "Dad doesn't go in the field much anymore, Dixon and Vaughn can't just take off without raising Lauren's suspicions, and Marshall...Marshall means well, but he isn't the most useful field partner unless you expect to encounter some truly dangerous technology. Dixon insisted I not go in alone, so...that leaves you."

"Interesting," he murmured, though the unrepentant smirk on his face wasn't nearly so understated. "You keep fighting it, Sydney, yet somehow we always end up being reunited. Why not just accept that some things are meant to be?"

"Spare me."

"Articulate as ever."

"Do you think you could focus long enough for us to go over the details, perhaps? Or would you rather just take your chances once we get there?"

"By all means, continue."

Dixon turned up as they were going through the last of her intel on the security arrangements they'd be facing. He didn't seem to notice her "I can't believe you abandoned me like this!" glare; clearly some intimidation gene hadn't been passed down properly. Or maybe he was just immune, after working with her father for the last few years. He did, however, come bearing Marshall-toys, so she decided she could forgive him. Even when she didn't end up using all of them, just having some of Marshall's gadgets hidden away gave her increased confidence each time she ventured into the field.

He finished briefing both of them on the op tech and mission details that hadn't yet been available when she'd last been briefed by her father. It sounded like a pretty straightforward smash-and-grab, but there was the double uncertainty of working with a new partner--despite whatever twisted ideas Sark may have formed about those very few SD-6 missions years ago--and not being sure she could rely on said partner, so she was grateful for every detail. The more she knew going in, the more likely it was she would come out again.

When he was through, Dixon paused for a moment, looking from her to Sark and back uncertainly. "Since your flight leaves so early, and we know this location is secure, Jack and I have decided it's best if you both stay here until then."

"Here? But--I have to pack--" She hoped her sudden panic at the thought of being trapped alone with Sark in a place that already had her shields weakened wasn't noticeable, though if appealing to Dixon's sometimes fatherly concern for her would get her out of it, she wasn't going to complain. Wasn't it enough they'd be stuck on a plane together for most of the following two days? Unfortunately, Dixon seemed to be firmly in boss mode, not willing to cater to her preferences.

"You still keep an emergency overnight bag in your car, don't you, Sydney?"

"Well...yes."

"Then you should be fine for tonight and tomorrow. There's no need for anything from Costuming for this mission, of course, so I had your father go pick up some of your blacks from your apartment. They're in my trunk."

"Oh. That was very...thoughtful of you," she managed.

There was no way she was going to so much as glance in Sark's direction. He probably knew he was the cause of her discomfort, and was definitely enjoying it. In fact, she was going to do her best to just pretend he didn't exist until the op began. If he'd let her, that was. Somehow, she didn't think it was likely.

Not having any choice in the matter, she followed Dixon out to the cars to retrieve her stuff. After glancing back to confirm that Sark had remained in the cabin, he said, "Are you ready for this? I know how you feel about working with him, and I sympathise, but it may be the only way."

Sydney sighed. "I know. I can't pretend to be happy about it, but I understand the reasoning. It's not your fault he refused to work with anyone else. If I didn't think his assistance might actually be worth it, it would be different, but...."

"Believe me, Sydney, I understand completely. And I appreciate your willingness to put your personal feelings aside long enough to get the job done. I'm no happier about sending you out there alone with Sark than you are. I just wish other considerations didn't prevent me from bringing someone else in on this to go look out for you."

"I'll be fine. I can handle Sark. I always have before, right?" She didn't think she was any more successful at convincing Dixon than she was at convincing herself, but he seemed willing to accept her words at face value. It was like her first time being paired with Sark back at SD-6 all over again--they both hated the idea, didn't trust Sark's "reformation", and didn't see anything they could do about it.

"Call me as soon as you get back on the plane," he ordered before wishing her good luck and handing her the clothes he'd brought. She stayed there for a few more minutes, watching the headlights of his car make their way down the mountain before taking a deep breath, mentally fortifying herself for a trying evening, and turning to return to cabin.

Sark was standing in the doorway, watching her.

It was going to be a long night.

Part VI

Miraculously, they made it through the night without killing each other. Of course, doing that meant avoiding talking unless absolutely necessary, but it was better than the alternative. She couldn't focus on the upcoming mission if she was arguing with Sark, anyway.

Sydney wasn't sure which would be harder, trying to sleep in her parents' old bedroom or lying in the room that had been hers, remembering happier times. In the end, she let Sark pick which room he wanted to use first; it didn't surprise her when he chose the larger of the two, leaving her to battle the ghost of summers past. When her alarm went off, she emerged from her room to find he'd already risen and started coffee. What did surprise her, pleasantly, was that he'd made enough for them both, though she had to fend for herself when it came to breakfast. As they'd done for dinner the previous night, they ate in silence.

In fact, they didn't speak until after they'd both showered and dressed, and sat down to go over the op info one last time. By the time they set out for the airport she was almost comfortable being with Sark; he wasn't nearly as annoying when he didn't talk.

The need for secrecy regarding their cooperation meant Dixon had authorised their use of a CIA plane rather than making them take a commercial flight. She could only attribute the fact that what they found waiting for them was the rather comfortable company jet rather than a military transport to an unspoken apology for her having to spend so much time cooped up with someone she'd be perfectly happy locking away somewhere he'd never be seen again.

Resigned to her fate, she tried to focus on the book she'd brought, the mission specs, anything other than her current partner, but she couldn't resist sneaking glances at him every thirty seconds or so. She couldn't figure him out. She'd grown used to that when they were acknowledged adversaries, but now that she was supposed to work with him, she was having a hard time blindly accepting the change.

Apparently her glances hadn't been quite as sneaky as she'd thought, for he sighed and laid down the file he'd been reading. "Yes?"

Well, it was too late for subtlety now; she might as well come right out and ask. "Why are you helping us? I mean, yes, you want your money back, but why come to the CIA for help? Why not just do it on your own?"

He looked at her for a moment, considering, then leaned back in his seat as if settling in for a long conversation. "What's the matter, Sydney, don't you trust me?"

She snorted. "Of course not. And you didn't expect me to, either, so don't act like you're surprised."

"True. Though it does hamper things a bit; now that we're going to be working together so closely, some modicum of trust--on both sides--would make this operation go a lot more smoothly."

"Unfortunately, you've never given me any reason to trust you, so you'll just have to learn to live with the disappointment."

"If you insist. What exactly do you want to know?"

"Like I said, Sark, I want to know why you came to the CIA for help. If you can't take down the Covenant alone, why didn't you ask my mother to assist you instead?"

"While it's true that Irina would almost certainly aid in this endeavour, considering what the Covenant did to you, I'm afraid Ms. Reed was right: I don't know how to contact her anymore," he admitted.

"Really," she said skeptically. "Why don't I believe that?"

"Believe what you want," he said, his voice suddenly harder. "I'm sure you will regardless of my permission. But it's the truth. I haven't heard from her since she sent me to Stockholm to provide you with information regarding your father's whereabouts."

"Since she turned on you, you mean."

"Not at all. At least, that wasn't the plan. Then you disappeared and, I assume, she was too distracted searching for you to extract me. Rather short-sighted of her, considering that I could have helped in her quest. And once I was finally released, I found our old emergency means of contact were either gone or simply not getting through to her. I can only presume she is aware of my status and has, for whatever reason, chosen to sever our connection."

"How sad for you," she commented sarcastically.

"On the contrary," he corrected her calmly, "it's nothing personal. If Irina has decided I am no longer useful to her operations, that was a business decision. Expecting any sentimentality from her would be incredibly foolish."

That was a mistake she herself had made more than once in that year her mother was back in her life, and she suspected Sark knew it. She couldn't resist trying to get under his skin in retaliation. "And here I thought she was like a mother to you."

A haunted look appeared in his eyes briefly before his mask descended once more. "I never said she was a caring one," he replied, darkness creeping into his voice.

She didn't think she wanted to consider what his real parents must've been like if he could see even an Irina Derevko who would abandon him without a moment's thought as maternal. The last thing she needed was to start feeling sorry for Sark. Instead, she decided to take advantage of his uncharacteristic openness and ask, "Okay, so that explains why you didn't go to Irina. Why us, though? And why bother with destroying the Covenant in the first place? Why not just steal your money and disappear?"

As quickly as it had appeared, his unusual show of emotion vanished behind a mask of indifference. He now looked almost amused by her questions; there was no sign he'd ever been the least bit troubled. "To begin with, I don't just want my money. Like you, I want to see the leaders of the Covenant wiped out."

"Because they stole from you? Sure, it's a hell of a lot of money, but they're also the reason you're not still in that glass cell. I'd think even you would be at least a little grateful."

"Oh, really? Are you grateful to them, Sydney, for what they did to you?"

"That's completely different!"

"Is it? We were both taken against our will and forced to work for people we despised, doing tasks we each considered beneath us. Just as you don't care for working for the enemy, I don't appreciate being consigned to the role of errand boy for employers I was not given the opportunity of rejecting." The sudden restrained fury in his voice lent credence to his words. Despite what she'd once told him about being a dog in search of a master, she really couldn't picture him blithely going along with some group nobody had even heard of the last time he'd been free, relatives of Irina or no; if nothing else, she had to concede that he did have a thing about only working with the best. Evil, but the best. And he definitely wasn't someone who'd take kindly to being forced into doing anything. If the CIA had approached him about collaborating, instead of the other way around, she would have fought the idea a lot more strenuously than she had; that kind of thing was guaranteed to end in betrayal.

In that respect, she'd misjudged him before, assuming his partnership with Sloane arose from a lack of direction after Irina turned herself in to the CIA. Once they realised she'd been working with at least Sark, if not Sloane, all along, Sydney was forced to reevaluate the entire situation. She doubted she'd ever know the truth behind the tangled alliances and betrayals, but the method of Irina's extraction implied that Sark's cooperation with Sloane was pre-arranged. That certainly didn't seem to be the case here; there was no way that Sark would agree to pay eight hundred million dollars for a simple extraction, nor would he set it up to take place after he'd spent two years in confinement.

Besides, it matched up with some comments he'd made in Korea. Either he was very good at keeping his story straight, or it was the truth.

"Okay, say I accept that. You still haven't told me why you want to work with us to do it."

He thought for a moment before replying. "Let's just say...I decided it would be easier to accomplish my goal if I didn't have to look over my shoulder all the time for you and your friends. Once I was partnered with Lauren Reed, I knew I had the leverage I needed to get the CIA to cooperate."

"That's another thing that doesn't make sense. You knew Lauren was a double, and yet you chose our office to defect to? How do you expect me to believe you honestly took the risk of having her go back and tell the Covenant? I may not like you, but you're not that stupid."

"Your flattery is overwhelming," Sark said drily. "And I didn't consider it enough of a risk to outweigh the potential benefits. After all, I knew Mr. Dixon would never knowingly work with the Covenant and that--thanks largely to your connection with them--he would be willing to take any opportunity to further the CIA's quest to eliminate it. There would have been next to no risk at all if he'd followed my instructions and sent you alone to contact me, or even sent your father along if he wasn't willing to do that. If either of you were secretly working with the Covenant, it would be as double agents for the CIA, so again, I had no need to worry that knowledge of my defection would get back to them. I had no such confidence in other branches."

"What are you saying, that you trust us? I find that hard to believe."

"I'm saying...I trust your patriotism and dedication to what you believe is 'right'. However naive and misguided I may find such sentiments, in the present instance they were useful in determining that none of you would be knowingly aiding my current employers. It was Dixon's decisions to inform seemingly the entire office of your mission and to send Mr. Vaughn as your back-up that was where things became dangerous."

"So now it's Dixon's fault Vaughn and I almost got killed trying to go pick you up?"

"As I said, Ms. Bristow, based on our prior acquaintance I expected him to be more careful, quicker to catch on to the notion that there might be a legitimate reason for the conditions I placed on my defection."

"Maybe he was worried about the idea of sending me alone into what was potentially a Covenant trap," she countered. "As you just pointed out, they did kidnap and attempt to brainwash me, after all."

"Then he ought to have more faith in you. Surely your former partner, of all people, ought to appreciate your abilities."

It was Sydney's turn to sigh. "Look, I don't want to argue about this."

"In that case, why did you bring it up?"

"You know, that's a very good question," she agreed. Though he had probably guessed, coming right out and telling him she'd wanted to check up on his story wouldn't be the smartest idea she'd ever had, and if she'd even for a moment expected to learn anything from this conversation, it was a mistake she couldn't afford to make again. Trusting Sark was never a good idea, but now she was left with little choice, at least on an operational level. It helped that they'd worked together before, and he'd actually never let her down in the field. Not while they were supposedly on the same side, anyway.

She just couldn't stop trying to understand him. Oh, sure, she knew he was annoying, and ruthless, and unfeeling, and arrogant, and about as good an agent as she was, in his way, and astonishingly good at saving his own skin. The problem was that she hated being partnered with someone she didn't know on a personal level a lot more thoroughly than she would ever even want to know Sark. She knew that he could keep up with anything they might run into, but not if he'd put himself at risk to save her, should it come to that. If she were the type of person who could just abandon a partner when things got rough herself, she might overlook it, but she couldn't. Not even if that partner was Sark. Being unable to trust him didn't change that; it only meant she would have the added burden of worrying about when she'd be left to fend for herself on top of the usual mission-related stress. Their little heart-to-heart had mostly convinced her he was sincere, if not honest, about wanting to stop the Covenant, but she was no closer to feeling she could trust him than she'd ever been.

"If you're quite through asking pointless questions...?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Go back to--whatever you were doing," she said glumly. Clearly she wasn't going to be able to resolve her issues by talking to him, anyway--not when those issues included not being able to believe much of anything he might say.

"Look, Sydney," he said, clearly exasperated, "if there's something specific you're angling for, it might save us both a great deal of aggravation if you would simply ask what you really want to know, rather than dancing around the subject like this."

"I can't!" she blurted out more honestly than she'd intended, her frustration with herself and the situation getting the better of her. "Believe me, if I could think of a suitable question, I'd ask it!"

His brows flew up in surprise. "Then it appears we are at an impasse."

She slumped back in her seat, discouraged. She wasn't getting anywhere, and she couldn't even blame Sark--it wasn't his fault. Not really. In fact, he'd shown an unusual willingness to answer what questions she did come up with; she just couldn't find the right one.

If she didn't know better, she might think he looked concerned. There was definitely something she wasn't used to hearing in his voice when he said, "Sydney, I know I can't make you believe me, but I honestly have no intentions of double-crossing the CIA or betraying you in any way so long as our current agreement remains in effect. If you can't trust me, at least trust that I have too much to lose if the CIA decides to blow my cover with the Covenant."

"If there's one thing you can be relied on to do, it's look out for yourself," she agreed, considering this point. He could have gained their assistance under false pretences, of course, but if he were really loyal to the Covenant it would have been much simpler to fake some evidence of what happened to her; there was no need to turn in Lauren if they were truly on the same side. And while Sark might fool them all without difficulty, she wasn't inclined to believe that Lauren was skilled enough to pull off the double deception of pretending to be Vaughn's loyal, loving wife and the unsuspecting, incompetent mole they'd heard on that phone call. One of the two had to be real, and it was plainly not the former.

"Okay," she decided at last. "I can work with that."

"I'm so relieved," he said drily.

Without thinking, she grabbed the pillow from the seat next to her and threw it at him, as she would Weiss. Almost as soon as it left her hand she remembered where she was--and whom she was with--and her breath caught, her suddenly playful mood instantly turning apprehensive. The look on Sark's face, however, wasn't tinged with anger, and in the end his startled expression was too much for her; she broke down into a fit of giggles after all. Better that than the tears of frustration she'd been near just minutes earlier. Though he didn't join her, some of the tension in the air had dissolved by the time she got herself together again.

The more relaxed atmosphere survived all the way to Bratislava, where the hourglass was in the private art collection of a former KGB leader the CIA had been keeping tabs on in case he wasn't quite so retired as he claimed. Since this was a quick in-and-out mission and they had their own transportation, it had been decided that they didn't need to stay the night; they'd go to work straight from the airport, then immediately head back. A rental car was waiting for them; since Sydney was the one going in after the hourglass, she allowed Sark to drive without comment.

They didn't speak as he pulled over and turned off the car. They didn't need to; they both had more than enough experience to get through the final preparations with practiced efficiency. Sark retrieved and set up the laptop he'd be using to monitor her progress while she performed the mandatory checks on the comm equipment before handing one headset to him and hooking the other into place over her own ear.

Sydney checked her weapon and verified one last time that she had all of Marshall's gadgets safely stashed about her person, then glanced at Sark. He gave her a nod, confirming he was ready, and said quietly, "Good luck, Sydney." She got out of the car and set off down the street.

"I'm fifty feet away," she reported.

"Perfect timing. I'm into the security system and will have the cameras disabled in thirty seconds," Sark replied. "Disabling...now. You're clear to enter."

"Copy." She rounded the corner and attached one of Marshall's toys to the security pad by the otherwise nondescript door. Six seconds later she heard the soft blip as the lock released. "Okay, I'm in."

"You're clear all the way to the third floor," the voice in her ear said calmly. "Report before you leave the stairwell, and I'll distract the guards."

"Understood. Entering stairwell now." She swiftly climbed two flights, then reported that she was in position. Sark set off an alarm on the fourth floor of the opposite wing of the building, watching as the guard station she would have to pass was vacated in a rush to stop the phantom intruder. He gave her the all clear, and she eased open the stairwell door.

The third floor was as empty as Sark had promised. She had no difficulty getting to the room where the collection their objective was a part of was stored or, thanks once again to Marshall, getting inside.

That was as far as her luck held, however. "Uh, Sark? It looks like this is going to take me a while."

"Is there a problem?" If she didn't know better, she might be tempted to think he sounded concerned.

"In a sense."

"In what sense?" This time, there was no "might" about it: he was definitely annoyed by her non-answer.

"In the sense that there must be hundreds of items in here, many of which are hourglasses. I'm going to have to go through each one." She began her search while she explained, thankful the CIA had been able to provide a detailed photo of the Rambaldi hourglass.

"Would you like some assistance?"

"Are the guards still occupied?"

"They are. I've set off a series of motion detectors further down the corridor; they're chasing a ghost."

"Then stay where you are; I can find the artifact if you just keep them busy."

"Excellent, Sydney. Do you have any idea how lovely it is, working with someone as competent as yourself after all this time?" he asked almost wistfully.

Suddenly she was reminded of their ill-fated mission to Paris for SD-6, and even Tokyo. Interesting how Sark--who was probably the second most reserved man she knew, after her father--could become so chatty when given a comm.

Unexpectedly, she found it comforting, almost. Familiar. And so few things were, these days. It prompted her to respond less caustically than she had on previous occasions.

"What can I say? I'm the best."

"You certainly are on the list, at any rate."

"Are you saying I'm not the best?" she asked in mock offense.

"You're very good, and I have nothing but respect and admiration for your skills, you know that, but I can think of a few operatives who could still out-perform you."

"Like you, I suppose?" Sydney scoffed.

"I wouldn't dream of suggesting as much," Sark replied smoothly. "Your mother, on the other hand.... Of course, she has the benefit of decades more experience than you have. For that matter, while I have never had the pleasure of working with him in the field, I understand your father was also an unbeatable talent."

"Runs in the family, I guess." Just then, she came across the item she'd been searching for. "Found it. I'm heading back to the rendezvous point."

"Your path is clear. I'm setting off one more alarm, then heading for the rendezvous point myself. You should have two and a half minutes to clear the third floor before the guards start to return."

She made a mental note of the advisement, already dashing for the stairs. She made it out of the building and around the corner to the alley where she and Sark were to meet without running into anyone. She had to concede that it was, indeed, nice to work with someone whose competence couldn't be doubted. Luring the guards further and further from the room they needed to infiltrate with a series of false alarms had been Sark's idea, and it had worked beautifully.

Sark arrived in the alley shortly after she did, and they acknowledged each other's presence as he settled into the shadows to wait and she set off for the car. This time she took the driver's seat, taking a moment to familiarise herself with the current security situation playing out on the screen of the laptop.

"Okay, I'm ready when you are," she told Sark. "You're clear to enter the building."

"I'm inside," he said a few moments later. "How's the stairwell?"

"Still clear. Go ahead." She waited while Sark climbed to the fourth floor. Once he arrived, she checked the cameras again then gave him the all-clear. She watched as he snuck around the corner, out of camera range.

"I'm in position."

"All right, re-enabling security cameras now. Go!"

As planned, Sark came running around the corner, back into the camera's field of view, setting off the motion sensors in that deserted corridor for real. The harried guards came racing up just in time to see the door to the stairs swing shut behind him. Naturally they followed, but Sark, too, was very good; he made it down three flights and out the door before the guards could even catch a glimpse of him.

Once he'd cleared the building Sydney started the car and drove to the extraction point, along Sark's escape route. The moment she pulled up beside him, he yanked open the door and flung himself inside. By the time he'd pulled the door closed again she'd already floored the gas pedal.

She reluctantly slowed down once they were out of the immediate vicinity; drawing attention would be more dangerous than lingering would. "Well, that was fun," she commented brightly, still riding the energy high of a successful mission.

A glance to her right showed that Sark was actually grinning at her. "Indeed. We really must do it again sometime."

She couldn't help laughing; she blamed it on the adrenaline. "Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem."

Sydney remained keyed up as they arrived at the airport; it wasn't until after they took off that she realised what was wrong. She felt like the mission wasn't finished yet, a step had been skipped. How long had it been since she had made it through an entire mission without any fighting? Now she had all this energy, and nowhere to channel it. All she could do was report in to Dixon, then try not to go crazy from being cooped up on the long flight back.

As was his habit when he was waiting for an agent to report in from the field, Dixon answered on the first ring and got right to business.

"Yes?"

"It's me. The op went like clockwork. I've got the hourglass, Sark's on their surveillance tapes, and we're back in the air."

"No problems, then?"

"None," she confirmed. "It was almost too easy."

"I hope you're not complaining...." Years of communicating with him over comms made it easy to hear the gentle teasing in his voice; she knew he could hear her answering smile just as plainly.

"Oh, you know me, Dixon. Where's the fun in having everything go to plan?"

He laughed. "Last I checked, we weren't paying you to have fun. But as long as you're all right, I'll let it go."

"You're too kind."

"Seriously, though, good work, Syd. Take tomorrow morning off and get some rest."

"Gladly. See you then." She ended the call and tossed the phone into her bag.

"Well?" Sark asked when it became clear she didn't intend to say anything. "Does Mr. Dixon have any further instructions for us?"

"I," she announced, "get to sleep in tomorrow. He didn't say anything about you."

"I'm hurt."

She snorted in disbelief. "I'm sure."

"Truly, Sydney. I do all that work to keep you from drawing attention, and he can't manage a simple 'thank you'?"

"You say that like you actually went to some trouble. You know as well as I do that you enjoyed it."

"Unappreciated, I tell you." Sark's playfulness seemed to have survived the removal of the comms, and she was more than willing to indulge him. It certainly beat the prospect of spending the entire flight in their customary silence, considering the mood she was in.

"See, now, if you were nicer to people, they might be more inclined to be nice to you in return."

He pretended to consider for a moment. "No, not worth the effort. I prefer honesty; dissembling can be so draining, don't you find?"

She couldn't let that pass without comment. "You can't be saying you tell the truth; we both know better. So, what, does that mean you see yourself as being honest in your behaviour towards other people? You really do think you're better than everyone and that no one's feelings, wishes, or needs matter besides your own?"

He gave a half-shrug. "I give respect where I feel it's due. I can hardly be blamed for so many people's failure to earn it."

"You must have ridiculously high expectations to go along with your inflated opinion of yourself."

"I wouldn't say so. I simply have a low tolerance for trivialities, and no patience with stupidity. Don't you ever grow tired of being surrounded by people who are incapable of understanding even half of what you know?"

"I have more faith in people than that."

"Which is why you waste so much time trying to save them from situations they are ill-equipped to handle and had no right to involve themselves in to begin with."

She wanted to protest, but she couldn't, really. He was wrong in his estimation of most people, but he did have a point about the frequency with which she had to help her friends out of dangerous situations. Or, worse, failed to help them. She still hadn't forgiven herself for Francie's death or all that Will had been through since he began his quest to discover Danny's killer.

"Look, can we just drop it? We're never going to agree about this." Or anything else, apparently. Her good mood had fled by that point and now she just wanted to get back to LA. Dissembling she could handle; being around Sark, on the other hand, was draining. He always managed to take the conversation somewhere she wasn't comfortable being.

"You do that a lot," he observed with clinical detachment.

"Do what?"

"Start something and then run away when it gets too uncomfortable for you. You might want to work on that--unless, that is, you want to consistently provide ammunition to everyone around you, in which case far be it from me to try and stop you."

"For your information, I do not 'run away' when things are uncomfortable!" she protested vehemently. "If I did, I would have left this life a long, long time ago. For all your talk about 'destiny', you don't know anything about me, so do us both a favour and stop trying to analyse me."

"If I've misjudged you, I do beg your pardon." Sark's voice hardened as he continued relentlessly, "How, then, would you characterise your little tendency to retreat behind rules you otherwise are happy to disregard when you find yourself in a situation you don't like? Your decision to operate within the Covenant, performing the very same acts you so despise me for, rather than face the fact that your former handler had moved on with his life after your 'death'? Or the way you tried to literally run away after discovering he was actually married?--Don't look so surprised, Agent Bristow; I've read your Covenant file, which includes such a charming wealth of CIA reports Ms. Reed has copied since your return.--And then, of course, there's the fact that in just the past twenty-four hours I've already lost count of how many times you've begun a conversation only to change the subject when it becomes too much for you. Need I go on?"

"Shut up," she managed, too focused on not breaking down in front of Sark to come up with anything more intelligent in reply. "Just--shut up. I hate you."

"So you've said."

"And yet you never take the hint, so I'll spell it out for you: don't say another word for the rest of the flight."

"I assure you, Sydney, if this is the level of conversation you have to offer this morning, I'll be more than happy to comply."

She glared at him, but was afraid that if she replied verbally he'd feel the need to get the last word, and at the moment continuing the discussion was high on her list of things they weren't paying her enough for.

The remainder of the fourteen-hour flight was even more unpleasant than she'd feared the trip over would be. Sark kept to his word, and didn't speak again, but he somehow managed to do so in a very ostentatious way, making her feel like as far as he was concerned she'd become invisible. No matter how much she tried to return the favour, she couldn't help but be aware of him, staying as far from her as the small plane allowed, never so much as glancing in her direction. This was particularly annoying when he seemed to have no problem going to sleep, whereas she spent most of the flight tossing and turning, feeling lucky when she managed to doze for more than a few minutes at a time. Their exchange had no effect on him; he remained his usual calm, unruffled self, aside from the fact that he was ignoring her completely. She didn't think he'd ever done that before, not so entirely.

Sure, he taunted her, tormented her, fought her, deliberately provoked her, took blatant pleasure in driving her insane--but he'd never failed to somehow respond to her presence, even if they weren't actually saying anything. She found the experience not nearly as pleasant as she'd imagined it would be.

When they finally arrived at the private airfield the CIA used, she couldn't wait to get away. Since he was at the front of the plane, Sark left first; by the time she'd grabbed her overnight bag and the artifact and exited the plane herself, there was no sign of either him or his car. Since there was no point in his giving her a debrief--after all, she'd been there throughout the mission--and he couldn't be brought in to give it to Dixon in person, there was no reason for him not to take off, but she felt let down somehow. Sark was many things, but it wasn't like him to be this childish. She caught herself sulking as she descended the steps to the tarmac, and conceded in the privacy of her own mind that he might not be the only one behaving a bit childishly at the moment. It was still his fault, though, for talking to her like he had.

Having firmly settled the blame where she'd decided it belonged, Sydney was able to make the drive into the city in a sufficiently improved frame of mind that by the time she arrived at Dixon's house she no longer dreaded giving him her report. She stuck to the mission itself, only the barest of facts. No matter how much blame she placed on Sark's head, some part of her suspected that other people might not be entirely willing to see things that way if she related the details of their flight back, and she definitely didn't want Dixon to think she couldn't handle this arrangement. Any doubts she might have were for herself alone.

Part VII

When a couple of weeks had gone by without any sign of trouble, Sydney breathed a mental sigh of relief. She could sense a slight lessening of tension among the others in the inner circle, as well; Lauren appeared to be buying their campaign of deliberate misinformation, and everyone felt they could breathe a little easier knowing they'd gotten away with their first real test of the new arrangement. Nevertheless, they waited several more weeks before attempting to make use of their deal with Sark again. There was still concern that they might press too hard, move too fast, and tip their hand.

Whenever possible, they just used him to confirm intel they acquired through other means; actual joint missions remained rare, though she ran into him with increasing regularity on ops not directly related to their deal. Often in such cases he let her walk away with the objective without even forcing her to fight for it, particularly where information that would significantly strengthen the Covenant was concerned. He succeeded in his missions often enough that his standing in the Covenant wasn't jeopardised--and to keep her own success rate from being suspiciously high--but Sark was clearly tacitly observing the spirit of their deal, rather than sticking merely to the letter.

Sometimes rather than wait for her to contact him, Sark would even volunteer information. They'd established certain code phrases he could easily work into a conversation without rousing suspicion to indicate to Marshall that he had something important to pass along.

Sydney couldn't help but be reminded of her time trying to take down SD-6. She knew better now than to expect instant results, yet the frustration over how slowly things seemed to be going was the same. It wasn't made any easier by the fact that after everything she did, everything she went through, having dismantled SD-6 did nothing in the end to bring Sloane to justice. There was this invisible threat hanging over her, taunting her with the possibility that Lauren Reed and the Covenant leadership were going to be no different.

And then there was Sark, taunting her more by not explicitly taunting her than anything else. Come to think of it, he'd been around then, too, he and his claims of destiny. She could see it when they did come into contact, dancing in his eyes. "I told you we'd work together," his gaze said, taking obvious amusement in her frustration. When he called her in response to the CIA's requests, there was often a faint mocking tone in his voice as he acknowledged her orders. She was his handler, and yet it often felt like she was the one being handled. Manipulated. Used.

But what could he possibly get from her in this arrangement? He was the one betraying his bosses. He was the one at risk of torture or even death if their collaboration were to be discovered. He was the one vulnerable to blackmail.

What she really needed, Sydney knew, was a friend to talk to. Just someone she could vent to; was that too much to ask? Apparently so, since Francie had been dead for almost three years, Will was gone, and she certainly couldn't go to Vaughn, under the circumstances. Her best friend since returning from the dead had been, surprisingly enough, Weiss, but if Vaughn had told him about Lauren and Sark and everything, surely Weiss would have found a way to let her know by now.

She'd tell him herself, but she didn't think she could afford another black mark on her record if she got found out. She was well aware that only her father's and, now, Dixon's intervention--and possibly that damn Rambaldi prophecy--kept her from having been fired several times by now. For some reason, the CIA didn't look too kindly on agents who had a habit of ignoring orders, even the stupid ones.

Of course, between their occasional need to pass information away from the office and his lingering relief to have her back, she and her father had been spending more time together than they once had. Not surprisingly, Weiss was more than willing to allow them their dinners without intruding. So she got to kill two birds with one stone: get her guilt over keeping secrets under control, and start building the kind of relationship she and her father had never had before.

Her father wasn't someone she could confide in much, however. When it came to her frustration regarding the Covenant and SD-6 in particular, she already knew what he'd say: that these things take time, rushing could have disastrous results, and she just had to be patient. She knew all that; it wasn't what she wanted to hear. As for Sark...well, she wasn't sure what he might say, but she suspected warnings about the danger of misplaced trust would be involved. Again, nothing she didn't already know. She was glad they were starting to grow closer, but sometimes he still treated her like a child.

In any case, hiding her activities from people she saw every day was one job Sydney knew how to do. Since this time he'd be the one in danger if he slipped up, she didn't even have to worry that Sark would give something away on his end. Before long, their collaboration almost came to seem like business as usual, unremarkable except in its effectiveness.

Part VIII

They'd known it was dangerous, sending her in to infiltrate a Covenant facility when there was a Covenant mole attending most of their briefings, but they had little choice. It would be suspicious if the CIA suddenly seemed to lose interest in Covenant activities altogether, and Dixon had decided this op was of sufficiently marginal importance to risk it. If she failed to retrieve the intel, they could always get it later from Sark. She could tell her father was unhappy with the idea, but it wasn't like they could safely send anyone else. When they got a chance to speak in private, her father assured her that Dixon had given Vaughn orders to try and keep Lauren occupied as much as possible without arousing suspicion, to keep her from being able to report the mission; it was clear, however, that he didn't think much of Vaughn's abilities, which wasn't exactly confidence-inspiring. Then again, whose competence did Jack believe in?

The fact that she was being sent in with no back-up certainly didn't help the situation. Sure, she'd have people on comms, but they'd be safely in LA, and she'd have to go radio silent before actually entering the building, so as far as she was concerned they might as well not even bother. Sark had been made aware of the mission but wasn't to play any role himself; the risks to his cover if he actively aided the CIA while on Covenant property were considered too great. At most, he was to try and keep security from noticing her presence.

As she surveyed the building one last time before leaving the cover of the surrounding trees, she hoped once again that the intel they had on the guards' routine was accurate. Knowing she couldn't put it off any longer, she turned off her comm and made the mad dash across the bare grass to the relative safety of the building itself.

She crept around the corner to the back of the building, taking out the two men guarding the rear entrance with relative ease. A quick glance at her watch showed she had almost three minutes to let Marshall's latest descrambler work its magic on the entry keypad before the next floating patrol came past that point; should be plenty of time.

Just as the descrambler beeped and she heard the hiss of the door unlocking, Sydney learned that their intel had, indeed, been flawed.

"Hey!" someone called out behind her, distracting her just long enough to take aim and get off a shot before she could get the door open and slip inside. She was forced to duck instead, giving the man time to close the distance between them. Before he quite reached her, Sydney stepped to the side and pulled the door as hard as she could, right into him. She succeeded in knocking him out, but he must have had an open radio channel, since a whole group of guards came barrelling around the corner, weapons drawn. Sydney slipped inside, slamming the door shut behind her and wishing she had something to jam it closed with, only to discover five more men heading straight for her.

She usually did all right in these kinds of situations, but once the group from outside joined the party, she was seriously outnumbered. The lack of objects in the stark entryway for her to improvise with left her at an even greater disadvantage. She managed to take three of them out, but as she was dispatching the third one of his comrades snuck up behind her close enough to deliver a blow that left her stunned just long enough for others to grab her. Surrounded by her own personal arrest squad, complete with automatic rifle barrel pressed between her shoulder blades, Sydney was forcibly marched through the bleak corridors and down two flights of stairs. They finally stopped short in front of a door that appeared to be solid steel. The presence of heavy mechanical locks backing up the electronic system did not bode well for her if they managed to get her inside.

One of the guards unlocked the door while the others struggled to retain their grips on her. It was so much easier to escape before she was locked up, she'd found, and she'd fight dirty if she had to in order to make that possible. Unfortunately, being outnumbered four to one when she was already restrained wasn't great odds--nothing she couldn't handle if she had been free, but there was no budging the thugs who had her arms immobilised, and the other two were, apparently, not stupid enough to get within kicking range. All too soon she found herself thrown to the ground.

Looking up, she took a moment to notice that, as cells went, she'd seen far worse. Hell, she'd been imprisoned in far worse. At least it was reasonably clean, and there was a thin mattress on the floor in one corner, though the shackles lying expectantly on it didn't look promising. Nevertheless, she was readying herself for another rush at the guards when she heard them move aside for a new arrival. An all-too-familiar voice said, "Fancy meeting you here, Agent Bristow."

She sprang to her feet, whirling around to glare at him. "You bastard," she growled.

Sark gave a very minute shake of his head, just enough to quell the imminent outburst. Not releasing her gaze, he said to the guards, "Thank you, that will be all." Taking the hint, they left, closing Sark in with her.

Sydney was too furious to notice one of his hands slipping into his pocket for a moment before he said, "We can talk freely now. This room is monitored, of course; I can't keep the bugs pulsed all the time, and would appreciate it if you would follow my cues."

"Oh, you would? Well, I would 'appreciate' it if you would go fu--"

"Come now," he interrupted before she could even get the word out, "there's no need for such language."

"I knew you couldn't be trusted."

"That hurts. Here I am, trying to help you, and you have to go calling me names. I suppose I should be grateful you have only attacked me verbally, thus far?"

She took a deep breath and got a firmer grip on her temper. "Okay, fine. Tell me how it is you think this is 'helping me'."

"Your presence was noticed quite legitimately, Sydney; I had nothing to do with it. By the time I found out, it was too late to do anything but hope you would be able to slip away. It appears, however, that the Covenant knows enough to not underestimate you, or we wouldn't be here now. You have been officially given over to my keeping, which is all I can do for you at the moment. As a result of this conversation, I will decide that a period of isolation will help make you more amenable to questioning; in two or three days, you will overpower the guard delivering your food and escape, having miraculously freed yourself from your restraints."

"Restraints?!"

"Ah...yes. I'm afraid before I leave here I'll have to make sure you're safely chained to the wall. The guards are afraid of you, for some reason."

"They should be," she growled.

"It's not so bad, Sydney," Sark said in a tone that was far from reassuring. "At least you know you'll only be in them for a few days."

"And how do you expect me to get out of them, anyway? Those chains don't look long enough to be used to strangle the guard--and they'd have to be really stupid to send in someone who had the key on him, anyway."

"True, on both counts. As it happens, I'll send the key in with one of your meals to signal the appropriate timing for your escape, so I advise eating carefully. Once you have the key, wait for the following meal delivery to make your move; I'll be doing what I can at that time to keep as many of the guards as possible occupied elsewhere. It's the best I can do without breaking my cover, unless you'd care to stick around for questioning."

"Ah--no. Thanks."

"Is there any message you'd like me to pass along for your father when I inform Mr. Dixon of your circumstances?"

That offer surprised her, but she didn't let him see it. No need to risk insulting her best chance at getting out of there unscathed. "Just let him know I'm okay, I guess. No, wait--you might want to talk to Dad directly, and let him in on your little plan."

"You don't trust Dixon to inform him?"

"Other way around, actually--if they've already figured out something happened to me, I don't trust Dad to tell Dixon about whatever it is he's planning to do about it."

"I see. Very well, then. If there's nothing else, please go sit on the mattress."

"You're just loving this, aren't you?" she grumbled as she complied. She hated that she saw the necessity of playing along with his plan, but it seemed reasonable. Too reasonable for her to object, anyway.

He didn't reply, but it was clear from his expression that he was, indeed, finding this reversal of their usual roles amusing. He must have sensed her extreme displeasure; he was almost gentle as he fastened the shackles around her wrists and ankles. Pity; she was longing for an excuse to hurt him, but he refused to give her one.

"I appreciate your cooperation in this matter," Sark said as he straightened after securing her ankles. She regarded him as he crouched there at her feet, looking almost sincere.

Sydney sighed. "Just...don't leave me stuck here for longer than absolutely necessary." It wasn't what she wanted to say, but he was trying, and it really didn't seem fair to blame him for her own inability to carry out a simple mission without getting caught. If only the mission had been based on information Sark had given them, she could cheerfully find fault with him for not having provided accurate intel on the guards' schedule, but she didn't have that kind of luck. This failure was entirely her own. She had to consider herself lucky that Sark was in a position to intervene at all, and since she could never in a million years bring herself to tell him that, being civil about it seemed a tolerable substitute.

"You have my word," he replied solemnly before rising and heading to the door. He turned back to give her one last indecipherable look before leaving the cell.

The sound of the key turning in the lock was louder than it ought to be; she found that already having an escape plan--with inside assistance, no less--didn't do much to alleviate the sense of overwhelming abandonment that always came over her in the first few moments of captivity.

Not needing to formulate an escape plan meant that finding a way to occupy her mind over the next couple of days was surprisingly difficult. There weren't even interrogations to break up the interminable boredom. Knowing that the Covenant was not likely to stop at simple questioning now that they had her back in their possession made it a little easier to remember that she didn't want to be interrogated, but it didn't help with her boredom problem. The only thing that broke up the monotony was the twice-daily meal deliveries and the accompanying hope that this would be the one that contained the promised key. God knew the food itself wasn't worth getting excited over.

By her count she'd been there four and a half days before Sark sent in the key. Sydney wasted no time in removing the shackles, making a mental note to pay Sark back for the extra time spent in them as soon as she had the opportunity. Ignoring the food for the time being, she tried to rub some of the soreness out of her wrists and ankles where the metal had chafed her skin, then took advantage of her relative freedom to get up and stretch for the first time in days. Now she finally had a way to pass the hours until the next unpalatable tray was brought in: she exercised, practicing as many hand-to-hand techniques as she could without a sparring partner. She was only going to have one chance to get out of there before it became too dangerous for Sark to continue to assist her, and she wasn't about to waste it just because she'd been forced to spend days chained to a wall, unable to move properly.

As dinnertime grew closer, Sydney began contemplating her strategy. Since she'd been conscious when they dragged her to this damn cell, finding her way back out shouldn't be a problem. The question was: how should she take out the unfortunate guard who got stuck with catering duty? The good old "choke him with the chains" method was a classic, and tempting, but there was no way she would be able to detach them from the wall to, say, lie in wait as he came through the door, and the guards never came quite within reach of her place on the mattress, which meant luring him by pretending to be still restrained was out as well. In the end, the element of surprise, combined with not being handicapped by starting from a seated position, led her to settle for hiding behind the door even without a weapon.

Hearing noises outside her cell, she swiftly got into place. As usual, the guard displayed what happened to be a misplaced confidence in the restraints, turning his back on the place he expected her to be to shut the door before even glancing over. Sydney took advantage of his carelessness to bring her elbow down hard at the base of his skull, then grabbed the tray in that instant his grip weakened and used it to whap him in the side of the head with all her strength. It happened so fast he didn't have time to cry out a warning before he was unconscious.

Looking down at the guard's still body, crumpled among remains of her dinner, she had a fleeting concern that her blow with the tray might have been too strong; she thought she'd heard a crack on top of the expected metal-meets-skull sound. Despite the situation, this guard--who hadn't been among those involved in her capture--had treated her...unobjectionably. Whether he was a decent guy for someone on the dark side or his dealings with her could somehow be attributed to Sark's influence, she didn't know, but the voice in the back of her head said she had no reason to think he'd deserved to die. It certainly couldn't be justified by her need to escape; all she really needed from him was that he be unconscious long enough for her to make it out of the building. Oh, well, there was no point in worrying about it now; if he was dead, she couldn't change it, and at least it would mean she didn't have to worry about his waking up and letting people know she was gone. And he wouldn't be able to tell anyone that she'd already been out of the restraints, which might cause someone to get suspicious and, eventually, lead to the Covenant's realising there was something fishy about Sark's handling of her capture.

Regardless, she didn't have time to just stand around and contemplate the possibility that she'd killed him. He was, after all, a Covenant employee, so really it was almost her duty to take him out. Just as she had a duty to get out of that place, she told herself firmly as she checked to make sure the hall was clear.

Sark appeared to be keeping his word; no more guards were in sight. She ran through the corridors as quietly as she could, and made it to the exit without encountering anyone. When Sark created a distraction, it seemed, people were indeed distracted.

She didn't stop running until the building was out of sight, at which point she finally allowed herself to pause and catch her breath before beginning the trek to town, where she hoped to find a phone from which to contact her father for a way back to LA. If Sark had followed through on his promise to report her situation, she might even be on her way home that very night. Desperate for a proper bed again--not to mention a shower--she allowed herself to hope.

Not for the first time since his defection, Sark confounded expectations by proving he could keep his word when he chose to. Her father was clearly relieved to hear her voice, but not frantic. And he did indeed have a plane waiting for her, as well as a local contact ready to take her to the airstrip. Arranging the details was a matter of minutes, and she found herself in the air almost as soon as she could wish.

There was no need to pretend she'd been anywhere other than in Covenant custody upon her return; it helped some, that people could know why she'd been gone and express their concern openly. In fact, based on some not-so-subtle remarks from a few co-workers, it sounded like her father had actually exaggerated his determination to find out what went wrong and get her back. People were acting even more scared of him than usual, and she just wanted to grin every time someone saw him talking to her and ran the other way, knowing he'd been aware of her situation the entire time. He'd no doubt attribute his little act to the need for secrecy regarding Sark's informant status, but she suspected he enjoyed how easily he could intimidate his co-workers as much as she did.

After her debriefing--which left out certain details Dixon would get from her father later--they had a meeting of the usual gang at which Dixon made a point of regretfully announcing her failure to retrieve the information she'd been sent after, and how that little setback would affect their plans regarding the Covenant. Sitting across from Lauren gave Sydney the perfect opportunity to catch the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. God, sometimes she just wanted to go up to her and gloat about how stupid she was, not to have caught on to the fact that everyone had been playing her for months now. Maybe she could get a copy of the recording Marshall had made of Sark's phone call to Lauren back when he first came to them; the look on Lauren's face as she heard it played back should be priceless.

That evening, her father surprised her by dropping by and inviting her to dinner. She jumped at the chance to get him someplace they could safely talk about what had happened. In a way, it was depressing that it took business considerations to prod them into having what just a few years ago would have been startlingly frequent father-daughter dinners, but she'd decided not to think about that part. At least this way they had something to talk about.

When it was safe for them to speak freely, Sydney jumped right in. "I take it Sark contacted you like he said he would?"

"He did," her father confirmed. "In fact, he indicated that he was doing so at your insistence."

"Uh, yeah, kinda," she admitted sheepishly. "He was just going to tell Dixon, but I thought it best you have a chance to question him yourself. I was afraid if you weren't convinced and thought the CIA was just abandoning me, you might come to rescue me yourself. Since I wasn't in any real danger, it didn't seem worth the risk to our alliance with him."

"I see." Her time alone in that cell must have done things to her mind, because she could have sworn her father nearly smiled. "As you surmised, I appreciated the opportunity to judge Sark's veracity for myself. It allowed me to impress upon him just what the consequences of failure on his part would be."

Oh, how she wished she could have listened in on that conversation.... Sydney tried to keep a straight face as she replied, "I'm sure by the time you were through he fully appreciated the gravity of the situation."

Yep, definitely a smile. Or at least a flash of amusement. It was nice, being able to share a joke with her father. She wished she could tell Sark, just to see the look on his face when he realised the joke was him.

"Sydney, I...am glad you're safe."

She smiled; they really had come so far. "Thanks, Dad."

Not surprisingly, he changed the subject soon after. But then, it wasn't like she'd been through anything more traumatic than extreme boredom, unless you counted the fact she'd been forced to trust Sark; it was easy to accept her father's discomfort with expressing emotion. She was pleasantly surprised that he'd said as much as he had, actually. Letting him steer them onto neutral subjects was the least she could do for him to show her gratitude. He was making an effort, and she was more than willing to meet him halfway.

As always when she returned from a mission on which she'd been...temporarily detained, sleeping in her own bed, free from restraints, worry, and other sources of discomfort, seemed like an incredible luxury. The first thing she did once her father had dropped her off was take a long, hot shower, after which she put on her most comfortable pyjamas and curled up under the covers to reread a few chapters of her favourite book. Once she felt she had relaxed enough to put the past few days out of her mind, she turned off the lamp and tried to go to sleep.

To her frustration, she found that now that she no longer had the book to distract her, her thoughts wouldn't stop returning to one subject: Sark. She just couldn't make sense of him. He'd had several chances to bend the rules of the agreement, yet each time he'd chosen not to take advantage of the opportunity. What was he after? Why was he being so extraordinarily well-behaved? He'd even been downright helpful this past week. It was entirely out of character, and she was driving herself nuts trying to figure out his motives.

Some part of her said she should simply be grateful for his apparent change of heart, but it was drowned out by the bigger part, the one that had been conditioned to accept betrayal as inevitable. Just about everyone else in her life had broken her trust at some point--often more than once--so it was surely Sark's turn by now. For all that they'd been adversaries for years, the only time he'd really double-crossed her was when he failed to kill Sloane as promised. Since he hadn't actually told Sloane she was involved in the fake assassination attempt, it probably didn't count; which left her as she was now, lying awake in the middle of the night wondering when the blow would come. Probably just after she decided he genuinely wanted to cooperate, she thought, sighing in resignation. That was usually how it worked, in her experience. Finally silencing the doubts and beginning to fully trust someone appeared to be the cue for them to reveal they'd been manipulating or deceiving her all along. She really ought to be used to it.

Then again, there wasn't exactly anything she could do about it, was there? Sark would do whatever he wanted, without regard for her mental state. In the long run, it really didn't matter whether or not she trusted him, so long as she wasn't trusting him with state secrets. If she took a chance, and he turned out to be playing them all as she'd assumed from the beginning, she might be hurt, but when had that ever changed anything? In some ways letting her guard down around Sark would always be dangerous, but eventually she concluded that it was probably safe to trust him to have her back in the field. For the time being, at any rate.

Considering that she really didn't have a choice in the matter, that decision was irrelevant; at least having the question settled in her mind enabled her to finally get some much-needed sleep.

Part IX

They continued to make slow but steady progress, enough to allow Sydney to keep the fear they'd never have what they needed to destroy the Covenant at bay most of the time. Her personal quest to recover her missing memories seemed to have stalled, however, until at one of her now-regular dinners with her father he said something she'd given up on ever hearing.

"We believe we've uncovered a source of information on your time as Julia Thorne," he began casually once their entrees had arrived.

Her attention immediately shifted from the plate of pasta in front of her to her father's announcement. "Really?"

"Dixon has arranged a few days of 'research' for you, to allow you to be the one to obtain it," he continued. "This isn't likely to be a very pleasant mission, since it requires spending a few days with Sark, but as the server we're after is located in one of the Covenant's Asian branches, rather than the larger European or North American cells, the likelihood of interference should be lower than usual."

"At this point, Dad, if it helps me find out what happened, I don't really care who I have to spend time with."

"Very well. You and Sark will be flying into Yangon from Bangkok, posing as students visiting Myanmar as part of an extended tour of southeast Asia. The day after your arrival, you will inquire at the location outlined in your briefing file about hiring a car and driver; the driver will be one of our local informants." Her father paused. "Sydney, while he will do his best to ensure you get where you need to be without having your movements questioned, it's very important you not tell him anything about what you're there to do. The more he knows, the more danger he's in if the government suspects him of dealing with us. We don't have enough people in Myanmar to risk jeopardising them."

"I understand." All the warnings and restrictions in the world couldn't stop her from carrying out this mission. After all this time, to finally have a lead.... It was almost too good to be true. At this point she didn't doubt--often--Sark's intention to hold up his side of the deal, considering what he'd be getting in return; but the fact that none of the progress made thus far had been on what she couldn't help viewing as the more important front had worn down the optimism she'd had when they had begun.

"Sark will be present primarily to help you gain access to the facility; he's familiar with the security systems and can provide you with the necessary passcodes. Obviously, he won't be able to enter the building himself, in case he gets recognised."

"Shouldn't be a problem. How are we meeting up?"

"Sark's going to simply take a few days off--Covenant activity seems to be lower than usual at the moment, so he'll claim he wants to take advantage of the opportunity for a short vacation--and you'll rendezvous at Changi Airport, where you'll both take on new aliases. From there you'll fly to Bangkok, and on to Yangon under your final cover identities."

"Got it. What's the timeframe on this?"

"Your flight to Singapore leaves at one tonight. Once you get to Yangon, you'll have three days to retrieve the intel. If you think it's safe, and if you want to, you may stay up to a week to take a short vacation or look over the file; Dixon and I trust your judgement on this matter, and you deserve a break."

"Thanks," she said with a grateful smile. "I'll see what seems like a good idea once we're done with the mission. If I decide to stay, I'll either give you a call or have Sark contact you to let you know."

"I'd appreciate that," her father admitted before continuing briskly. "You don't have very long to pack and get to the airport, so I'll let you go once we're finished with dinner. Call between flights if you have any questions," he added, sliding a folder across the table. She tucked it in her purse, resisting the temptation to devour the contents immediately.

They resumed eating, forcing themselves to talk about trivial things for the remainder of the meal. When they left the restaurant, they stood awkwardly on the sidewalk for a few moments. Not for the first time, she wished her father were the kind of person who could accept displays of affection. She wanted to hug him, to reassure him she'd be fine, but feared that might just make things worse. In the end she settled for smiling tentatively and saying goodnight.

The first thing she did once she got home was pull out the file, flipping straight to the section that explained what would be provided for the mission. Someone in Costuming was thinking ahead, for a change: backpacks with supplies of suitable clothing for their main covers, as well as the necessary tactical gear, would be waiting for her and "her partner" in a locker at the Bangkok airport. Briefly she wondered who in the department Dixon had decided was trustworthy enough to give that assignment to. Even without knowing Sark was the mystery partner, if the Covenant found out she was poking around over there they could still cause plenty of problems for her.

Passports and plane tickets were clipped securely to the inside of the folder. Two of the passports, obviously intended for Sark, were missing pictures; apparently they were expected to finish them themselves. Maybe she could purposely take bad pictures to use....

Brushing that thought to the side, Sydney swiftly paired the proper passports with their corresponding tickets, then glanced at the pictures for her first two covers to see what she'd need to bring with her. Someone--most likely Dixon--had thoughtfully given her hair colours and styles she could approximate using her personal wig collection; good, she wouldn't have to go to the office to get some. With clothes for the main portion of the trip being provided later, packing didn't take long; all she really needed was her costume for the Singapore-Bangkok flight and the necessary equipment to finish Sark's passports. The rest of her suitcase was mostly bulky sweaters chosen to take up space, since travelling to Asia without taking more than a daypack would certainly draw attention.

She made it to the airport in plenty of time. To her delight, the CIA--or possibly her father--had sprung for business class for the eighteen-hour trip to Singapore, so she should actually have enough space on the flight to go through her briefing file thoroughly without having to worry about someone reading over her shoulder. She spent the first few hours poring over the information to get a basic overview of the mission, then tried to get some sleep. Thoughts of what she might discover refused to stop swirling through her head, however, so she wound up lying awake through much of the flight.

The first question, of course, was whether the information would even be there or they had received a bad tip. And if said tip had come from Sark, as seemed likely, would it turn out to be a genuine mistake or a callous attempt to present the appearance of fulfilling their agreement by supplying falsified intel?

Even assuming Sark was telling the truth and they found what she'd been searching for all this time, the prospect left her with ambivalent emotions. Yes, she was excited at the prospect of finally having some answers--when she wasn't feeling apprehensive about what those answers might be. Considering the little she did know about that time--Lazarey's murder, her apparent collaboration with Simon Walker--Sydney was forced to acknowledge, if only to herself, that she was no longer certain she wanted to know the rest. The twin questions of what could cause her to calmly slit a man's throat, and what else she might not remember doing, followed her into a restless sleep.

By the time she arrived in Singapore, she was tired but at least felt prepared enough regarding the facts of the mission to hold her own in the planning session she was sure Sark would insist on, no matter how confused she was inside.

She had little time to switch into business mode, as he was already waiting when she reached their designated meeting place. They greeted each other silently, falling into step as they made their way to the airport hotel. They checked into the room her father had booked for their five-hour layover with a minimum of hassle, at which point she realised there was no choice but to speak to him.

"I've got your passports for the rest of the op and the Burmese arrival form, but for obvious reasons they don't have photos yet. We'll need to finish putting them together ourselves," she told him, since with Sark doing anything other than getting right down to business would be a waste of time. She began unpacking the camera and other supplies. "We should be fine using the wall in here for the background; I don't think the wallpaper's texture will be noticeable."

"Very well." Sark opened his own bag and withdrew a few shirts. Someone must have warned him what their primary covers would be; she hadn't realised he even owned a T-shirt.

When they took the picture for the passport he'd be using for the flight to Thailand, he looked more or less like Sark. But when he got ready for the Myanmar documents--two different photos, in two different shirts; he was nothing if not detail-oriented--she couldn't believe the change. Part of it was the novelty of seeing him in casual, rumpled clothes, of course, but what impressed her was how completely his body language had been altered. Between the shirt, the slouch, and the surprisingly genial expression on his face, he could have walked right past her and she might not have recognised him.

Not that she was going to tell him that. Of all the people she knew, Sark was the last one she'd willingly compliment; he'd just blow it out of proportion, and he was insufferable enough most of the time as it was.

Instead, what she said was, "That should do it. I don't know how much they told you when they informed you of this op, but the briefing file's in my bag. You can look through it while I'm finishing up with these."

"I appreciate the opportunity," he replied as he changed back into something suitable for his Singapore-to-Bangkok identity. "Mr. Dixon didn't explain much beyond when and where we were to meet."

"Yeah, that's about all I got from my dad, too. I got the impression this came up suddenly and there was some reason to hurry. Luckily there was plenty of time to study the mission specs on the flight here."

It took her some time to finish Sark's travel documents to her satisfaction; attaching a photo to the Burmese entry form was trivial, but the passports were more of a challenge. Document forging was something she'd officially been taught, but that was a long time ago and she'd never had a reason to expend any effort keeping her skills current. She was relieved that he needed time to look over the information, since having him peering over her shoulder and, most likely, criticising her abilities would only make this harder.

By the time she had completed the task to her satisfaction, Sark had finished reading; he was lounging on the bed, watching her work. Sydney gathered his plane tickets and the newly-completed passports, tossing them in his direction.

Choosing to cut him off before he could question the quality of her forgeries, she suggested they brainstorm a preliminary plan for once they got to Yangon. Sark agreed, and they spent the next couple of hours dissecting what they knew about the facility and, more importantly, the ways in which what they didn't know might cause problems. Although he'd been the one to offer his help in finding out what had happened to her back when this all began, now that the time had come to do something about it she was a little apprehensive about how he'd behave. She was pleasantly surprised when he refrained from taunting her; for some reason, he seemed to be treating this mission as professionally as any other. More so, in fact, since by this point in a normal op he'd already have found something to bait her about.

By the time they had to prepare for their next flight, they'd made good progress on formulating a plan. Sydney ducked into the bathroom to change into the clothes and wig for her next persona, then took a few minutes to reorganise her things. Most of what she'd brought thus far would be going into storage at Bangkok, but she needed to switch her clothes for the final flight into the daypack, along with her documents and the briefing file. The digital camera and miniature printer, alas, went back into the suitcase, which she handed over to Sark.

Once they'd left the airport hotel, they went separately to their gate and proceeded to ignore each other for the duration of the flight. Upon arrival in Bangkok, Sark cleared passport control and customs without obvious problems. His passport must have passed inspection; good, maybe they wouldn't have trouble getting him in to Myanmar either. When her turn came, she drew some attention for only having the daypack, but the explanation she'd prepared--flying up for the day for a business meeting and heading back to Singapore that same evening--was accepted without further comment.

Sydney ducked into a restroom to change clothes and remove her wig, then took her time making her way to the left luggage counter. The more time between Sark's visit to store her suitcase and her own to retrieve the packs her father's contact was to leave for them, the less likely anyone would be to make a connection between them if asked later.

After picking up their packs, she headed to the gate for their final flight and sat to wait for Sark. He joined her a few minutes later; once again she was startled by how different he looked in jeans and a T-shirt. He flopped down in the empty seat next to her and began rummaging in the outer pockets of the pack she'd decided--on basis of its greater weight--was to be 'his', as if looking for something he'd left in there. 'Giving up' with a shrug, he turned to her and asked, in an American accent that made him sound younger somehow, and with far less sophistication than he usually projected, how much longer they'd have to wait before their flight. She answered in an equally bored tone before pulling out the book she'd made sure to bring in her daypack. Sydney couldn't decide if Sark was getting into character or simply trying to annoy her, but when he shifted from fidgeting to tapping his fingers nervously on the armrest between them, she heaved a completely unsubtle sigh of aggravation and offered him the second book she'd brought. Sometimes, it paid to be over-prepared.

Luckily, the flight was a short one. She had a feeling she was going to be very glad to send Sark on his way when this mission was over. He hadn't done anything she could legitimately complain about--yet--but somehow he possessed the luckily rare talent of being able to make her almost lose her temper by doing nothing more than existing. If she didn't find some way to regain control of the situation soon, they might end up having problems on this mission that had nothing to do with the Covenant.

The passports they'd been provided to present to Burmese immigration, containing entry and exit stamps showing they'd been been in the region for weeks as well as forged visas for Myanmar, passed inspection without difficulty, though Sydney almost broke their cover a few times. She had a hard time restraining her laughter; Sark's "poor American student in exotic foreign land" act was just too surreal. It was even weirder than seeing her parents pretend to be a happily married couple on vacation when they'd gone to India, and she hadn't thought anything could ever top that. She managed to hold it in until they were safely ensconced in a taxi to town, at which point she allowed herself the luxury of a giggle fit. The look on Sark's face just set her off again; luckily, he didn't ask for an explanation, choosing to shake his head in disapproval instead. Somehow she didn't think he would appreciate the humour in the situation. It certainly broke the tension she'd been feeling since her arrival in Singapore, so in her view it was worth a few "I'm stuck here with a madwoman"-type looks.

In keeping with their backpacker cover, the CIA hadn't arranged for their accommodation in advance, so they had the taxi driver just let them off in the center of Yangon and began wandering the streets at semi-random in search of a place to stay. Deciding that if she was going to have to work with Sark she deserved any enjoyment she could get out of the arrangement, Sydney suggested he watch the bags while she went inside a nearby guesthouse to see if they had rooms available. She didn't want him to be there to override her request for the cheapest room they had; it would be so much more satisfying to see his face when he saw it.

By the time she had convinced the proprietor that no, she really didn't want a private bath or air conditioning, and returned to where Sark was waiting, he was growing visibly impatient. She grinned unrepentantly and held up the key.

"Come on, I got us a great deal." Without waiting for a reply--or stopping to pick up her backpack--she turned and re-entered the guesthouse, leaving Sark to follow with the luggage.

She paused just inside to allow him to catch up; while it might be fun to let him try and figure out what room they were in by himself, she knew better than to push him too far. He might decide this whole cooperation thing was more trouble than it was worth and take the opportunity to abandon her, and she really didn't want to deal with the fallout if she lost the CIA one of its most valuable assets.

He was surprisingly adept at hiding his distaste as they moved through the public areas of the small guesthouse. Once she found their room and ushered him inside, however, his reaction was all she could have hoped.

He came to a sudden stop just inside the doorway. "No," he said firmly.

"What's wrong?" she asked with an air of innocence she knew he'd see right through.

"We are not staying here."

She nudged him not-quite-gently out of the way and entered the room for the first time. A quick glance around told her it was everything she'd hoped for: tiny, windowless, and gloomy, with a single weak lightbulb illuminating the bed that served as sole furnishing. The coverlet was threadbare, and the fan circling lazily above didn't look like it would be of much use against the heat.

"Why not? It's perfectly serviceable."

"Don't be ridiculous. It doesn't even have a private bath."

"Well, no. But don't you think it's about time you learned to share?"

"How much did they talk you into paying for this...cave?" he asked disdainfully.

"Ten dollars a night. They were asking twelve, but I talked them down."

"Let's go," he ordered.

"Where?" she challenged him, making sure she was prepared in case he made a move to push her out of the path to the door.

"Anywhere. We'll get a suite at the Strand. I'll pay for it myself; you won't even have to explain the expense to the CIA."

"No can do," she said, shaking her head in mock regret. "We're backpacking students, remember? We aren't supposed to have that kind of money. No, I'm afraid that for the sake of maintaining our covers you'll just have to put up with it." She didn't bother hiding her glee.

He glared at her, by now fully aware of what she was doing. "I assure you, Agent Bristow, you will regret this."

She shrugged, unrepentant. "Perhaps. But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it."

Apparently resigned to having no other option, he tossed her bag into one corner with a bit more force than was necessary before setting his own down more carefully. "I've been in prisons that were more cheerful than this," he grumbled.

"If you'd prefer, I'd be happy to see what I can do about returning you to one," she offered.

The glare he directed her way made his opinion of that possibility quite clear, but he didn't comment. She continued brightly, "At least it's clean. Do you want the bed or the floor?"

"You mean you're allowing me a choice?" He didn't wait for a reply before continuing, "I believe I'll take the floor. There's no telling what lives in that bed."

Sydney just shrugged and dragged her pack over to the bedside. She wasn't nearly as fussy as Sark; the place in general appeared clean, so she had no reason to assume the bed was any different.

It was a pity no one knew Sark was working with them; it seemed almost a waste, having Sark voluntarily take the floor on a mission she couldn't tell anybody about. The guys back home would never believe it.

For that matter, they'd never believe he would stay in a place like this at all, cover or not. She should try and take some pictures; once the Covenant was destroyed and their arrangement became known, she could probably make some serious money off of them.

Unpacking the camera Marshall had modified for her, Sydney quickly verified that the room was not being monitored before saying, "We've still got a couple of hours before it gets dark. Would you rather stay here and go over the plan for tomorrow, or go for a walk and familiarise ourselves with the area?"

"I hope that question was rhetorical," he replied, clearly not over her choice in accommodations.

"Oh, grow up, Sark. I can't believe you're making such a fuss over this."

"I can't help it if I'm used to a certain level of comfort in my surroundings. Not all of us live like--"

"Normal people?" she broke in. "I'd rather forgo 'luxury' this and 'custom-made' that than have to pay for such things the way you do."

"Yes, yes, the entire world is fully aware of what you think of me and my profession by now, Agent Bristow. Your repeated explanations of how inhuman I am are nothing more than a waste of time at this point. Now, I for one am getting out of this closet for as long as I reasonably can; are you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah." She grabbed the camera--which still retained its original functionality along with Marshall's improvements--on the off-chance there'd be an opportunity to sneak a picture of something useful, then quickly verified her gun and her wallet were in their places. "Okay, let's go."

Megan Harrison, she decided, was extremely enthusiastic and perhaps a touch flighty; nothing so exaggerated it would give Sark an excuse to claim she was drawing too much attention to them, of course, but the "young American tourist" stereotype gave her a lot of room to play without breaking their covers. As they walked around central Yangon, getting a feel for the layout and discreetly working their way towards the building housing the Covenant facility, 'Megan' cooed over every slight difference from "the way things are back home", dragging her friend eagerly from shop to street stall, exclaiming how charming it all was. By the time she decided she simply had to get a few pictures of the Sule Paya in the fading light, Sark had clearly had enough.

"C'mon, Megan," he whined in that accent she hadn't had time to grow used to hearing from him, "it's not like this is the first Buddhist shrine we've seen. Didn't you get enough pics when we were in Thailand?"

"No," she declared, pouting to keep herself from grinning at the success of the Drive Sark Crazy plan. "I want these pictures, but if that's how you're going to be about it, I don't think I want you in them. Move."

A barely raised eyebrow acknowledged her order for what it was, an excuse for him not to have to pose and run the risk of Marshall's developing the film and accidentally leaving photos of Sark lying around the CIA for Lauren to find. She thought it might actually be the first time Sark had ever obeyed an order of hers without arguing about it first.

She took a few shots of the paya then, figuring she'd pressed Sark about to his limits, suggested they find somewhere to get dinner. Feeling generous, she let him pick the place; the first café he chose took them a little closer to their target and wasn't too far out of their covers' price range, so she didn't object.

They spoke little as they ate, but the look Sark was giving her concerned Sydney. It was obvious he knew she was deliberately provoking him, and that he wasn't going to put up with it for long. She tried to think of all the ways he might try to make her suffer in turn, glad that they were in a region where the local culture prevented him from declaring they were lovers and forcing her to endure public displays of affection. She still wouldn't put it past him to try it if it weren't guaranteed to bring them the kind of attention they were hoping to avoid.

After dinner, they continued strolling in the direction of the Covenant building, taking a brief glance around the immediate area before Sark made a point of saying he thought they may have turned the wrong way coming out of the café, and that their guesthouse was in the opposite direction. She agreed, and they retraced their steps.

Once they were safely ensconced in their room, Sark got right down to business, comparing the maps they'd been given with the actual area. His apparent willingness to simply overlook her behaviour worried Sydney; Sark wasn't a very forgiving kind of person. If he was going to let her get away with it without comment, he had to be planning some sort of revenge. Now she was going to be looking over her shoulder constantly, expecting retaliation at any moment. Come to think of it, that might be the effect he was going for; he was certainly evil enough to let her inflict punishment on herself like that.

To her amusement, when they settled down for the night Sark really did take one of the pillows and set himself up on the floor without complaint or reminder. She'd half-expected him to try and talk her into sharing the bed; she might even have agreed. They were adults, after all, perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed without violating each other's personal space. She had no real reason to make him sleep on the floor, she'd just wanted to see his reaction to the proposition.

Lying there in the complete darkness, Sydney was struck by a twinge of conscience. Should she offer him the other half of the bed? There was no way he could be comfortable on the floor. She didn't want him in an irritable mood for tomorrow; they had work to accomplish. A good night's sleep would be important, particularly after all the traveling they'd done.

Wait--all the traveling she'd done. For all she knew, he'd been in the region already and didn't require almost twenty hours just to get to Singapore. When she got back, she'd have to corner Marshall, see if he'd gleaned anything from Sark's phone conversations to indicate where he might have been. He probably didn't deserve her concern. And anyway, he'd just turn around and use it as something to tease her with for the rest of their--hopefully limited--association, wouldn't he? So if he wasn't going to ask, she certainly wasn't going to offer.

That settled, she turned onto her side, seeking a more comfortable position. With one last uncertain look toward what she thought was Sark's spot on the floor, Sydney closed her eyes and drifted off.

Part X

Morning also failed to bring the anticipated complaints. Either Sark truly expected there to be bugs in the bed (there weren't--she did a quick scan for bites before taking her shower, just in case his paranoia wasn't unfounded), or he was being uncharacteristically considerate. The latter seemed improbable, but her generosity of the previous night had faded, so she decided not to bother offering to share the bed for the rest of their stay. Besides, they shouldn't be staying more than another night or two in the first place.

If he asked, she'd relent. If he didn't, he'd have no one to blame but himself for spending a few nights on the floor. It wasn't like it would kill him.

After the guesthouse's rather meagre breakfast, and a brief stop at a teashop for something more filling, they went to work. The travel agency their contact worked for was easy to find, and before long they were sitting in their hired car and exchanging carefully-disguised code phrases to confirm their driver was CIA.

Once they were satisfied they'd received the correct driver, Sydney activated her favourite bugkiller. She and Sark had agreed the day before that while the likelihood the car would be bugged was slim, it wasn't a risk they wanted to take.

Swiftly they filled the driver in on what they'd need from him, and when. Thanks to Jack's advance planning, the driver had already arranged a room within radio distance of their target where Sark could monitor her progress without attracting unwanted notice. Like SD-6, the Covenant's office tried to pass itself off to its employees as a legitimate business, one that dealt mostly with companies in the Americas. The time difference was the rationalisation for operating primarily at night; according to Sark, finding that less conspicuous than trying to conduct their activities during the day was just the kind of not-quite-logic the Covenant leadership was prone to, so they were planning to hit it in late afternoon, when the few day employees were thinking about going home and the larger night shift hadn't yet arrived.

In the meantime, the driver suggested they do some sightseeing to further establish their covers and, if anyone happened to be observing them, justify hiring him. They let him take them to Shwedagon Paya, as a mandatory stop for any tourist. Sark said all the right things for a Western visitor, but seemed unmoved; his comments were strictly for the benefit of those around them. Sydney, however, was thrilled to actually have time to see a little of the city for a change, and found the complex fascinating. Between her genuine admiration for the beauty surrounding them and the knowledge that they would both need to be focused that evening, she refrained from repeating yesterday's performance; provoking Sark now would be unwise.

Their driver recommended a place nearby for lunch, after which he drove them to the National Museum. It felt a little silly, driving such short distances, but it would look even sillier to hire a car and then walk everywhere. Probably plenty of Western tourists did things equally ridiculous; it wasn't likely to hurt their covers the way not driving would.

They dragged out their visit to the museum as long as they could, then had their driver take them back to the guesthouse. As they got out of the car, Sark made a point of asking the driver to return in a couple of hours to take them somewhere for an early dinner. The moment the door to their room closed behind them, they both dropped the "genial traveling companions" pretense and did their best to avoid each other. Since there was nowhere else to sit, they both ended up on the bed, but they each pulled out some work and proceeded to ignore the other. For her part, Sydney had to keep reminding herself to focus on going over the plan one final time; it looked like Sark had no such difficulty keeping his mind on the job, however. Then again, he wasn't used to being able to trust, joke around with, and like his partners. Despite the fact that their partnership had proven surprisingly effective thus far, she hadn't quite been able to get over her personal hang-ups about working with him except when they were actually executing a mission.

Sydney's watch beeped. Reflexively looking at the face to verify the time, she said, "Time to get this show on the road, I guess."

"You don't say," Sark observed drily. "I never would have imagined that was what your alarm signalled."

"Oh, shut up," she replied, more out of reflex than actual offense. She'd only said it because she couldn't think of any better way to break the silence that had reigned since their return to the guesthouse. Declining to rise to the bait, she rose and began gathering her equipment, double-checking each item to make sure it was in working order. On the other side of the bed, Sark was doing the same. "I'll just, uh, get changed in the bathroom," she said, wondering if he'd take the hint and offer to wait in the hall.

"Make it quick." Okay, apparently not. She wasn't surprised, frankly, and already had her mission clothes gathered up. When she returned to the room, it didn't take her long to tuck her weapons and electronics in their proper places; she'd learned early on that having a system for the standard equipment meant always knowing where it was in an emergency--all she had to truly think about were the mission-specific items.

"Listen," she ventured, struck by a sudden pang of guilt over her behaviour thus far, "I want to thank you for doing this. I mean, this mission isn't going to help us bring down the Covenant, or you get your money back; the only one who benefits if we're successful is me. You probably could have convinced them to let you just provide the security information in advance, and left me to do this without backup. But you didn't, and I appreciate that."

He regarded her silently for a moment, wearing that inscrutable expression that had grown so familiar over the years she'd known him. In the end he acknowledged her admission with a businesslike nod before returning his attention to their final preparations.

Their driver pulled up in front of the guesthouse right on time. Sark had clearly entered Mission Mode as soon as they got in; not having anyone she felt comfortable joking around with, Sydney did the same. The driver must have picked up on their moods, for the short ride was spent in silence. First Sark was dropped off at the apartment building around the corner from their target where he would be setting up his comm station. As he disappeared into the building, Sydney turned on her comm and waited for his confirmation that he had secured the apartment and successfully hacked into the Covenant's surveillance system. When that came, their driver pulled away on her signal, going around the block until they approached the building from the opposite direction. While still out of sight of any potential security guards, Sydney thanked the driver, told him they wouldn't need his services any more that day, and got out.

"I'm heading for the entrance," she reported under her breath, wishing there were some way she could blend in among the locals better.

"I'm looping the video feeds now," Sark replied with his usual calm. "All right, you're cleared to enter."

"Copy." Slipping smoothly into the late afternoon crowd, she let its natural pattern of movement carry her close to the side door of the Covenant facility.

"The access code is 4217791."

She entered the code as naturally and confidently as she could; with any luck, all passersby would see was someone who had every right to be there. If anyone asked about her later, they'd be hard-pressed to remember her at all; it was as good as being invisible.

Once inside, she had few problems finding the office they were told would have the information she was looking for; Sark's assistance with avoiding people and his familiarity with Covenant security systems made getting there a breeze. While she was picking the lock on the filing cabinet--the gizmo Marshall had provided for the purpose having already allowed Sark to start hacking into the electronic files--Sydney observed that it would be nice if all her missions were that easy.

"On the contrary," Sark corrected her. "I think you'd find you would soon become bored without the challenge. Besides, if all organisations were this incompetent, you might find yourself out of a job. I thought only amateurs would be stupid enough to use the same access codes for multiple facilities. Apparently I have overestimated the Covenant leadership."

"So you've said," she replied absently as the lock came free and she pulled open the first drawer at last. She began rifling through the files inside as quickly as possible; seeing that the drawer she'd grabbed only went up to R, she slammed it shut and yanked open the one below it. "Come on, come on," she muttered to herself. "Aha!" There it was: Thorne, J. Just as her father'd thought. Grabbing that and several other files from the same section to make it harder for the Covenant to identify the target of the raid and trace it back to them, she said, "I've got it, Sark. How're you coming with the computer?"

"Everything will finish downloading by the time you make it here. Just give me a moment to switch back to the surveillance system.... You should be fine taking the same route as on the way in. Hallway's clear, no imminent arrivals."

"Then I'm heading out." She did just that, taking care to lock everything behind her. The longer they kept the Covenant from realising there'd been a break-in, the greater the chance they could actually use whatever information Sark's download contained.

She took a slightly circuitous route, but within fifteen minutes she was letting herself into the apartment Sark had been provided. "It's me," she said into her comm before opening the door, not wanting to trust in the chance his ability to stop his likely instinctive reaction would be as quick as the reaction itself. It was one of those little ways the lack of real trust between them made working with him more difficult than working with someone like Dixon or Vaughn, even though Sark's skills might technically be stronger. There was more to being successful field partners than compatible skill levels; she was still a little surprised that Dixon seemed to have forgotten that.

But then, much had changed while she was gone.

As he'd projected, Sark was finished downloading whatever was on the Covenant's server and had already begun packing up the equipment by the time she arrived. Sydney discarded the notion of helping him; he'd probably find some way to take offense, and she just didn't feel like dealing with it. They'd managed to make it through the mission itself without sniping at each other, and it would be a shame to mess that up now.

He was done in a matter of moments, anyway, so before she had a chance to feel bad about not helping out, they were leaving the building and walking back to the guesthouse. She grew more impatient with each step, but Sark had been right about not having the driver wait; though not having a getaway car would make a quick getaway more difficult, they were less likely to need to in the first place if there was no such vehicle waiting around to draw someone's attention. It was just her bad luck that it also meant an additional delay before she'd be able to look through what they'd found.

She managed to wait until they were safely back in the room, but as soon as the door closed behind them she opened the file. Sark's movements around her as he packed the mission gear away faded from her notice as she devoured the information in front of her.

The file appeared to be in reverse chronological order, starting with a report of "Julia's" disappearance. There was a footnote indicating that further observations would be documented under Bristow, S; she now regretted not having taken the time to search under both names. She'd assumed when she found the Thorne file that all the data relating to her would be kept together.

Following the notice of her disappearance were reports of various missions she'd been on as Julia. She tried not to pay much attention to the details; never had she been so grateful for her father's having told her about "killing" Lazarey. At least it meant she was prepared somewhat for discovering the things she'd done. She still would prefer not to dwell on them, but at least they weren't a complete shock. As she worked her way backwards in time, the missions got simpler; she read one or two reports more closely, and it became clear these were simply tests. In addition to Julia's own reports were those of Covenant agents sent to observe her work in the field. To see if her brainwashing had been successful, presumably.

Then came a series of pages she had dreaded: those detailing her torture and reconditioning. On one hand, it was a relief to finally know what had happened to her, rather than having to guess; on the other, it was wrenching. Some of those reports contained details she would hardly have been able to read under any circumstances; the fact that she herself was the victim made it increasingly unbearable. Somehow, she managed to hold herself together long enough to flip past them to the tale of her "death".

She didn't break down until she got to the section explaining the origins of the entire plot.

Sark was right.

Some things, she couldn't ignore. After the last few years the name "Derevko" jumped out at her whenever she encountered it; even knowing--having it right in front of her in black and white--that it was some other Derevko behind her ordeal and not her mother, Sydney found herself unable to hold back a sob. It was too much to handle all at once.

She didn't even register Sark's continued presence in the room, much less what he was doing, until he held the satellite phone up to her ear in time for her to hear a familiar voice say impatiently, "Yes?"

"Daddy?" she managed, clutching the phone tightly.

"Sydney, what's wrong?"

"I...I don't think I can do this," she admitted.

"Do what?"

"Any of this."

"Are you in danger?"

"N-no. The mission was easy. It's everything else."

"I don't understand, Sydney."

She took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control enough to explain. "I got the file," she began. "I began looking through it. I...guess I shouldn't have. It's harder than I expected," she concluded simply.

"I see. Maybe it's best if you let the rest of us deal with the information. We have it now, so it will always be there if you decide you want to go through it again." Her father was quiet for a moment before asking hesitantly if she'd been able to glean anything useful from what she did read.

"Just proof that Sark's theory was right."

"Sark's theory? About Agent Reed's mother being responsible?"

"Yeah. Well, it doesn't say 'Senator Reed's wife', but it was definitely a Derevko."

"I see." She managed to mostly stop crying by the time he spoke again, his voice tentative. "Have you decided whether you wanted to stay for a few days?"

"I was going to, but I don't really feel up to it now," she told him. "I think I'll just go back to LA, maybe take a few days off there instead."

"That sounds fine. Do you...want me to pick you up at the airport?"

Despite herself, she almost smiled. "It's not necessary, but I'd like that."

"Very well. I'll see you soon."

"Thanks, Dad."

She disconnected the call and just sat there, looking at the phone in her hands, until she was able to breathe almost normally. It was only then that she remembered she hadn't actually placed the call to her father; looking up, she discovered that she was alone in the room.

For a moment she actually considered the idea that Sark had stepped out to allow her some privacy; then she noticed that his pack was missing, and things made more sense. He'd clearly taken advantage of her distraction to slip away entirely. Since she wasn't supposed to bring him in anyway, it wasn't a big deal--the mission had been completed, and there wasn't exactly a need for them to say goodbye; she just hoped there was nothing in the gear Marshall had sent that the CIA was particularly interested in seeing again. At least he'd left the laptop; there was a chance he hadn't even deleted the downloaded files first.

Feeling too drained to worry about any of it for the time being, Sydney slowly gathered what was left before calling the airlines and having her various tickets switched to earlier flights. Better still, she managed to get her ticket back to LA changed to leave from Bangkok rather than Singapore, cutting out a few hours of travel time. There was less need to take a convoluted route this time; it no longer mattered if the Covenant noticed she was in the region.

As promised, her father was waiting when she finally made it through passport control at LAX. For the hundredth time in the past day, she felt tears come to her eyes, wanting nothing more than to collapse in his arms. But he was Jack Bristow, so she couldn't, not without making things even more uncomfortable.

What she could do was hand over the wretched file, more than glad to let someone else take possession of it. Once they were safely ensconced in the privacy of his car, she allowed herself a sigh of relief. For now, at least, there was no need to pretend she was fine.

"The mission went well, you said?" Her father's inquiry seemed businesslike, but she could sense the underlying concern. It was his way of asking after her well-being, and she wasn't in the mood to force him to be more direct.

"It was fine. Sark's help was invaluable. Like I told you, I was fine until I came across the mention of...of her name." She gave an incredulous laugh. "I don't know why, after everything else I've been through, that made me break down. I've never even met the woman. And unless Mom was playing you when you were searching for me, she wasn't involved, so why should I care about seeing her last name in that file? It doesn't make sense."

"Most likely," her father proposed, "the name was simply a catalyst; although I haven't yet had the opportunity to look through the intel, I imagine the contents of the file as a whole were more responsible for your...emotional reaction."

"Maybe." She shrugged, gazing out the window, wishing she were home already so she could crash. "I'm so tired, Dad. I just want it all to stop."

"I know, Sydney."

The remainder of the drive was spent in silence, neither feeling like forcing small talk. When they pulled into her driveway, Sydney thanked her dad again. He told her to get some sleep, and let him take care of going through the intel she'd retrieved and passing it along to Dixon. She was more than willing to let him assume that task.

She'd worry about her mission report later. Dixon would understand.

Part XI

Considering what a big deal she'd made over wanting to know what had happened during the years she couldn't remember, Sydney felt rather foolish regarding her reaction to what they'd found in Yangon. The fact that as far as most of her co-workers knew she still didn't know anything didn't prevent her from feeling like they were all looking at her differently when she returned to the office; she knew she'd been unable to cope with even a quick scan of the paper files, and she couldn't shake the idea that some sign of her breakdown lingered. She still hadn't gathered the courage to ask what was in the electronic files.

Then there was the fact that it had happened in front of Sark, surely one of the people least tolerant of weakness she knew. Her father at least had his love for her to encourage him to overlook it; Sark was another question entirely. He'd once insisted she serve as his handler as a condition of his assisting them; would he reconsider their deal now? His respect wasn't something she'd ever sought, but he'd frequently made it clear she'd had it. Now that seemed likely to have changed, and from a practical standpoint, that struck her as dangerous. He was certainly predisposed to betrayal, and she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if it were triggered by perceived incompetence in his business partners.

He'd stated quite clearly that that was one of the reasons he'd come to the CIA about working against the Covenant, after all. And while he'd said he thought of Irina like a mother, she would be very surprised indeed if his apparently unprecedented loyalty to her was based in affection rather than professional respect.

So where did that leave his arrangement with them now that he'd seen her fall apart over what must seem like nothing? He'd made his contempt for the CIA in general obvious on any number of occasions. In fact, she didn't think there was another field agent in the LA office he might remotely accept as competent. If he refused to work with her--or was no longer able to do so effectively--the only possible substitute she could think of was her father, and frankly she didn't envision that partnership ever working.

Worse, if Sark did decide to turn on them, she strongly doubted he'd do them the courtesy of telling them the deal was off. They'd have no way of knowing if he was undermining their joint operation until it was too late. And while she'd been expecting him to do just that all along, if it happened now she'd feel responsible.

She needed Francie. There was no one at work she could talk to about this, and although she would have had to make up some ridiculous story in order to safely talk over the situation with Francie, Sydney had no doubt that she would have been able to find some way of making sense of things. Though at the time she'd hated the lying, she was now starting to realise how much having friends outside of the CIA had helped to keep her sane, even if just by reminding her of why she continued to put up with the sacrifices the job demanded of her. These days it seemed like she hardly ever met anyone not in the business, and she certainly didn't have the opportunity to form new friendships. She hadn't really understood before how lucky she was to have known Francie and Will before she joined SD-6. Eric was great, but sometimes what she needed was an outside perspective, not influenced by security considerations, to help her see things more clearly.

Once she might have been able to talk things over with Dixon, but his priorities had shifted after his promotion, and he could no longer hear things as her friend rather than her boss. As much as he might wish to do otherwise, he was now more likely to follow procedure and insist she talk to Dr. Barnett than grant her the unconditional support she needed.

Most of the time she was reasonably certain her father would choose her well-being over national security, but his interpretation of what was best for her had too often been completely opposed to her own wishes for her to feel comfortable relying on him to fill Francie's role in her life. And anyway, she wasn't sure how objective he could be in this case--the Derevko name was bound to hurt him even more than it did her, though he'd never admit it. Even aside from his usual issues, he'd worked with her mother to find her; he had to be wondering if Irina had known all along what her sister had done, and how much she'd been deceiving him this time.

Because of all that, Sydney didn't feel comfortable relying on him, either. For bail-outs when she became too uncomfortable at work, yes; but for emotional support? There, she was on her own. He certainly wouldn't understand her concerns about Sark. The possibility of betrayal was a given, but not the respect issue. She was well aware that her colleagues tended to view Sark as motivated solely by greed, but her own analysis over the years said differently. The problem was that her opinion went against the accepted CIA profile of him, so as far as they were concerned it must be wrong--never mind the fact that she was the person there who'd spent the most time with him, aside from the interrogators during his imprisonment. And how could they form an accurate profile of someone as complicated and controlled as Sark under such unnatural conditions? She didn't think it likely. But on this as on so much else since her return, the CIA considered her judgement flawed, and she suspected her father's opinion would be the same in this instance.

Her biggest support from the SD-6 days--the one person she could both confide in freely and talk to about work stuff--was, of course, not an option. She had come to realise that she'd lost more than a boyfriend in all this, and while she'd already abandoned the idea of ever getting any of their former relationship back, she had finally admitted to herself that she missed it. It wasn't that she had any illusions of getting Vaughn back in either role--she was pretty sure she no longer had any desire to do so, in fact--but at least recognising that the hole he'd left in her life was larger than she'd habitually considered it helped a little. Now she could mourn her friend as well as her lover and finally move on.

So she did what she always did: kept her fears to herself and denied anything was wrong. With any luck, she'd be able to figure out if Sark was going to be a problem by how he was acting the next time they had to work together; she thought she knew him well enough to detect any changes in his behaviour toward her. If she noticed any, she resolved, she'd bring the issue to her father or Dixon as soon as she returned to LA. They might not believe her, but she didn't think they'd take the chance of sending her into the field with him--without backup--if she went to them with actual observations rather than just vague concerns.

As for the rest...well, she'd simply have to learn to live without having a Francie or a Will to confide in, because that situation wasn't likely to ever change. It was probably time she accepted that fact and attempted to learn not to need them.

She just hoped the loneliness would fade with time.

Part XII

As the weeks passed, she slowly became accustomed to the knowledge that her mother's sister was definitely behind her abduction. Each night she forced herself to read a portion of the file retrieved from Myanmar closely looking for any clues that might lead to more useful intel, and though the information it contained wasn't the sort to grant her peace of mind, she did manage to find some satisfaction in finally being able to fill in some of the gaps. The more she learned, however, the more she hoped that actual memories of the events described would remain suppressed. She couldn't even decide which would be worse to remember, the pain the Covenant put her through in their attempts to break her and create Julia, or the jobs she did for them after that point. Just the thought that she could commit such despicable acts made her nauseous; she didn't think she could live with herself if she were to remember doing so.

Luckily, she had plenty of time to adjust, since work--both regular and secret--entered a rare slow period, allowing her to spend more time than usual in LA. Ordinarily she'd be impatient with the delays, but just then she could only be grateful for the reprieve. She was used to pushing on despite whatever might be going on in her personal life, but after the breakdown in Yangon, she was more than willing to take the time to regroup. For the first time she felt like she'd be endangering herself and her team members if she were to attempt field work before getting a better grip on her emotions. Everyone had tried to tell her that when she first came back--Dixon, Dr. Barnett, her father, even Vaughn, not that he had the right any longer--but she'd never believed it before. Unfortunately she could no longer deny that her disappearance had taken a toll on her; it had just taken longer than they'd expected to catch up with her.

One drawback to the downtime was the fact that there was no way for her to arrange being out of town when the quarterly interdepartmental meeting came around. Usually she pulled whatever strings her dad could get a hold of to make sure she was on a mission; it just killed her that she couldn't attend, but national security had to come first. Now she was reminded of why she went to such lengths to avoid these meetings. Funnily enough, status reports on other units' ongoing operations that had nothing to do with her own, interspersed with utterly fascinating budget reports and mission success rate statistics, completely failed to hold her attention. They weren't even halfway through before her mind started wandering.

Eventually the meeting started to break up, but before anyone could leave the room Vaughn stood and asked for their attention. Everyone paused and turned to him, most curious, a few--such as her father and herself--trying to hide impatience.

"I know we've all got work to get back to," he began, "so I'll make this quick. Lauren and I would like to invite all of you to our place for a little Fourth of July celebration." The looks he and Lauren exchanged made it clear to someone who knew him well that it hadn't been Vaughn's idea; then again, since he was trying to avoid arousing her suspicion there wasn't really much he could do but go along with whatever she wanted. He was supposed to still trust her, after all, and before they'd found out about Lauren's treachery he'd mostly been trying to make their marriage work despite Sydney's return. His desire to always do what was right had been one of the qualities she'd loved about him, though now it could only make his situation more difficult.

She was surprised to find she felt sorry for him. Not so long ago she would have wanted to gloat that it served him right for marrying someone else; now, she could actually sympathise with what he must be going through. It didn't make her any more inclined to attend, however, so when she got a chance later that day she dragged her father into an empty conference room and asked how he thought she should get out of it.

"I'm sorry, Sydney, but Dixon and I discussed this after the meeting, and we came to the conclusion that it's best if you attend. If it makes you feel better, I am not looking forward to the experience myself."

"What?" she said, disbelieving. "They can't possibly expect us to go to this thing! It's bad enough I have to be around Lauren at work; now I'm being asked to spend part of my almost non-existent free time with her as well? Not to mention the fact that her mother--who is behind my losing two years of my life--is almost certainly going to be there too!"

"I sympathise with your displeasure, Sydney, but Dixon feels, and I concur, that declining the invitation would only draw attention. In addition, this gathering could prove an excellent opportunity for us to observe both women. Mrs. Reed's reaction to meeting you in particular could be useful to our investigation."

"But--"

"Just pretend she's Sloane, and you're still back at SD-6," he suggested, with what might actually be an expression of amusement. With her father, it was difficult to tell.

Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "You're not helping."

"Try to keep your displeasure within the bounds of what might pass for simple jealousy," he advised more seriously.

She nodded and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She'd figured her feelings about Lauren had been obvious to everyone since the day they'd met, but that didn't stop her from being ashamed of them. It made her feel like she couldn't even make any legitimate comment about Lauren's treachery on the rare occasion it was safe to discuss the situation, for fear of her friends' attributing her words to personal animosity.

She wondered sometimes how she'd ever made it through a year and a half as a double agent. She'd loathed Sloane more than she hated Lauren even now, so why was it she'd been able to hide her feelings then, but not now? It was tempting to claim her control over her emotions was weakened by losing two years, but in all honesty, she didn't think that was it. As traumatic as learning of her memory loss had been, it couldn't compare to Danny's death at the hands--or at least, on the orders--of someone she'd foolishly looked up to. Not to mention the resulting discovery that neither her employer nor her father were at all what she'd thought. She just seemed to have lost her ability to cover up her emotions somewhere along the way, and she wanted it back. Sometimes, it was hard to believe she could be her parents' child.

And now they expected her to go to the home of one of the latest people bent on destroying her life and make nice with not only Lauren, but her mother? She couldn't think how she'd make it through the ordeal without giving away more than she wanted. It seemed unlikely that even her worst detractors would let the jealousy explanation stretch to cover Lauren's mother. About the only thing that could make her dread the prospect more would be if Sark were attending.

Then again...that might be all right. Maybe people would be too busy wondering what he was doing there and how to get him back into custody to pay attention to her. Better yet, if they showed up together, that might take care of several problems at once. People would be more likely to focus their speculation on why she and Sark were suddenly getting along than on her interactions with Lauren, for starters. It might even distract the Reeds themselves, trying to guess what game Sark was playing and why he'd dared appear at a function crawling with CIA. If nothing else, she would have one more person she wouldn't have to pretend for. It might even be fun, hanging out with Sark off to one side, watching everyone she knew go crazy wondering. He'd almost certainly enjoy messing with everyone's heads, too.

Pity it would be too dangerous.

Despite her most fervent wishing, no mission came up that required her involvement over the fourth. Both her father and Weiss had offered to give her a ride to the Vaughns' for the party, ensuring she couldn't get out of it with made-up car trouble, either. Though the ride would be far more comfortable with Weiss, she knew her father might want to use the time to discuss the Covenant case; in the end, duty won out. Besides, she didn't want Weiss to feel as if he had to choose sides, or couldn't be nice to Vaughn's wife in front of her. And then there was the fact that she was helping keep several secrets from him, even though she personally felt he could be trusted with them. Frankly, Vaughn was more of a security risk than Weiss was in this case; it was all too close to him, too personal, and he had far more opportunities to slip up than the rest of them did. But Dixon said not to tell anyone who wasn't there when they first made the deal with Sark, so she hadn't. That didn't mean she had to like it.

So instead of joking around with one of her few remaining friends, she was sitting next to her father in their usual uncomfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment on the weather. By the time they arrived she was almost glad; she would go in, spend the minimum time necessary, endeavour to be polite, and then take advantage of her father's well-known aversion to socialising to make an escape.

Piece of cake.

She got lucky, in that they pulled up just behind a carload of their co-workers, allowing her to hide herself in the middle of their group as they joined the party. She felt like if people noticed her arrival, everyone would just stop and stare sympathetically, as they did so often at the office since her return. She hated that so many people--most of them near-strangers--knew the details of her private life, and on occasion secretly hoped that once Lauren's treachery was finally revealed, at least some of the gossip would focus on Vaughn instead, for a change. She hated herself for it, but hadn't she been dealing with such intrusive curiosity for long enough? All thanks to that stupid prophecy.... Well, and her parents' history and reputations, she supposed. Couldn't blame everything on Rambaldi, much though she'd like to.

Dixon appeared to be trapped into just the kind of boring polite conversation she wanted to avoid, and Marshall didn't seem to have arrived yet, but she soon caught sight of Weiss standing near the food--of course, she thought fondly--and made her way over to him.

"How soon do you think I can pull the 'my father's ready to get out of here, and you know him, best not to argue' excuse?" she asked him with a grin.

"Syd! You made it!"

"Of course I did," she replied, returning his hug. "Dixon didn't exactly give me a choice."

"Yeah, well, it would've looked weird, everyone being here but you."

"I know. It's just...not what I wanted to be doing on my day off, you know?"

"Absolutely. After all, why would you want to spend time with a few friends such as yours truly when you could be sitting at home alone on a holiday?"

"You know I'm always happy to spend time with you, Eric--it's the dozens of strangers, and no few of our co-workers, I could do without."

"Yeah, yeah. I understand completely," he said sympathetically. "But, hey, since you're here anyway, at least you can keep me company."

"What, you don't want to mingle?" she asked, feigning shock.

"Not really," he admitted. "Mike's stuck playing host to Lauren's parents' friends, who don't really seem like party people, if you ask me, and everyone else I see enough of at work."

"Well, I'm sure Marshall and Carrie will be here soon, and then the four of us can just hang out in a corner and ignore everybody else; how's that sound?"

"Ah, Bristow, you always know what to say!" he proclaimed dramatically. She couldn't help but laugh, though he had that backwards.

The plan worked well for about an hour, at which point Sydney excused herself to go to the bathroom. Weiss was able to give her directions, which meant she got to avoid having to ask Vaughn or Lauren, but then her luck ran out and she was accosted by the latter on her way back.

"Sydney!" Lauren exclaimed with that false enthusiasm that made Sydney want to strangle her. "We're so glad you could come. I'd like you to meet my mother."

Sydney mustered a polite smile for the unfamiliar woman standing before her. "Mrs. Reed," she acknowledged, shaking hands.

"Agent Bristow," her aunt replied, "it's good to meet you. I've heard so much about you. I know how relieved Michael was when you turned up safe and sound last year."

Remember Sloane, she told herself firmly; her father was right, she could do this. "Thank you. Vaughn's been a good friend. Everybody has, really; the CIA's become my family, and I don't know what I'd do without them. It's wonderful the way everyone helps protect each other." Hear that, you bitch? Try anything against me again and you'll have half the LA field office after you. Dixon's calling the shots now, not Kendall.

"I understand you're still trying to find out where you were during your time away?"

"That's right."

"If there's ever anything you think the Senator can help you with in your search, do let me or Lauren know; we'd be happy to help in any way we can."

Oh, I bet. Wouldn't you just love to know what I've been able to dig up about what you did? "I'll be sure to do that, Mrs. Reed. I appreciate the offer."

"I just think it's such a shame," she continued, clearly not picking up on Sydney's antipathy, "that not only were you abducted for two years, but you still have no memory of what actually happened in all that time. That must be so hard on you. And your poor father; I don't know I would do if something like that happened to Lauren."

"I have no doubt that we'll discover the truth before too much longer," her father said, coming up behind Mrs. Reed. Sydney had to bite back a laugh at the expression on the woman's face at the sound of his voice. "Regardless of whether she regains her memories, Sydney will be just fine. My daughter, Mrs. Reed, is unusually strong; just one of the traits she inherited from her mother."

That reference to Irina, though said without any special emphasis, seemed to have what could only have been the intended effect: her...god, she hated even to think this...her aunt seemed taken aback.

To drive his point home, she turned to him with a bright smile and said, "Not only Mom; I think any strength I may have comes just as much from you."

If Mrs. Reed missed the veiled threats hidden in both statements, she didn't deserve the name Derevko. Sydney was certain, at least, that her mother would have picked up on the "be careful how far you try to push us" undercurrents without even trying. Then again, her mother spent ten years deceiving one of the CIA's star agents, after which she went on to fool the world into believing her dead while simultaneously building a criminal empire without anybody's becoming aware of her identity; it might be unfair to expect anyone to live up to her example. In fact, considering Sark's opinion of Mrs. Reed's professional skills, perhaps a lack of perception would be perfectly in character.

Come to think of it, he'd probably get a kick out of what her father just said; she'd have to remember to tell him next time they talked.

Her father took advantage of the momentary silence to turn to her and say, "I'm sorry, Sydney, but something's come up; I need to leave early. I'll drop you by your place on my way."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." She turned back to Lauren and thanked her for the invitation, trying to hide her relief at getting to escape already. She'd call Weiss from the car and let him know why she'd disappeared; she'd rather not stick around one moment longer than she had to.

"Thanks for the rescue," she said fervently once they were on the way home. "I don't know how much longer I could have spent talking to them without saying something I shouldn't."

"From what I could tell, you were managing just fine. I'm sure you would have found a way to extricate yourself shortly."

"Maybe. But thanks to you, I didn't have to."

"Then you're welcome."

Sydney leaned back in her seat and let the knowledge of her father's being there relax her. Sure, he wasn't an ideal parent, and he'd done things she'd thought unforgivable to her in the past, but there was something incredibly comforting about knowing what he was capable of once he went into protective mode. She allowed herself to bask in the safety for several minutes before remembering something.

"Oh my god, I forgot to call Weiss. He's got to be worried; I went to the bathroom and just disappeared," she explained as she dug her phone out of her purse and dialled. "Eric! It's me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to abandon you."

"Syd! Where have you been? Are you all right?"

"I know. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to abandon you. I ran into my father; something has come up, and he had to leave. I came with him, so...."

"Aw, Syd, you know I would've given you a lift home."

"Yeah, I know, but--"

"You'd stayed long enough?" he guessed.

"Something like that."

"Well, all right, I suppose I'll forgive you this time."

"You're the best," she told him, relieved that he wasn't mad. She'd grown very conscious of her friends' new-found tendency to overreact if she wasn't where they expected her to be ever since her return from the dead. Though stifling at times, Sydney knew their worry wasn't unfounded, so she tried to keep from setting it off as much as possible. There was just no way she was going to stay at that party a minute longer than she had to.

Part XIII

"Um, Sydney?"

"Yes, Marshall?"

"Is there somewhere we could, uh, talk? About," his voice dropped to a whisper, "Korea?"

That caught her attention. She, too, lowered her voice. "Are you sure you need to talk to me? Not Dixon?"

"Well, see, that's the thing. I'm not sure there's anything to tell Dixon about...."

He wasn't really making sense, but she didn't think Marshall would mention, even in a roundabout way, the thing with Sark unless he had a good reason.

"Why don't we go somewhere for lunch?" she suggested.

"Lunch? Uh, isn't it a little early?"

She managed not to laugh. "I'll stop by your office in an hour; we'll go then."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, that'd be great. I'll see you in an hour." Marshall's enthusiasm was, as always, infectious; she was smiling as she watched him make his way back to his office.

When lunchtime arrived, she took him to a restaurant she knew was rarely frequented by their co-workers. Once they'd ordered, she took out her bugkiller lipstick. Marshall, of course, didn't need an explanation.

"What was it you had to tell me?"

"Well, okay, see, I've been listening to Sark's phone calls every day, you know? Most of it's pretty uninformative--'yes', 'understood', 'I'll take care of it'," she struggled not to laugh at Marshall's attempt at mimicking Sark's accent, "and the people on the other end aren't much better, but this morning he used one of the keywords to let me know he wants us to contact him."

"So why tell me, rather than following procedure and going through Dixon?"

"The thing is, usually when he's got something for us, he arranges to have a phone conversation about whatever it is the Covenant's asking him to do. This time? Nada. So there's no mission to sabotage, at least, not as far as we know. And that means no countermission to plan, right? I don't want to go to Dixon if it turns out Sark just used the keyword without meaning to. I mean, you know, we try to make them words that aren't too unusual--don't want the person he's talking to to pick up on the fact he's using a code, you know?"

"And you think I'll be able to tell?" she asked skeptically.

"You are the one who knows him best, I thought you might have some kind of insight."

What, she was supposed to be a damn expert on Sark now? "Well...it does seem unlikely that he would forget that kind of thing, but I can't think why he would risk contact if there's no mission...."

"Do you think I should tell Dixon, then?" Marshall asked anxiously.

"Hmm...no, not yet. I'll set up the call; if it was an accident, he probably won't bother. If he does call, I'll be able to find out what's going on. I can tell my dad to pass it on to Dixon if necessary."

"Great. I knew you'd know what to do.""

"So, now that we've got that out of the way...how's Mitchell?" As she'd known it would, Marshall's face lit up and he spent the rest of the meal regaling her with Proud Father stories. Sydney pushed the Sark question to the back of her mind and seized the chance to enjoy a normal conversation for a change.

As soon as they returned to the office after lunch, she arranged for the ad requesting a call from Sark for the following day. When the phone rang at the appointed time, she was relieved. She hadn't expected it to have been a mistake, but by that point her curiosity was so great she had almost worried she wouldn't hear from him.

She didn't waste any time on pleasantries. "What's going on? Marshall said it hadn't sounded like there was any Covenant activity going on, so we were surprised you requested contact."

"While it's true I'm unaware of any imminent operations suitable for CIA interference, it just so happens that I have something better." There was something strange in Sark's voice. He sounded almost...excited? But that was impossible.

"Better how?" she asked skeptically.

"What would you say, Agent Bristow, if I told you the entire Covenant leadership is going to be gathered in a single location in a few days--and that I know where?"

She was too astonished to speak for a moment. "You mean--?"

"There will never be a better opportunity to take down the Covenant for good."

"Wow. This is--. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," he confirmed. "My, ah, partner is leaving in two days. She will be representing the North American cell at the meeting."

"Just her? Did your invitation get lost in the mail?"

"It's astonishing, really, but for some reason they still don't quite trust me," he said, voice bright with false bewilderment.

"Yeah, I can't think why that would be," she agreed drily. "Call me again this time tomorrow; I'll talk with Dixon and have instructions for you by then."

"I look forward to it. Oh, and Sydney--you can inform him that I also have what appears to be a complete list of the agents operating out of your office."

As soon as he ended the call, she dialed her father's number, insisting on meeting with him right away. He didn't share in her eagerness; she ought to have expected his warnings to exercise caution, but they disappointed her anyway. They were finally within reach of accomplishing the only goal she'd had since her return from the dead, and she had wanted someone in her life to understand and share her excitement.

He did, however, arrange for a meeting with Dixon for them both, so she could be in on the discussion for once. Dixon's reaction was all she expected--cautious, sure, but more optimistic than her father had been--and he was quick to see the potential in this news. They were up late putting together lists of what information they needed from Sark and what options they had for dealing with it. A variety of contingency plans were drawn up, depending on how much time they would have to prepare.

Sydney found it difficult to concentrate the next day; every five minutes she checked her watch, waiting impatiently for the time for Sark's call. With half an hour to go, she grabbed the folder containing the results of her late night with Dixon and her father, and took off. She needed to be well away from the JTF building before he called, and this was one conversation she didn't think she could have while walking around. She definitely wanted to write down everything for fear of forgetting something important, and that meant finding somewhere she could sit. The weather was mild, so she headed straight for her favourite park and took possession of a picnic table.

She answered the phone as soon as it rang. "What time frame are we talking about here? And where?"

"Hello to you, too, Agent Bristow."

"Whatever. Just answer the question."

"My associate leaves tomorrow for Bonn. Upon arrival the following morning, she is to head directly to a particular location for the meeting, which is scheduled to last three days."

"And you have this location?" she verified.

"I do."

"Okay, here's the plan. If you're not in LA now, get here. Once Lauren leaves, you're to come in for a strategy session and mission briefing. Dixon's choosing officers for a good-sized team to send even as we speak; they'll be ready to go as soon as they're briefed."

"I presume Director Dixon has not forgotten the dangers of my being seen entering that building; have arrangements been made?"

She took altogether too much pleasure in informing Sark of his access protocol for the JTF building. She made a mental note to make sure she happened to be hanging around the guard station that monitored the secret entrance when he was scheduled to arrive; she'd seen Sark in a variety of situations she'd never expected to since this all began, but jogging? She knew he had to work out--no field agent stayed a field agent for long if they didn't--but somehow she couldn't actually picture Sark doing so. This wasn't an opportunity she wanted to pass up.

For that matter, it would be nice to not be the one forced to endure a briefing while dressed to work out, for a change. She debated taking pity on him and offering to sneak in a suit for him to change into, then thought better of it. More fun for her this way. Besides, he didn't really need the fancy clothes to be intimidating.

Dixon had arranged to be notified as soon as Sark requested access. He then passed the message along to her, allowing her to be waiting when Sark came down the steps leading to the underground passageway.

"I hope you don't mind, but for the time being we're going to have to wait here. I've got details on what the CIA's planning to send--agents, equipment, and so on--but we couldn't go ahead with drawing up a mission plan without knowing what we'll be facing on the other end, which is where you come in. We've got a little over three hours to come up with a final plan before the briefing."

"Let's get to it, then." He didn't seem put out by the way she skipped over the amenities and got right down to business. Grateful that she wouldn't have to put up with any argument, Sydney led him to the folding chairs and card table Dixon had arranged for them and opened the briefcase she'd brought.

For the next few hours they poured over personnel lists, maps of Bonn, hand-drawn floor plans of the building they'd be raiding, projected timetables, and far more contingency plans than she ever wanted to need. By the time she heard Dixon's approach, she thought they might actually have things under control.

Dixon didn't waste time on pleasantries, either. He simply verified that the planning was going well and asked Sark for the promised list of Covenant moles, which Sark obligingly jotted down. Reading over the list, Dixon heaved a resigned sigh, then said he'd see they were taken care of before Sark's cooperation was revealed. The briefing, he said, would be in half an hour; Sydney was to take Sark by an even more secret route to Dixon's office in twenty minutes' time.

They spent those twenty minutes fine-tuning their plan, then made the quarter-mile trek to the JTF proper. Just before they were in sight of the final checkpoint, Sydney opened the door to a secret passage she'd only learned about that morning, ushering Sark inside. A slightly--okay, she amended, ridiculously--roundabout route led them straight into the director's office, where Dixon was waiting. He told Sark to wait until summoned and sent Sydney to wait in the conference room.

Sydney grew restless with anticipation as thirty carefully selected agents drifted in. She couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces when the briefing began and certain well-kept secrets were revealed. It was about time she got some enjoyment out of all this.

Once everyone had arrived, Dixon asked the agent closest to the door to close it and draw the blinds, ensuring no one not authorised could catch a glimpse of their surprise guest. He then went to the other door--the one leading to Dixon's own outer office--and let Sark in. The surprised murmurs that spread through the room as people recognised him were all Sydney had hoped they'd be. For a moment, she was back at SD-6, hearing her co-workers vehemently protesting Sark's presence in their midst. She noted with surprise that this time Marshall didn't look intimidated; rather, he appeared almost smug. Probably from being one of the only four present who'd known what to expect, she thought. That kind of thing didn't happen to him often.

Outwardly ignoring the reactions to his entrance, Sark slid smoothly into the open seat between Sydney and her father. To her disappointment, he didn't appear at all uncomfortable despite his less-than-formal attire. If anything, he looked bored as he settled back in his chair, waiting for Dixon to start the briefing.

"If I could have everyone's attention, please," Dixon began when the talk had begun to die down, "your questions will be addressed. Thank you," he added when most of the attention had been redirected to him rather than their visitor.

"Some of you may recall that about a year ago we were contacted by a Covenant agent wanting to defect. For reasons which will soon become clear, it was decided that the would-be defector would remain in place as a double agent until such time as we had the necessary information to dismantle the Covenant entirely. Therefore, for the past year Mr Sark has been working with Sydney Bristow to provide us with vital intel and help us sabotage Covenant operations."

He paused for a new wave of murmurs before continuing. "The only people to know of our arrangement were Sydney and Jack Bristow, Michael Vaughn, Marshall Flinkman, and myself. This level of secrecy was vital due to the presence--revealed to us thanks to Mr Sark, and confirmed to my satisfaction--of Covenant moles within this office."

This time the reaction was more subdued. No one liked to think of their friends and co-workers as possible traitors. All eyes were now firmly on Dixon; Sark, it seemed, had been forgotten. "Effective immediately, Lauren Reed's clearance has been revoked. This shouldn't be a problem, since she left LA this morning, ostensibly to visit her parents. In actuality, she is on her way to Germany, where she will be attending a meeting of the top levels of Covenant leadership, representing the North American cell. We know this because her co-chair of that cell is Mr Sark himself. As of half an hour ago, lower-level Covenant operatives also working at CIA have been arrested, but discretion is still advised outside of this room.

"You will be leaving in an hour. This gathering is the best chance we're likely to get to destroy the Covenant completely; it is imperative that no one escape to warn the individual cells. Are there any questions before I turn the briefing over to Sydney Bristow, who will be in charge of the operation?"

A few people shifted nervously in their chairs, but no one spoke up. Sydney had been watching Weiss throughout Dixon's speech; he didn't seem too bothered by learning that she'd been hiding the cooperation with Sark from him for so long, but word of Lauren's true affiliation left him stunned. Clearly he hadn't suspected anything.

Deciding no one was going to be coming up with questions any time soon, Dixon returned to his office, leaving the remainder of the meeting to her. Though he would not be taking part in the mission itself, her father remained behind; she was grateful for his supportive presence as she began detailing the plan. She didn't usually draft op plans herself--improvisation was more her thing--so she'd run it by him while they were waiting, in case he had any suggestions. Since Sark, who had far more experience with this kind of thing thanks to his years as her mother's director of operations, had helped her develop it, she was pretty sure the vaguely disdainful air radiating from his otherwise impassive expression was for the other agents' benefit rather than being indicative of actual disapproval.

She made it through the briefing, relieved to have that part, at least, behind her. She dismissed the team to make whatever preparations they needed, and was one step closer to her goal. Oddly, that thought didn't do much to calm her nerves.

Marshall stayed behind after the briefing to go over the security arrangements they'd be facing with Sark, so he could throw together some suitable op tech. Sydney stayed, too; she wouldn't have anything useful to contribute, she knew, but she thought she'd feel better if she knew everything there was to know involving this mission.

Part XIV

Throughout the long flight, Sydney couldn't stop fretting over every detail. It gave her something to do; even though she'd been unable to sleep the night before, the importance of this mission left her with an excess of energy, and the military transport they were stuck in didn't lend itself to pacing. Because they'd been working this operation the longest, she and Sark were in charge of the rather large team the CIA was sending. Of course, no one could be reasonably expected to trust Sark with less than an hour's time to get used to the idea, so nominally she outranked him; he went along with it, she suspected, because he knew she was aware it was just a polite fiction to avoid problems with the agents assigned to them. It didn't matter if she failed to acknowledge that fact aloud--they'd come far enough in terms of understanding each other for the words to be unnecessary.

She never thought she'd be relieved to have Sark along, but it was true. He knew better than anyone how hard she'd worked to make this day possible; moreover, deep down she knew he was a better agent than anyone the CIA had sent with them. Now that they'd forged a decent working relationship, complete with some semblance of mutual trust, she couldn't think of anyone she'd rather have at her side when things got tricky. Her father might be able to out-think him, but Sark's field skills were far more current. Breaking into a meeting of a few dozen of the Covenant's top people seemed the kind of situation where being out of practice could be dangerous; hence Sark.

He was sitting off to one side, either being shut out by the other agents or deliberately separating himself from them. Could be boredom, could be contempt; could be too much pride to give them the chance to reject his presence. She didn't know him that well. Reading him when it was just the two of them was one thing; now that they weren't on a mission alone, he had retreated behind his familiar façade, and Sydney found it as impenetrable as ever. Engaging him in conversation to take her mind off things was out of the question, leaving her to "refine" the op plan past the point of utility. As a means of ridding herself of nervous tension, it was pretty useless, but at least it kept her too occupied for Weiss to trap her into the discussion she least wanted to have.

Upon arrival in Bonn they were met by vans waiting to take them straight to the Covenant building. At that point further fiddling would have been pointless--since the team was split up and comms weren't yet on, she'd have no way to communicate any changes--so she resigned herself to worrying without anything to distract her. It felt like forever before the van came to a stop and they could begin checking their equipment. She was anxiously verifying her reception of everyone's comms when she felt Sark's presence behind her. Though he didn't speak beyond what was necessary to verify his own comm's function, his now-familiar strength helped to calm her. There were only a few members of the team she knew at all well, and it helped knowing that in Sark she had at least one person she could rely on absolutely. He'd get the job done no matter what, help her out of any tight spots that might arise, and if he turned against them, at this point she trusted it would only be in a "taking off without hanging around for permission" way. Any potential for true betrayal between them was, she believed, in the past.

Waiting impatiently for the rest of the team to get into position, Sydney checked her weapon one more time. You couldn't be too careful, not on a mission of such importance, both professionally and personally. The voices in her ear confirmed one by one that everyone was ready and waiting for her signal. Exchanging glances with Sark, she noted a gleam of excitement in his eyes. Somehow, knowing him as she now did, it didn't detract from the seriousness of his expression as a whole. If anything, it made him seem more dangerous, not less. She spared a moment to reflect on how differently she viewed him after everything they'd been through before giving the team the order she'd been looking forward to for over a year.

As one, they burst into the conference chamber from all directions, guns quickly finding targets among the assembled Covenant leadership. Later she could swear that she saw Sark firing before he could even have gotten a look into the room, though it hardly seemed likely. He wasn't one to just hope for a lucky shot. At the time, however, her world was focused solely on taking out as many of the people who'd made the last few years of her life hell as possible. A small part of her brain noted the positions of her fellow agents enough to avoid shooting them; the rest was on autopilot. She thought it was her bullet that took out Olivia Reed, and looked forward to having the luxury of taking great satisfaction in that fact; she refused to let it distract her until the job was finished, however.

She was maintaining her concentration on the task at hand well until Lauren tried to sneak out of a now-unguarded door on the opposite side of the room. Swearing, Sydney took off after her; the sound of footsteps made her glance behind to evaluate the potential threat. What she saw instead was Sark running almost backwards, efficiently continuing to remove Covenant agents even as he clearly intended to follow her.

Deciding to let him watch her back, she resumed her hunt of Lauren. After her mother, this was the person Sydney most wanted dead, and she wasn't about to let her escape. Through corridor after corridor she ran, Sark close on her heels, until finally they caught up with Lauren in a short hallway, apparently intending to disappear through the door at the end of it. She wasn't quite within reach of the closed door when Sydney came around the corner, weapon already trained on her heart. Sark appeared beside her, gun hand by his side, looking as though a frantic chase through the building was the last thing on his mind.

"Freeze!" Sydney yelled, causing Lauren to turn and discover her predicament.

Her eyes seemed to zero in on Sark. "Julian. I should have known. How long have you been working against us?"

"From the day your--now former--superiors extracted me from CIA custody," he replied smoothly.

"And it's taken you this long to reach this point? To think you were supposed to be some kind of prodigy," she taunted him.

Sydney glanced over to see how Sark would take the insult; his expression seemed icily calm as ever as he replied, "One of the traits that makes me so is the ability to exercise patience in pursuit of a goal. When one rushes, one makes mistakes. Such as those you've made, beginning with failing to discern that everyone around you, including your own husband, has been playing you since North Korea. I hate to be the one to have to break it to you, Ms. Reed, but you were not cut out for this business."

Lauren scoffed. "You think your precious Sydney can kill me? If she was capable of that she'd have done it already." Sydney bristled, but Lauren went on before she could come up with an adequate response. "And there's no way you're truly working with the CIA. Admit it, Julian: this is all some elaborate game. You're not going to kill me, either, not after everything we've shared," she added, her voice turning seductive.

"Thank you for proving my point," he said coolly. "You have just proven your understanding of me is as poor as your performance as an operative."

Before either woman had time to react, Sark swiftly took aim and fired a single shot right between Lauren's eyes.

Blinking in shock at the suddenness of it all, Sydney stood there dumbly a moment before creeping forward to check Lauren's pulse. She was indeed dead. Deciding it couldn't hurt to be sure--far too many people in her life had come back from "death" for her liking--she fired two shots of her own into Lauren's heart for good measure before turning back to Sark.

"So that's it then," she said lamely, unsure what to do now.

"That does appear to be the case." He was clearly amused by her reaction, but she was still too busy trying to process the idea that it was all over to care.

"Thank you."

"For what, if I may ask? You weren't truly in need of my help just now."

"For...for not turning on us when it mattered. You kept your word in all this, and though I never expected that would be the case, I'm happy to have been wrong." She hesitated but decided she needed to admit, for her own conscience, if nothing else, "And for all the times you backed me up in the field these past few months."

To her surprise, he approached her where she stood by Lauren's corpse and put a hand on her back, gently turning her around. He left it there as they began walking back in the direction they'd come from. Somehow, it didn't feel as intrusive as she would have expected. "As I've told you before, Sydney--"

"Yeah, yeah," she interrupted, finding it perfectly natural to tease him as she would have Weiss, "destiny, I know. You really should come up with a new theme song, Sark; that one's starting to get old."

He chuckled. "Perhaps, then, I'll try to find something new to taunt you with. If you ask nicely, of course."

The companionable atmosphere remained as they returned to the conference room. The Reeds' deaths left her feeling impossibly light--this was the first time she'd been able to gain revenge on any of the many people responsible for destroying her life, and it felt better than she had words to describe. She was a little afraid that rejoining the team would bring reality crashing back down on her, ruining the mood.

As they drew closer, she noticed that the noise level had definitely died down while they were off dealing with Lauren; nevertheless, without so much as needing to exchange glances she and Sark separated, smoothly approaching the door from opposite sides of the hallway, guns at the ready. Months of working together had made silent communication between them as natural as breathing; all it took was one shared look for Sydney to know that she would be the one rounding the corner to take stock of the situation while Sark guarded her back, ready to provide cover fire if needed.

She crouched down to keep her head below eye level just in case. A quick glance revealed no one lying in wait just inside the doorway, so she swung inside the room, back to the wall. It didn't take long to assess the scene in front of her: clearly the fight was over and the CIA team was in the process of mopping up. Standing, she lowered her weapon and gave Sark an "all clear" nod. Four Covenant members were under guard on the far side of the room while agents searched among the bodies for additional survivors. She knew the carnage ought to have horrified her, but after everything she had suffered at the hands of the Covenant she couldn't bring herself to care. Their orders had been "kill or capture", not the other way around; between all the intel she and Sark had uncovered and the fact that the top few levels of Covenant leadership had been in this very room, they didn't have much need of living prisoners to question. What portion of the Covenant's operation hadn't been destroyed that evening was already scheduled to be dismantled over the next few days.

Sark remained by her side as she surveyed the room. The air of expectant tension about him told her he was keeping watch for sudden threats, allowing her the chance to get lost in her thoughts without having to worry about possible risks.

Seeing that she'd returned, Weiss grabbed another agent to take his place on guard duty and came over to them. He looked at Sark warily for a moment before turning to her and heaving a put-upon sigh. "Okay, okay, Bristow, you can stop pleading with me now; I suppose I forgive you."

Surprised out of her grim mood, Sydney smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I hated not being able to tell you anything, but..."

"Yeah, I get it. I'll get over it." They stood there in awkward silence until Weiss, seemingly giving up on hoping Sark would leave them to themselves, said, "So...Lauren, huh?"

"Yep. And her mother. Oh, and you don't know yet--it wasn't in the mission briefing. It turns out that Lauren's my cousin."

"Your--?" Weiss sputtered in disbelief. Sydney nodded confirmation. "How?"

"Olivia Reed was born Yelena Derevko," Sark explained in a bored tone. "Sydney, it looks as though your team is finished."

Sure enough, when she turned the agent who'd been coordinating the prisoner round-up caught her eye and approached. She went to meet him halfway. Once she had his report she called in to HQ, letting Dixon and her father know the mission was successful. Happily, she also got to tell them all of the casualties were Covenant; the only injuries suffered by the agents involved were minor.

When she was through with the call, she returned to where Sark and Weiss were waiting. Weiss was clearly uncomfortable, but Sark shot her an "I didn't do anything, honest" look that she was inclined to believe; after all, uncomfortable or not, Weiss was still there. If Sark had been trying to cause problems, he probably would've left for some more welcome companion, even if he wasn't done talking to her yet.

"Dixon says the auxiliary teams are ready to hit the other sites even as we speak," she reported, still somewhat surprised things had gone so well thus far. "We're allowed to get some sleep when we get back, but he wants all of us in for a full debriefing the next morning. You too, Sark. He also said to assure you that he remembers the terms of your deal, and that you will be allowed to leave once the debrief is over. Though that may not be for a while--I got the impression he wants you to report on the entire time we were working together. A little pointless this long after the fact, but the CIA has this thing about thorough documentation."

"You know, Sydney--" Sark's tone was offhand, but she had a feeling she knew what was coming. "If you came to work for me, you wouldn't have to bother with such things. I've never understood your government's insistence on verbal debriefings. Any halfway decent operative will include any pertinent information in their written report."

She rolled her eyes. "I should've known it was too much to ask that we make it through this without your attempting to recruit me."

"You should indeed. You can no longer deny how very well we work together; it would be a shame to end such a good thing."

"I don't know why you bother. You already know my answer, Sark."

"Perhaps I'm optimistic that one day you will give in to the inevitable." He didn't sound at all bothered by her refusal, but she could tell he meant it. "Eventually, Agent Bristow, you will grow tired of the limitations they place on you. Don't wait too long, or I might change my mind."

She shook her head in amusement. Some things never changed. "Of course you will, Sark. You've only been trying to convince me to work for you for, what, four years now?"

"It strikes me as misleading to include the two years during which you were dead; I can hardly have tried to recruit you then, after all."

"For that matter, it wouldn't have done you much good to recruit me while you were in that cell. Doesn't inspire much confidence in prospective employees, being locked up," she teased.

His tone took on just enough of a dramatic air for her to know he was teasing her in turn; she doubted anyone else could pick up on it. "Ah, Sydney, don't you know I would have broken out of there far sooner had I known you were still alive somewhere? All I needed to effect my escape was the proper motivation."

She laughed; he damn near grinned in response before saying, "I believe I shall make my own way back to LA; the CIA's accommodations are a bit lacking in comfort. You may reassure Director Dixon that I will appear for my debriefing, superfluous though it may be. I presume the entry protocol is to be the same?"

"Unless you don't mind taking the chance that someone on your side of the line might see you entering the building...."

"Very well. I shall see you then."

She watched him walk off before being startled by Weiss' voice; she'd forgotten he was there. "Okay, that was just weird."

"What was?" she asked, turning back to him.

"You and Sark. Flirting."

"We weren't--! Okay, maybe we were a little. But it's like when you and I do it--not real. It's not as if we mean anything by it."

"You know, when Dixon said you'd been working with him for so long, I sort of assumed it was just passing intel--dead drops and so on. But you've been actually working together, haven't you? I know you, Bristow--you don't get that comfortable with someone like Sark for no reason."

She sighed. "We've been on missions together, now and then. He arranged my escape back when the Covenant captured me, without waiting to be asked. Even made sure my father knew what had happened. I guess we've gotten to know each other better out of necessity."

"I see." He was quiet for a moment, but it didn't feel like a disapproving silence, so she waited to see what else he had to say. She owed him that much. "And you trust him to show up as promised even though you're letting him go now?"

"Yeah, I do. He's got an immunity deal in place, so there's no reason not to. He probably just wants the extra time to reclaim what he can find of his inheritance before we have a chance to freeze the Covenant's accounts."

Weiss stared at her in disbelief. "And you don't have a problem with that?"

Sydney shrugged. "It doesn't matter if I do or not; that's in his deal, too. Any part of his inheritance he can get back on his own, he gets to keep. Dixon agreed that the CIA, though not willing to help him, won't stop him either."

"Unbelievable. So, uh...Mike knew about this? Lauren, I mean?"

And there it was, the topic she'd been hoping he wouldn't bring up. "Yeah. He was with me on the Korea mission, remember? That's when those of us who knew found out and we set up the deal with Sark. Vaughn had the worst of it, having to pretend he didn't know she was deceiving him. I kind of hoped he'd told you despite Dixon's orders; I'm sure it would've helped, being able to talk to you about it."

"No wonder he'd seemed a bit withdrawn lately. I'll have to take him out and get him drunk after the debriefing."

She smiled. "That's not a bad idea." She paused, not certain she wanted to ask; in the end, though, she had to know. "Eric? Do you really forgive me for keeping all this from you?"

"Honestly, Syd. I get it." Sensing the extent of her relief, he pulled her into a quick hug before suggesting they get everyone rounded up and headed back to the airport.

Part XV

By the time she stumbled through her front door, Sydney was more than ready to take advantage of Dixon's offer to give them a day to rest up before the debriefings. Somewhere over the Atlantic, the adrenaline rush had faded and the stress of the situation had caught up with her; she'd crashed pretty hard. Two flights of more than ten hours each within a day didn't help, either. Since she was officially in charge, she didn't feel she should fall asleep in front of the team, even though the mission was essentially over and there was nothing left to do until they were back in LA. Once she was safely alone, however, she kicked off her shoes and fell into bed fully clothed. She'd deal with whatever needed dealing with later.

When she finally emerged from a much-needed sleep, it was late afternoon. She was feeling sufficiently refreshed that she decided to step outside for a few minutes, soak up some of the sunshine she all too frequently missed out on, being stuck in the windowless JTF building when she wasn't being sent halfway around the world.

Opening the front door, she was surprised to find a package on her doorstep. Out of habit she glanced around for any sign of where it came from, even though she had no way of knowing how long it had been sitting there waiting.

The handwriting on the wrapping was familiar, so she exercised only basic caution as she brought the box inside and opened it. He'd had plenty of chances to kill her--it would be incredibly stupid to do so now, when he was so close to getting his immunity.

On top of a layer of tissue paper was a note, asking her to bring the contents with her to the office the next day. Curiosity piqued, she moved the paper aside and started laughing.

Apparently Sark was more bothered by attending meetings in jogging clothes than he'd let on: the box contained a business suit. She was a little surprised he'd been willing to consign it to a box, however carefully folded, but perhaps he realised she'd look a little suspicious, having a garment bag sitting outside her house for a length of time he couldn't possibly predict.

It was a very small favour to ask of her, all things considered, so she decided to humour him. Of course, that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun at the same time.

Leaving the suit in the box, hoping it would wrinkle nicely by morning, she went to take a long shower and wallow in having a day off.

The following morning she threw the suit, box and all, into her car and tossed her purse and private files on the entire Covenant operation, which could finally be added to the CIA's records now that the moles had been taken care of, on top of it. She was heading in to work a bit early, hoping to be there before Sark arrived. She wanted to watch the feed from the security monitors as he passed the checkpoints on the way in.

While waiting she busied herself at her desk, deciding to get a head start on her written report of the mission. She easily deflected questions about the box sitting by her chair; at this point she could get away with teasing Sark, but it was a safe bet her co-workers didn't have that privilege. Every few minutes she glanced over to the guard station where the secret routes into the building were monitored; at the first sign of activity she abandoned her report and made her way over there. It might have been an effect of the less-than-stellar quality of the feed, but as he jogged past the camera Sark looked surprisingly normal. Harmless, even. Once again she was amazed at his ability to blend in when he made the effort.

Grabbing the box from her desk, Sydney went to the secret entrance to wait. Even though news of Sark's cooperation had probably spread throughout the office by now, Dixon had decided it would be best if he were accompanied while in the building. Ostensibly this was to protect JTF employees by preventing anyone from making any well-meant but ill-fated attempts to apprehend Sark, but Dixon knew as well as she did that Sark would see through that pretense easily. Still, she didn't think he'd comment on the polite fiction and risk having her be replaced by more obvious guards. He'd probably enjoy the effect the illusion of his being allowed to wander freely would have on everyone.

Before long he appeared, looking like he'd been doing nothing more strenuous than a leisurely stroll. He wasn't even winded, damn him.

Catching sight of her, he immediately inquired, "Did you bring it?"

"Good morning to you, too," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm fine, thanks. Here," she added, shoving the box into his arms.

"Tell me you didn't leave it folded like this," he protested in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, was I supposed to do something else with it?" she asked brightly. The expression of horror that was slowly creeping over his face was just too cute.

"If you didn't want to iron it, you could at least have hung it up! Have you any idea what folding does to the fabric?"

"Sorry," she repeated less than sincerely. "I didn't realise I was your tailor as well as your handler. If it's too traumatic for you to put on wrinkled clothes, I can always take it away somewhere so you won't have to look at it."

To her amusement, he actually looked torn, as if he couldn't decide whether it would be more hazardous to his precious image to do the debriefing in shorts or a wrinkled suit. Eventually he sighed and reluctantly reached for the box. "No need to do anything so drastic, Miss Bristow. Would you mind telling me where I can change, or is that, too, outside your job description?"

Smothering a laugh, she led him to the men's room before assuming a guard position outside the door. Anyone already inside would just have to take their chances; hopefully no one would be so stupid as to try and take Sark into custody singlehandedly, rather than running for backup.

Before long, he reappeared, shoving the box--now containing the clothes he'd been wearing--at her.

"Aw," she said, false sympathy dripping from her voice, "don't pout. Just be glad I brought it at all. Some of us didn't have the luxury of having more professional clothes, wrinkled or not, to change into when we used that particular entrance."

He glared at her, but refrained from commenting. Instead he fell easily into step beside her as they made their way to the interview room he'd been assigned.

Despite--or perhaps because of--the rumours that had been spreading through the office in the past couple of days, all heads turned to stare as they went past. Clearly word of Sark's arrival had been passed, since all the monitors were sporting nothing more informative than the CIA logo. When they passed the door to his office, Marshall actually waved a greeting; Sark nodded in acknowledgement, which caused surprised murmurs among the spectators.

Once the door was safely closed behind them, Sydney said, "That was a nice thing you did. Returning Marshall's greeting," she clarified when he looked at her curiously. "Do you have any idea how much his status around here just went up? I mean, sure, the tech guys have always appreciated his genius, but everyone else tends to just think he's...weird."

"And a nod from me will change that?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, it will make them wonder how he knows you well enough to have earned it. At the risk of adding to your already over-inflated ego, pretty much everyone here is familiar with your file, and frankly saying 'hi' to someone like Marshall doesn't really fit in with your reputation. Maybe they'll give him a little respect for a while."

"I see. Anything I can do to help, of course." She didn't have to look to know he was smirking; it came through quite clearly in his voice. As long as he didn't turn around and mock Marshall where he might find out, she'd allow Sark his amusement.

"Anyway, someone will be in shortly to take the debriefing. I should probably warn you--while they may use one of the people who normally do this stuff, it's more likely they'll want to assign you someone who won't be intimidated by you. That might mean Dixon will do it himself, but it's more likely to be my father." She smiled apologetically; even in a benign interrogation, her father could be quite intimidating himself.

"I appreciate the information."

Just then the door opened behind her, and as she'd suspected, her father walked in. "Here you are, Sydney. I believe McManus is waiting for you in interview room seven."

Having no difficulty picking up on the undertones, Sydney excused herself and headed for her own debriefing. Before she had even closed the door behind her, her father had settled himself on the far side of the table and began asking questions of Sark.

Not surprisingly, this debriefing was rather more grueling than most. Although Dixon had clearly briefed him on the basics of the longterm operation, McManus had plenty of questions on missions she'd nearly forgotten about. Trying to recall everything without referring to her written reports proved more exhausting than she'd imagined; by the time McManus decided to break for lunch, she welcomed the reprieve.

Emerging from the interview room, she saw her father talking to one of the analysts; clearly he and Sark had stopped for lunch as well. Looking around, she didn't see Sark anywhere; a brief query to Dixon revealed that he wasn't being allowed to leave the room. Dixon said he'd offered to have something from the cafeteria brought in, but Sark had refused.

Sydney looked longingly over to where Weiss was joking with Marshall and Carrie, but her conscience wouldn't let her join them. It couldn't be any fun, spending an hour alone in a room that was even smaller than his former cell had been. Cursing herself for being too soft-hearted, she ran across the street to her favourite deli and got lunch for Sark as well as herself.

Fifteen minutes later she was back in the JTF building, fumbling with the handle to the briefing room door as she juggled several containers of food. She almost had it when the door was opened from the other side, leaving her struggling not to lose her balance. She looked up into Sark's amused gaze and smiled sheepishly. "Hi."

"Hi," he replied in mock solemnity before reaching to take some of the packages from her.

"Thanks." Now that she had fewer things to worry about not dropping, it was easy to straighten up and close the door behind her.

"And what is all this?" he asked, watching as she began laying containers out on the table.

"I know your preferred lifestyle is far removed from that of us lowly people who earn our money legally, but surely you can recognise food when you see it."

He rolled his eyes and rephrased. "Yes, but what is it doing here?"

"I thought you might like company rather than sitting in here without even anything to read for an hour. And since I'm not about to skip lunch, it seemed only polite to bring some for you. If you don't want it, that's fine with me; I'll take the extra home for dinner." Not waiting for his reply, she sat and began opening containers and dishing food out onto one of the paper plates the deli had provided.

After a few moments of silence, Sark came around and resumed his seat. "I...apologise, Sydney. I was not expecting anyone. May I?" He shot a glance at the food before returning his gaze to hers.

"Dig in. Oh, there are bottles of water in my purse," she remembered, setting down her fork long enough to pull them out and offer him one.

Though there wasn't much conversation, the remainder of their lunch break passed amicably. It was going to be hard, the next time she ran into him, to remember that Sark was once again the enemy. It had taken her so long to adjust to working with him, but now she thought it would be just as difficult to revert her thinking to what it had been merely a year ago.

When their time was up, Sydney rose and quietly began gathering their trash. She was in the middle of consolidating the leftovers into fewer containers when the door opened and her father walked in.

"Sydney, I wasn't expecting to find you here," he said, clearly confused and perhaps a little disapproving. It could be so hard to tell.

"Just keeping Sark company, since he wasn't allowed to leave for lunch. I'm on my way out now."

"I see."

She could feel his gaze following her as she grabbed everything and withdrew. Yes, that was definitely disapproval, though she couldn't think why; she wasn't delaying the resumption of the debriefings, and it wasn't like she and Sark had discussed what they were going to say. She would be very surprised if the CIA hadn't left the recording equipment in Sark's room running over the break, so she could even prove that.

Well, there was no use worrying about it now; it could take a team of expert psychologists years to figure out what Jack Bristow was thinking at any given moment, so it was pointless for her to try. With a mental shrug, she deposited their garbage in a trash can and the leftovers in the break room fridge before returning to her own interview room. Soon the question was pushed from her mind entirely by the debriefing process.

Although they weren't nearly finished, eventually McManus called it a day and released her for the night. Most of her co-workers had gone home already, but judging from the closed door, her father was still questioning Sark. She decided to return to her desk rather than going straight home, but she spent more time glancing over at the interview rooms than attending to the paperwork she was supposedly catching up on. Nearly two hours later, there was still no sign of her father or Sark, so she gave up and went home.

When she got to work the next morning she found the suit hanging on the back of her chair. Where Sark had come up with a hanger around the office, she couldn't imagine, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd conjured something seemingly out of mid-air. Shaking her head in bemusement, she put her things away before grabbing the suit and heading for the secret entrance.

She soon spotted Sark coming down the corridor. Before he could say anything, she called out, "I thought I told you your wardrobe wasn't my responsibility."

"Good morning to you, too, Agent Bristow."

"You know, when I got here this morning and saw you'd left me your suit--again--I thought about throwing it out, because catering to your vanity really isn't my problem. But then I realised: I can't pass up the chance to see if you'll actually be willing to wear the same clothes two days in a row. So consider yourself lucky."

"I'm so pleased I can provide you with such amusement." By this time he was close enough to take the hanger from her, though he didn't. It seemed he was also expecting her to carry it for him. Egotistical bastard. "Perhaps tomorrow you would be so kind as to at least arrange for a clean shirt."

"Okay, see, remember what I said about 'not my problem'? What part of that did you not understand?"

"Come now, Sydney. Are you expecting me to believe that if you'd requested it, your handler wouldn't have provided you with clean, suitable clothing when you were unable to enter this building publicly?"

"I-- But-- He-- That is so beside the point!" It had been a while since Sark had been able to make her this flustered; she hadn't missed the amused, superior expression currently on his face. "Vaughn and I were friends."

"Oh, right, of course. Whereas we--how did it go? 'We're not friends, we'll never be friends'? How silly of me to forget."

"Shut up." They'd reached the men's room, so she threw the suit at him and took up her position by the door. He was actually chuckling as he went in, leaving her determined to get herself back under control before he emerged.

This time her father was already waiting when she deposited Sark at the interview room, so she went straight to her own. The day passed much as the previous one had; though she was still annoyed with him, she again spent her lunch break keeping Sark company. It seemed like the right thing to do. Anyway, it wasn't like she could eat with anyone else--agents were Strongly Discouraged from discussing missions before the debriefing was finished. To be honest, they were officially forbidden from discussing them at all, but Dixon had more realistic expectations of his employees than Kendall had. Since everyone else had only been involved in one mission, they were done with their debriefings already, and were almost certainly talking about it. Considering the secrecy surrounding the whole thing, it was inevitable that people would start pestering her with questions she wasn't allowed to answer just yet.

Even worse, everyone would expect her to be happy that the Covenant was gone. On one level, she was; she knew that each such group they could bring down made the world a safer place. The problem was that the predominant emotion Sydney felt was more along the lines of dissatisfaction. Discontent. She finally had her vengeance, and it only left her feeling empty.

She'd felt something similar when they'd destroyed the Alliance, but at least back then she still had Sloane and, later, her mother to track down. There was also the beginning of her relationship with Vaughn to help fill the void. This time there really wasn't anyone left she had a personal stake in professionally, and as far as her personal life went...well, that was still non-existent. Her friendship with Weiss was no longer haunted by secrets, but beyond that the only person she'd felt at all close to lately was, surprisingly, Sark. Not even torture could get her to admit it, but privately she had to acknowledge how well they complemented each other; if only he had a sense of morality she'd be tempted to suggest they recruit him just so she could request him as a permanent partner. It had really been nice working with someone who not only was able to keep up with her, but actually challenged her. Once she'd stopped fighting it, he'd even turned out to be one of the few people these days who could make her laugh. Naturally their collaboration would be over once they were finished debriefing, leaving her in some ways no better off than she had been a year ago.

Though finally having the rollercoaster Saga of Sydney and Vaughn over with for good, while sad, was definitely a step in the right direction. Now she knew she could move on with her life, which was an improvement.

In the end, it took the better part of a week before McManus was satisfied that she'd related everything that might prove important. Her father--perhaps because he, too, found amusement in tormenting Sark, though he'd probably never say as much--kept Sark tied up for another half-day before reporting to Dixon. She and Sark exchanged looks through the open door of the briefing room; apparently he had no more idea of how things went than she did. Her father was so hard to read.

Half an hour later, she was summoned to Dixon's office and asked to bring Sark with her. "What's this about?" she asked as they took the open seats in front of his desk, next to her father.

"Much as the CIA would like me to be able to say otherwise, after hearing his debriefing it is Jack's opinion that Mr. Sark has fulfilled his side of our deal. Which leaves me no choice but to fulfill my part," Dixon explained, sliding some papers across the desk. "Your immunity agreement, as promised."

Sark casually reached out and drew the document closer, giving it a cursory perusal before leaning back in his chair and saying, "Your honesty is appreciated, Director Dixon. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Dixon hesitated, then asked, "Just out of curiosity, did you ever get your money back?"

A self-satisfied expression spread across Sark's face. "Oh, yes. The majority of it, at any rate."

"I don't suppose there's any chance you would agree not to use it to fund attacks against US interests." Sark just looked at him contemptuously. "That's what I thought. Well, it was worth a try."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. Agent Bristow, please escort Mr. Sark from the building. Sark, you have 48 hours to leave the Los Angeles area. After that, the state of affairs between us returns to normal."

"Understood." He rose and shook Dixon's hand, then turned to leave. Sydney hastily rose to follow.

Helpless to do anything else--an order was an order, and as long as there was no reason to do otherwise she preferred to follow them--Sydney trailed after Sark as he made his leisurely way across the bullpen. At one point he stopped, turning to her with that annoying amused look on his face, and waited for her to catch up.

"I know you've enjoyed our collaboration, Sydney, but dawdling now won't extend it by any appreciable amount of time."

"Thank you for reminding me of just why I'm not going to miss this," she retorted.

"No need to be bashful; I, too, found working together to be stimulating. It's not too late for you to reconsider my offer, you know. The compensation package has recently gone up considerably."

Shaking her head in amused disbelief at his persistence, Sydney laughed. "Pity for you that I don't do this for the money, then."

"Yes, that much is quite obvious," he said disdainfully, glancing around the office.

It was a good thing she believed in what she was doing and who she was doing it for, she thought. Most of the time. Usually. More than the alternative, at any rate. Because the last thing she wanted was to be tempted to accept.

Belatedly she noticed that he was heading not for the exit, but the men's room. Must not want to be seen leaving this building any more than entering it, she concluded as she waited for him to change one last time. That shouldn't surprise her; Sark was nothing if not thorough. He had to be, she supposed, to have survived this long on the side of this business where you couldn't ever trust anyone not to turn on you. Another reason to keep refusing his attempts to get her to join him.

When he came out again, Sydney discovered that the sight of Sark in workout clothes--so bizarre just a week ago--no longer struck her as noteworthy. That realisation had to be the reason she just stood there dumbly, unable to think of anything to say.

"Well, Ms. Bristow, since you stubbornly insist on remaining here, it appears this is goodbye for the time being," he said at last.

"I guess so," she replied lamely. He held the suit out toward her and her hands reached out automatically to take it.

He raised one eyebrow slightly and cocked his head as if to say, "Is that the best you can do?" She fought down a blush.

"Just so there are no misunderstandings.... Should you change your mind, contact me. Otherwise, be aware that the next time we meet all cooperation between us will be at an end."

"I know that."

"Do you, Sydney? You seem to have a problem accepting sometimes that business is just that, business, and does not allow for personal considerations."

"I get it, Sark," she repeated. Annoyance at being treated like she was too stupid or too naive to understand that their truce had been a temporary thing drove out whatever it was that had prevented her from being able to think of anything to say. "Don't worry, I fully intend to kill you the next time you interfere with one of my missions."

"I'll look forward to it, then." With one final smirk, he turned and began the quarter-mile walk back to the secret entrance.

It wasn't until he'd left the building that she realised she still had his suit in her hands. With a mental shrug, she decided to figure out what to do with it later; for now, it could hang over the back of her chair as it had for the past several nights.

When the time finally came to leave work, she was so tired that she gathered her belongings on autopilot. She was home before she noticed that pile of things in the passenger seat was larger than usual. Sydney had to laugh at herself; for someone whose very life often depended on her observation skills, she sure seemed to be having problems with them today.

She took the suit inside with her anyway. All through dinner she kept staring at it, draped over the back of the couch where she'd dropped it on her way in, mocking her.

Returning it was out of the question. Even if for some reason Sark hadn't gotten rid of his--bugged--cell phone the instant he left the building that afternoon, getting rid of the number the CIA now had in the process, she wouldn't be willing to contact him. He'd read more into it than was really there, and she'd be stuck having to put up with more of those comments on destiny that she wasn't going to miss. And she certainly couldn't just leave it lying around--that was bound to cause comment. She didn't often have visitors, but since those she did have were all trained agents, they'd tend to notice if she had men's clothes in her hall closet.

Giving it away was an option, but somehow not an appealing one.

In the end, she approached the suit warily, feeling as though it might reach out and grab her at any moment. Carefully she carried it down the hall and into her room, hanging it in the very back of her walk-in closet, behind the old sweatshirts she'd borrowed from her father after coming back to find her own clothes long-since destroyed but never had occasion to wear, and which would keep it well-hidden should anyone but her ever enter her closet.

Well, you never knew.