Do You Regret?
by Nu Yang, for Daera
Vodka doesn't usually burn her throat as she consumes it, but tonight it does. So does his touch. He moves even closer and she has to step away. She has to act inconspicuous. She's on a mission. And apparently he is too, but he just doesn't seem to care about being discreet.
"Where's your team, Agent Bristow?" he asks.
She leans against the bar's counter and pretends she's brushing off an unwanted suitor in the crowded club. She fingers her cold glass. The almost empty glass.
"You mean, you haven't noticed the guns that are pointed at your head?" She has to smirk at his nonchalant pose and how his face is momentarily laced with uneasiness. She checks where he might be hiding his weapon. Ah. There's the budge of a holster underneath his jacket. She automatically touches her own gun, tucked in a garter belt underneath her dress.
"Well, I call your bluff." His eyes almost look black in the dark club. But they shift back to blue as he moves under a fluorescent light. "I say you're alone. No one to watch your back. No one to turn to."
"What do you want, Sark?" she asks with annoyance.
He is amused at her agitation and he only adds more to it by responding with, "To buy you a drink." He motions to the bartender and orders two shots of vodka. He hands her the glass and raises his own. "Cheers." He throws his head back and it goes down in one gulp.
She holds her glass, trying to figure out what he is up to. He is waiting for her to drink so she plays along and takes the shot. It still burns.
"I assume you're here on an assignment," he says. "Though I must say, I don't know how well-equipped you will be lounging about at the bar."
"I can hold my liquor," she says, yet the room is starting to spin a little.
"So can I." His gaze moves from her to the front of the club.
She looks with him and she knows their target has arrived.
He brushes past her, ready to make the first move, ready to defeat her. And his voice is low and dangerous as he says, "Shall we play?" Then, he's off. He pushes past the club patrons, the dancers on the dance floor, clearing the path for himself and for her as well as she follows him.
Their target is a middle-aged man with dark blonde hair dressed in a black suit. He is alone as he scans the club, looking for his contact. But he will not see his contact tonight because Sark has reached him.
"Hello," he says to the startled man. The needle slides from Sark's sleeve and he stabs the poisoned tip into the man's chest.
She watches the man crumble to the ground. She is too late. Too late to extract the information. Too late to save his life.
Sark checks the dead man's pockets and retrieves the small book, running to the exit. She's not far behind as she chases him.
She curses her dress and her heeled boots, and the fact that it is snowing outside and she does not have on a coat. But in a few seconds, she's burning again. Sweat starts to trickle down her face as she runs after Sark with all her might. And then she curses him. For being so fast. For having the upper hand. For... beating her. She immediately takes that back. It's not over yet.
His footsteps are heavy on the white snow. CHOMPCHOMPCHOMP He disappears down an alleyway and she follows the trail of his imprinted boots. She takes out her gun and releases the safety. Her entire body is alert, surveying the darkness.
A single snowflake falls on her bare shoulder and she looks up to see Sark standing on the end of a fire escape ladder. He leaps down, throwing her to the ground with him. The gun is knocked from her hand. He's on top of her and his mouth turns into a patronizing grin. And there's his gun. The barrel fits snuggly against her right temple.
"You know why I'm not going to kill you?" he says. His tone matches his smile.
She struggles underneath him and that only makes him enjoy this more.
"The same reason why I never killed you before." But his gun is still cocked to the side of her head. "And trust me, there were many chances for me to end your life."
She manages to free a hand. She balls it into a fist and swings at his face. He's quick, ducking out of the way and grabbing her hand, tightly squeezing it.
"Your unpredictability is becoming, well, rather predictable, Sydney," he says dryly.
"You son of a--"
"Now, now." He shifts and she moves with him. "There's no need to resort to name-calling." He sits up and brings her along, taking her wrists and pulling her into an upright position. "It seems as though I was correct. You are alone."
Her silence only adds more creditability to his claim.
"Since it's just you and me, let's make the best of it." He lowers his gun, but not his aim. "I suggest we make a trade."
She finds herself asking, "What kind of trade?"
He thinks she's interested and she thinks she might actually be interested in Sark's proposition.
"I give you the book and you give me," his eyes travel down her body, "you."
She shakes her wrists and he tightens his grip on them. The gun rises again.
"I'm not going to sleep with you," she says.
He chuckles. "Don't flatter yourself, Sydney."
"So, what do you want from me?"
"I want you by my side," he says, "as my partner."
"Let me think about it." She pauses. "No."
"Then, I'm afraid I don't have a reason to keep you alive anymore." The gun barrel once again connects with her right temple. "It's been a pleasure." And he smirks.
She moves her head.
Her movement makes him reconsider killing her.
"Change your mind?" he asks.
"Well, I don't want to die," she says. "And certainly not by your hands."
He almost looks hurt by her comment, but he recovers and says, "If you don't want to die, I advise you to take the deal."
She makes herself relax. "Where's your presentation, Mr. Sark?"
"I'm glad you asked." Surprisingly, he lets go of her and stands up. He gestures to her fallen weapon. She slowly stands and picks up the gun. And then he's on her again. A flying fist. A low kick. A twisted arm.
With each fist, each kick, each maneuver, she overcomes them. He's impressed, but then again, so is she. He blocks her every punch and retaliates with his own fist. The smirk never leaves his face.
They're panting when they finally raise their guns at each other. Fuck the hand to hand combat. Bullets aren't as much fun, but they're a hell of lot easier.
Neither one of them pull their trigger though.
"Are you convinced?" he asks.
"Yeah, you're stupider than I thought," she says. "Because now I have a gun pointed at you."
"As do I."
He dares her to shoot.
Double dares her.
And she wants to. Bad.
"You know why I'm not going to kill you?" she asks.
He raises an eyebrow, pleased, and amused at how the tables have turned somewhat.
"Because you're going to give me that book." She waits for him to lower his gun and he does. "And you're going to give me a ride back to your hotel." Now she lowers her gun.
He steps towards her.
She does not meet his eyes, but she feels him move. His leather jacket is suddenly draped over her shoulders.
"I only have one rule." He speaks softly, but she knows his tongue is unkind. "There are no regrets."
There are no regrets.
He walks out of the alleyway first.
She breathes in the scent of his cologne on his jacket, mixing it with the bitterness of the winter air.
She follows him.
END
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Notes:
Daera--I hope you enjoyed this story. When I read what you requested, I wasn't sure what you had in mind. The leather and the vodka kind of made me think smut ;) but I don't write smut. Sorry! I don't mind reading it..hehe..but I cannot write it. I always loved the sexual tension more when it came to Sark and Sydney anyway.
With every piece of fanfiction I write, my first priority is to tell a story. Sure, there's the fluff and the PWP, but that's not me. I hope I accomplished that goal and managed to tell you a good story.
I'm even considering a sequel to this fic. So, thanks for the opportunity to create this story.
Happy Holidays!
Nu
P.S. I always listen to music when I write. In case you're interested, the song I had on repeat while I was writing this was "The Niles Edge" by VAST. Here are the lyrics. I also got the title from it.
my name spells joy
I can't remember darkness
except a dream
you saved my life
do you wonder what you saw
floating softly at the Niles edge
wandering eyes
commitments never can last
it feels so cold
to know our name
I've never known you and I never will
what difference does indifference takes
do you regret what you saw
floating softly at the Niles edge
do you regret
regret what you did
running softly
softly from the Niles edge
alone
Disclaimer: The Alias Universe is the property of ABC, Bad Robot Productions, and JJ Abrams. These works of fanfiction do not infringe that copyright, and no profit is made from them.