The End of All Things
by Celli Lane, for Lia Grace
There was water running somewhere, in the remains of the explosion. Sydney listened to it and wondered vaguely if she would be expected to stop that, too.
Sloane and her father had died together. There was a poetic justice in that; she planned to appreciate that sometime in the far future. The Covenant was destroyed. The Los Angeles branch of the CIA was in rubble. She was going to be in a world of trouble--not that she gave a damn--assuming she ever moved from this spot.
She noticed a movement in the rubble near her, but it was too much trouble to turn her head. It gradually resolved itself into Sark.
"Nice work, Miss Bristow," he said.
Sydney assessed the wound in his leg. He'd probably survive. "Your professional admiration means the world to me, Mr. Sark."
He gave a half-laugh and settled next to her. "Are you a Tolkien fan, Miss Bristow?"
"Of course."
"Let me guess. Your mother read to you from the books when you were a child, and you've always loved them because of your deep association with--"
"Bite me, Sark."
He tilted his head back, brushing against her shoulder as he stared up into the night sky. The blood on his leg was darkening to the color of rubies. "I have something to say to you, and I doubt you'll believe it."
"It's been an unbelievable evening."
His lips twisted slightly. It might have been a smile. "I'm glad to be with you, Sydney Bristow, here at the end of all things."
It took a moment to sink in. "Frodo Baggins you're not."
"No. I suppose not. But I have been by your side throughout the last few months."
"Fighting against me."
"It wasn't a perfect metaphor," Sark said testily.
The cracked ribs hurt when she laughed.
They sat there, staring as dust from the explosion drifted up.
"Why?" she asked finally.
"Why what?"
"You could have killed me at least three times in the last month that I can remember--"
"Four."
"Why? Or better, why not?" Sydney asked.
"Don't you know?"
Sydney turned her head, startled, and looked into a pair of very amused blue eyes. She blinked at him.
Sark levered himself up slowly. Sydney could feel his gaze on her as she stared at her knees.
"You know," he said.
Sydney closed her eyes. She could hear the shuffle of his footsteps fading, and beyond that, the running water. She thought about that, and nothing else, for as long as she could.
***
Sark's cell in CIA custody had a marked lack of bulletproof glass. Other than that, it was remarkably similar to his old one, he noted as he paced its confines. One bed, uncomfortable; one sink, rusted; one mirror, warped.
He made a turn past the bed again and stopped short. One the far side of the bed, leaning drunkenly against the pillows, was a stack of books.
Upon closer reflection, the books turned out to be a complete set of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
Sark sat down--hard.
Any CIA observers would have been startled to see Julian Sark, international villain, chuckling over a battered copy of The Two Towers and then settling in to read them.
end
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