| | "What’s this?"
Sark plucks up the silvery green CD from her purse and looks expectantly at Allison. Anger sparks in her eyes and is just as quickly veiled. This time Sark is able to pick out one of the old expressions that move on her new face. It is still somewhat disconcerting to see the Allison face lurking under the Francie one; to see her quirks and mannerisms rise up and take over. It is almost like a form of possession.
"It’s nothing. Just video of Sydney Bristow. It’s some files I’ve culled from the surveillance bugs that I had planted before..."
Sark didn’t have to hear anymore. Before Sydney Bristow had done her Persephone act and returned from the land of the dead. For two years he had been trapped--tumbled down into the black hole that was CIA custody--believing Allison was dead. His only consolation was that he had thought he was finally free of Sydney’s influence--and now...slowly he paces around the loft that they have made into their latest base of operations. His shoes grit on the concrete floor as he considers the CD. Allison stands near the desk planted squarely in the center of the cavernous space, hand held out imperiously demanding the return of her property. Sark crosses to stand in front of her.
"She has almost as many lives as you dear heart." He traces her shoulder--fingers finding the outline of the bullet wounds. Irritated Allison shrugs him off. Sark smiles; something on that CD was interesting indeed. Whatever it could be is able to penetrate the studied indifference and cruelty Allison wraps herself in--the better to conceal the stunning savagery she is capable of. He taunts her.
"Now what on earth could Sydney be doing on this that has you so worked up? Is she saying mean things about Francie behind her back, borrowing her clothes without asking...?" Allison narrows her eyes and tries to take the disk away; he holds it out of her reach. She has betrayed herself; now he understands exactly what is on the disk. His victorious smile lets Allison know he knows. He spins the disk by the edges.
"Allison, you never used to be such a voyeur..."
"Fuck off." Her voice is flat and unamused.
"Still must be a sight to behold--our Agent Bristow must be quite talented to affect even a jaded sophisticate like you my love." His smile is mocking.
Sark is the only man Allison knows who is able to climb into her head and make himself at home there; others are too afraid. She loves him all the more for it but it still isn’t any less infuriating when he does it--killers shouldn’t have empathy. She plays at boredom.
"Actually it is rather dull--by and large--just her and Vaughn fucking like rabbits in the most banal fashion. Even on our worst day we’re never that tedious."
"So why do you have it then?"
She resists the urge to curl her hands into fists; she matches his smile with a cool one of her own.
"I thought we might bring it to the meet with Sloane and offer it to him for a price. Perhaps he can use it to blackmail her." She shrugs as if she really doesn’t care.
"Blackmail is rather beneath us isn’t it?"
Evenly she says, "Nothing is beneath us--besides Sloane would love to do that, he must be dying to jump at any opportunity to pay that bitch back."
"Fun is fun Allison, but now it’s time to be a good girl and fess up...There is something on here that must be worth seeing and I for one am very curious as to what that might be." He loads the CD into the computer sitting on the desk and waits. "Unless of course you would rather I didn’t..."
This is the best part of the game--they are usually so evenly matched that any advantage one has over the other must be ruthlessly exploited, she doesn’t admit to any weakness--he knew she wouldn’t. Instead she coolly perches a hip on the desk and crosses her legs neatly.
He smiles at her--his good girl always so ready for fun--and starts the disk.
The crisp images blip up on screen, their prosaic digital reality at odds with the subject matter. The scene shows a bedroom slightly distorted as though by a fish-eye lens--two figures move intimately on a bed in a manner as old as time. Allison shrugs,
"Told you it was boring." And she is right--once Sark gets past the momentary voyeuristic thrill of seeing Sydney and Vaughn engaged in an act they believe to be private--there is really nothing remarkable to the video. Allison continues, "That feed is from the television in her room--I planted devices everywhere--top quality ones, the latest generation from Singapore--and most of them pick up mundane bullshit of the purest ray serene. Drove me nuts having to go through it all. You know for a secret agent, Sydney Bristow is surprisingly dull."
Sark doesn’t buy it. The Allison he knew would never waste time collecting any information she didn’t have an immediate or devastating use for. He stares at the images; as if by sheer force of will he can uncover their fascination for her.
"Does she offer any juicy surprises then--any top secret disclosures during pillow talk?" He is trying to bait her into showing her hand early in the game. She is too seasoned a player for that.
"Not unless sappy declarations of love and juvenile mushiness are your idea of top secret information. Really quite sickening to hear actually--" She leans over to shut off the video. Sark stops her, holding her wrist.
"I think I’ll watch for a bit longer." He watches her face; she lifts her brows and leans back as if to say--suit yourself. Is that a bluff he can see in her eyes? He is about ready to give up and admit defeat when the image changes. Scenes of Sydney and Vaughn in the shower this time. Allison shifts slightly on the desk--the sound quality is good, those bugs really were top of the line--as Sydney’s cries of passion are heard, even over the spray of the water.
"Never pegged her for a screamer..." Gently Sark rests his hand on Allison’s knee, waiting for a reaction. She says nothing--all controlled cynical cool. Time to up the ante. He strokes her thigh loving the feel of the fine silk stockings wrapping her legs. She sighs and her eyes stay closed slightly longer than necessary for an ordinary blink. Allison speaks, her voice distant with memory.
" Oh yes. When she really got going she sounded like she was on her way to a five-alarm fire. Or someone who has just discovered a deep and meaningful personal relationship with her God." She grins wickedly.
Sark curls his mouth to match her smile. "Really?" Sark leans over her and nuzzles her neck briefly inhaling her scent until she pulls away--still playing for the upper hand. He is patient and sits back and they keep watching.
The scene shifts once more.
Sydney’s back blurs the camera until she moves away and Sark sees her haughtily standing in front of a chair. She is wearing tarty red lingerie and holding a riding crop. Her expression is cool and imperial and sexy all at the same time as she slowly runs the riding crop through her black gloved hands. A shirtless Michael Vaughn is in the chair looking at Sydney with the foolish and not-quite-believing grin of a man who has just died and gone to heaven. The sharp crack of the crop on leather makes him jump a little but if anything his smile widens even more.
Sark looks at Allison with feigned disbelief on his face. "Your idea of 'surprisingly dull' is rather remarkable darling." He can see she is getting heated--in both senses of the word--she is angry at being caught out in a lie and doubly so because she is being aroused by the image of her enemy. She pushes his hand off her leg abruptly and moves to stand up. Sark traps her on the desk, kissing her roughly. She sinks into his mouth greedily. He twines his hand in her dark hair and twists her head to watch the screen.
" Lets’ watch a little more shall we?"
Despite the pain his hand is causing her eyes sparkle as she nods. He loosens his grip and drops his hand, fingertips dipping into her blouse. Their eyes are locked on the screen. Allison doesn’t even look away when his fingers find her hard nipple and pinches it sharply. She only draws a shuddering breath and leans into his touch.
Sydney is using the riding crop on Vaughn in a very inventive fashion. She is acting enough of the dominatrix to strike him with it every now and then, but she soothes the angry marks with her lips and tongue. Sark notices Vaughn’ trembling hands gripping the arms of the chair. The effort he is making to remain still is not lost on the other man watching--especially once Sydney straddles him and wraps her long legs around him. Sydney notices too--she cautions him to remain still by dangling a set of handcuffs in front of him and with a sinful smile warns him explicitly what she will do if he so much as moves. Sark isn’t at all surprised when Vaughn succumbs to the temptation to hold that exquisite girl in order to guarantee such delicious punishment.
He smiles thinking of the many things he could teach her and feathers kisses down Allison’s neck, stopping where the silky column meets her shoulder. He bites down exactly where she likes it best. She moans and cups his face tenderly looking at him.
"Enjoying the show then?" She is gracious in defeat--willing to play any game he should choose to play.
"Most definitely. You?" Dark glee dances in his eyes. In answer she takes his hand and guides it up under her skirt. His fingers trail over the tops of her stockings, skipping up the straps of her garter belt--such a dirty girl his Allison--to brush against the damp heat he can feel behind the thin silk barrier of her underwear. They smile at one another in perfect understanding. Their lips meet in a passionate kiss, the sighs and groans they make are echoed by the pair on the screen. Allison surfaces first--pushing Sark back--twisting away slightly from the tender ministrations of his hands. He looks at her bemused by her uncharacteristic reticence. She rolls her eyes,
"The next one is really the best of them all. But I have to explain. So stop for a second and listen okay? I bugged her car as well as Vaughn’s--hid the transmitters just behind the dash--the video is from her car. She goes to meet him for an operation. The target is some asshole called Delgado--Frankie Delgado--some low-level mafia sleaze with a weakness for hookers. They discuss the kind he likes because Bristow’s going to go undercover as one. See Delgado likes his whores young and preferably with red hair. But a complete bulletproof kink for this guy is southerners--real cheesy Daisy-Mae southern belle types. So Sydney’s all dressed up to intercept this guy as the best cornpone country pussy the CIA can create."
"You have got to be kidding me. How does she keep a straight face in a get-up like that?"
"Oh it’s better than that...Delgado never shows for the meet--he gets delayed."
"So what happens?"
Allison directs his gaze to the screen, "Special Agents Bristow and Vaughn play a little dress-up and pretend..."
The wide-angle view covers the whole of the car’s interior. The resolution is good enough to compensate for the low light levels--the image is only a little grainy. Vaughn sits in the driver’s seat, its obvious he’s impatient. He is peering out the windscreen at someone out of camera range--he checks his watch--then speaks into a headset.
"Any sign of the target Mountaineer?"
Sark and Allison cannot hear her reply but it’s clear her answer is negative. Vaughn’s face telegraphs his frustration.
"Okay stay put. I’ll contact the agents sitting on his place. Boy Scout out." Vaughn places a call on his cellular and quickly determines Delgado hasn’t left his apartment and seems unlikely to this evening.
"Mountaineer--you may as well come in out of the cold. Delgado isn’t going anywhere tonight."
Shortly after this a woman taps on the passenger window. Vaughn rolls it down and long red hair spills over the woman’s shoulder as she bends down into the car.
"Looking for some comp’ny sugah?" The voice is straight out of an antebellum civil war epic. Almost a parody of an accent it’s that thick.
"Cut it out Sydney--that outfit is ridiculous."
"Oh I don’t know..." She has switched back into her normal voice "Caught you looking pretty hard at my legs when I got out of the car." She swings open the door and climbs in. The interior light gives Sark and Allison the chance to see the infamous disguise.
It is the very epitome of hooker-wear, everything is either too short or too tight or both. A sheer off the shoulder mesh top is layered over a black push-up bra, and was that actually a leopard skin print skirt she was wearing? Sark looks over incredulously at Allison--she smiles and kisses him. "I told you that this was the best one--isn’t she so delightfully trashy?" Allison’s eyes are hooded, her posture loose and languid under the effect of Sark’s hands. She sighs and leans back opening wider for him.
"Very trashy. I never knew that was a thing with you my love."
" Oh it isn’t--not that--it’s them. The two of them together playing their games, so earnestly. Never knowing I’m watching the whole time. Watching and laughing at them."
" Ah it’s the scorn is it?" He stands Allison up and slides her skirt and panties off--he leaves the stockings on. He crouches and runs his hands up her dark legs--made darker still by the hose--marveling a little at the contrast his hand makes on her skin. "Cruelty and contempt making you all hot and wet..." His fingers grip her thighs forcing them apart. Sark looks up at her as she stands regally above him. "You are divine." And he dips his head to taste her. Allison’s head drops back from the pleasure. He is talented; licking her slowly, tongue rolling over her clit, fingers easing deep into her wetness to brush against the walls of her cunt--his movements are unhurried and calculated. Now is not the time for urgency--she still wants to watch. Tenderly she strokes the hair of her wonderful boy--his cold killer’s eyes shut as he makes her shudder with the heat of his mouth.
She turns her attention back to the video; she wonders how often they have played games after Sydney assumes an alias. She slips into her roles so easily; almost as if she is happy to leave the girl she is behind. Allison understands that. She left the woman she was behind too. "Trouble is Sydney," she murmurs, "Sometimes you can’t go back..." Sark has brought her to the brink but she doesn’t want to cross over alone. She pulls him up to her--he reluctantly obeys--chin slicked with her juice. She licks him clean--pink tongue tasting herself and bids him watch.
"Here’s where things get interesting. Bristow is quite the actress..."
Indeed she is. Vaughn doesn’t understand at first that they are still playing the game she started; he is all business, planning tactics for the next meet.
"Looks like we may get a chance to intercept Delgado tomorrow night, you game for that?"
"I’m ready for whatever you want to do sugar, just so long as I get paid." The honey is creeping into her voice again. Vaughn looks at her and frowns, unsure. She stays in role, the identity fitting her better and better with every passing moment as she warms to it.
"’ Course no reason you and I can’t have us some fun is there?" She trails one long red lacquered fingernail down the front of his shirt. Her mouth assumes the practiced pout of a porn actress. "You up for some fun baby?"
"Syd--what?" She shushes him with a kiss, hand dropping into his lap. Vaughn starts and holds her back. "Wait--we can’t. Not here..."
"Why not? No one’s around--even if there is--who cares?" Her eyes are wide and glassy at the prospect of public sex. Vaughn looks at the woman he holds in his arms--breasts all but spilling out of the cheap bra, skirt riding up her thighs, auburn whore’s hair tumbling down her back--she is so obviously ready to play the prostitute for him.
" Go on man--she wants to--you fool..." Sark is urging Vaughn on as he lays Allison down on the desk. He presses himself against her and she moans and spreads her legs for him, feeling the emptiness inside. "Tell me the poncy twit doesn’t pass that up?" He looks down at the woman pinned underneath him
"Watch and see..." Her hips lift helplessly when she finally feels him glide into her--entering her slippery wetness easily--her pussy is hot and soft and full, aching like a bruise. Sark thrusts slowly, pulling his cock almost all the way out before sinking into Allison again. Her breath is catching deep in her chest; wonderful heavy darkness is growing in her belly. Sark is supporting himself on his arms; Allison can feel fine tremors running down them when she presses her sweaty face against them--lips finding the beat of his pulse, tasting the salt of his skin. Sark’s eyes mirror electronic reflections of the computer screen--his eyes don’t waver even as she gasps and quakes from his movements.
On the screen, Vaughn has apparently made his choice. He and Sydney are kissing--awkwardly fumbling in the closed space of the car--searching for bare flesh to caress. Her clever hands have pulled most of his shirt out of his pants; she yanks down on his tie, popping a button off of his collar in her impatience to touch his skin--Sark can hear the tiny tick it makes as it strikes the window. Then she remembers the rules of the game, she pulls back leaving Vaughn panting and confused.
"You like hon’?"
"Yes. God yes!" He reaches for her again.
"Then you have to pay--I don’t give freebies."
Vaughn blinks. Sark sees the idea penetrate his desire-fogged brain. Then he smiles--he understands the rules now.
"How much?"
"Depends on what you want honey. Twenty for a suck job. Fifty gets you a half and half." Sark is slightly surprised to hear Sydney use such coarse vocabulary--she seems completely at ease using the language of the streets. Excited even. His own blood beats faster and he can feel the familiar tightening deep in his gut. Allison is rocking beneath him--lost in her own world.
Vaughn digs out his wallet and gropes for the money. Sydney takes it and tucks it into her bra with a cool professional smile as she conducts her business.
"What do you want me to do first sugar?" Vaughn leans back cupping her face, thumb stroking her mouth, then his hand slides around to the back of her neck and he guides her head down into his lap. Sydney curls her tongue against her teeth and looks up at her client with practiced lust as she undoes his fly and reaches for him. All Sark can see is the ginger fall of her hair as she takes Vaughn into her mouth. She moves over him expertly; moaning and sucking exactly like the whore she is pretending to be. Vaughn’s neck cords and he gasps, fisting his hands in her hair. "Jesus. Jesus God Syd!" She licks at him, running her tongue down the underside of his cock, loving eyes locked on his.
Sark bends to his lover and whispers in her ear. "You really should have shown this to me earlier--she is quite the slut. You just wanted to keep it all to yourself didn’t you..." He pushes himself deep into her-hard-he wants her to feel his excitement. Allison’s eyes swim with desire. It’s painful to be used so roughly but this is always the best way with him. She is so close.
"Why?" she counters, "Do you want her too?"
"Would you like that--watching me with her?" Sark never speeds up--just keeps sliding into her in a steady rhythm--slowly driving her insane. Allison can feel the orgasm drawing near--just out of reach now--bloodshot darkness pounds behind her closed eyes.
"Yes. Yes. I want to watch you with her...using her, hurting her..."
Sark looks over at the image of Sydney--she is straddling Vaughn’s lap now--his hands grip her ass under her vulgar skirt as she slowly fucks him. Sark feels the gathering heat as his own blood begins to rise.
" And then...after I’ve hurt her. What then?"
" Then I kill her--kill her slow while you watch." Allison is tipping over the edge now; sheet lightning is sizzling along her nerves.
" My love..." He captures her mouth--kissing her while she cries out and comes beneath him.
Sark follows her a heartbeat after--the two-year-old images of Sydney and Vaughn play their innocent games unnoticed as two more-hardened players retreat into the endgame of their own. ****
Sydney arrives home from work--dog tired and beaten. All she longs to do is burrow under the blankets of her bed and shut out the visions of Michael Vaughn and Lauren Reed together but Weiss won’t let her wallow. He’s coming over to take her out to dinner. Eric’s so sweet but I don’t know if I can take much more kindnesses--I need something to be angry at.
She checks her mail and finds a small padded envelope mixed in with the bills. She studies it cautiously--feeling gently for wires or other electronic devices. She smells it--there is no trace of a chemical scent. Finally she decides she can risk opening it. Ah my fucked-up life--can’t even get a letter without it being a crisis.
A small silver-green CD slides out of the package onto her coffee table. There is a typed note still folded inside the envelope. Sydney shakes it out and reads"We Like To Watch--Guess Who?" She doesn’t touch it in case she needs to fingerprint it later.
Her heart is pounding and anxiety blooms in her stomach as she slips the CD into her computer--I wonder if this is about the Lazarey murder?--She presses play. ****
Weiss finds her later--sitting alone in the dark, tears staining her face.
" Syd! What’s wrong?"
She says nothing only holding her arms out to him; he holds her and rocks her as she weeps as if her heart is breaking. She won’t tell him anything and Eric looks around helpless and angry--he barely notices the shattered CD on the floor, lying next to the torn shreds of a note.
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