Title: Seeing Stars (the full version)
E-mail: eli @ popullus.net
Spoilers: 3.4
Rating: PG-13
Posted: Oct. 27, 2003
Summary: Sydney and Sark unwittingly do Shakespeare.
Disclaimer: Looking at what's below, they should be glad I can't claim ownership. Read.
A/N: I guess if you need a timeline, this is an epilogue to the end of S3. I know it hasn't happened yet. I can guarantee it won't happen like this. There is no backstory. Much of it makes no sense. I was too lazy to even look anything up, so it's definitely historically innacurate. The only explanation/excuse for the ridiculousness that follows is Rez's comment of "Am I the only one who deciphered 3.04's secret Sarkney message? Romanov and Julia? *dies laughing* I'm just sayin'." and the insanity that has taken over my brain. Kisses to Shaye for a beta that tries to make this a legitimate story.

---

Holly hell, it worked. It never should have worked, and if anyone ever later asks how it did, she'll never be able to tell them. There will be no after-action report, Sydney decides on the spot. Everyone who would read it is here anyway. Staring at them. Through a closed-circuit TV link, yes, but there's staring.

"You should get off me now," she murmurs into Sark's mouth. It was one thing letting the others see them all snuggly before, but he really shouldn't have tackled her after the bad guys were down, no matter how good it feels to have him on top of her...and pressing her into the cold stone floor. Okay, maybe not so good. She pulls back. "Come on, Sark. Get up."

He grins down at her and settles closer instead. "Now why would I want to do that, dear Julia?"

While she wants to purr at the contact, she stiffens at the name. "Don't call me that anymore," she hisses, planting her hands in the middle of his chest and shoving with more force than is really needed, but it does the job. Sark rolls back to his heels and she sits up, leaning on her hands. The triumph that lurks in his eyes makes her follow his gaze down. She snaps her head back up, glaring. Is he trying to get himself killed? Her father will be in here any moment.

He moves from between her legs with a smirk. Bastard.

She's contemplating where to plant the heel of her boot -- it'd be such a shame to mess up that face, but she really doesn't want to damage anything more critical to her happiness -- when a cough makes their heads snap around to look at their audience, which is now standing in the doorway.

"Sorry." Weiss winces and spreads his hands in apology.

Before any form of temptation can say to hell with the audience, Sydney scoots back along the floor, away from Sark.

Dixon enters and takes in the carnage with one glance. "All right, it's time to clean up this mess."

The others trail in behind him. Suddenly it's like being the center attraction in a circus. And, spotting her father and the sour look he's not bothering to conceal, Sydney realizes there's at least one person who's no longer happy with the show. She spares the time for a quick prayer: No heckling the performers, please.

"Great job, both of you." The old grin is back on Dixon's face, the one that signals a satisfactory kill. How long has she been waiting to see that again? He tilts his head toward the bodies, saying, "Vaughn, Weiss..." and they nod and head over to take care of business.

Sydney doesn't look. It's not that they're particularly bloody bodies, since Sanko and the others required only a couple of bullets each, which is really too bad in the bodyguard's case; his eyes had lingered on her cleavage one too many times for even mission-related comfort. It's just that Simon was different. Still evil, but different.

She slants a look at Sark. Different.

"So, Mr. Sark," Dixon says, bringing her attention back to him, "you do realize that the deal you brokered doesn't include walking out of here with that money."

Sark goes still and the "evil" is suddenly more apparent than the "different." Sydney surreptitiously checks to make sure he no longer has his weapon. Good, gone. She'd hate to have to hit him hard enough to get it from him.

"Sir, that money is legally mine." Sark's lips twist. "There's a special thrill in being able to say that, isn't there?"

Sydney's eyes widen when Marshall, of all people, shuffles forward. He's not only in the same room as Sark and holding it together, he's actually going to talk to him? This day is full of wonders.

"Well, yes, the money is technically yours...except that it's not. Yours."

"Um, what?" Weiss looks up from where he's dragged Simon over to the side door. At least he didn't let Vaughn get his hands on that particular body, Sydney reflects. Then Marshall's away and babbling again.

"You see, the Romanovs did have money, lots of it. They ran a country, after all, and that takes more money than I'm ever going to see, even though I've seen a lot of money. You know, Ft. Knox. That tour is--"

Dixon clears his throat, stemming the flood, and Sydney's shock doubles when she sees that Sark is only seconds away from needing to hide a smile. She recognizes that glint in his eyes from the numerous times he's almost laughed in her face.

"--uh, yeah, so, there was the revolution and the money, well, it sort of reverted to the state. I mean, they were no longer in charge and it wasn't really their money at that point, and they were dead anyway -- or at least most of them were, because, clearly, you're here, so someone wasn't -- and what's left of what's sitting in that vault down in the basement, well, it's money that was...technically...stolen..."

Marshall runs down as everyone stares at him.

Vaughn hasn't looked her way since he entered, so she has no clue what he's thinking, but her father's lips are twitching suspiciously and Weiss is outright grinning.

Sydney looks over at Sark and has to cover her mouth with her hand. Going off the frown, Sark is less than pleased. Far less.

"Really," is all he says, and it comes out in three distinct, cold syllables that have Marshall shrinking back again behind the protection of Dixon's bulk.

Sydney hiccups and Sark pins her with a look. She drops her hand and sobers instantly, but it requires extra effort. Poor boy. He crosses his arms, and she'd sign a notarized statement that, right now, he's pouting.

"Sydney."

"Huh?" She turns to find Dixon holding out his hand to her. Yeah, it's probably time to get off the floor. He hauls her up, and he's got that grim "director" look back. "What?"

"There are still going to be questions about 'Julia,' you know. I won't be able to hold off all the official inquiries, even with Lauren's support."

Craning her head around Dixon, Sydney catches Lauren's friendly smile. Uh-huh. Sydney manages to get her mouth to curve in what she hopes is a good, sweet response. Lauren's expression doesn't change to fear, so it must have been good enough. Sydney quickly ducks back.

"I'm thinking about taking a vacation. A nice long one. Where no one ever, ever mentions the name 'Julia' again."

Her father, who has been practically looming to her right, clears his throat. "Yes, that's probably a good idea. Dixon, if I might offer a suggestion--"

There's a snort from the other side of the room; a snort that turns almost immediately into a choking cough, but not before everyone turns to look at Weiss.

For the first time since he entered the room, Vaughn opens his mouth -- and Sydney stares when what comes out of it is: "What the hell, Weiss?"

"Oh, c'mon, I can't be the first one to make the connection." Weiss waves his hand at her and then at Sark. He keeps waving, and everyone follows his gesture, heads going back and forth between them like they're at a tennis match or something.

Giving in, she looks at Sark.

"Would you care to share, Agent Weiss, or is this an impromptu quiz?"

Uh-oh, danger boy's getting impatient.

"It never really hit me before, but then, we've never really repeated 'Romanov' over and over, and 'Julia' over and over. And we sure haven't been treated to a display of--" Weiss catches Sark's expression and revises whatever he planned to say to, "--friendship between you two like we just saw. Awfully lovey-dovey there, Syd."

Who knows what Weiss is driving at in that first part, Sydney's attention is all on her father and her mind is moaning, "Oh, no." She knows that look, and it's not the derision he always used to direct at Vaughn. Worried that Armageddon is poised to descend upon their heads, she's ready to take her chances with whatever comes out of her mouth -- and Marshall giggles.

Everyone turns. The giggles peter out and Marshall is left standing there in the middle of the loudest silence ever. Until Sark fills the gap.

"You have no idea how pleased I am that someone understands what is going on here. Now if only it wasn't one of the Hardy boys..."

"Can it, Sark," Dixon says absently.

Sark's mouth snaps shut. Wow. Just...wow.

"Weiss. Marshall." That would be Dixon's chiding-father face. Sydney didn't even do anything and she feels the need to confess a sin. Marshall gulps and cracks without a whimper.

"It's not like they're lovers or anything--" Sydney winces and Marshall boggles. "You mean--?"

Sark may have been momentarily stunned by Dixon's reprimand, but he's still capable of scaring the crap out of Marshall with a single look. Hunching his shoulders, Marshall stumbles on. "We-well, okay. But you have to admit that even without knowing that...they've always been on opposite sides, almost raised to hate each other...when you throw in the names, it's-it's sort of obvious."

Oh, god.

"Are you implying that you two see my daughter and Sark playing out some sort of Romeo and Juliet story, Marshall?"

And that would be the tone her father uses to freeze men's balls off. Weiss grimaces. Marshall stutters. Sydney doesn't blame them.

Lauren, whose mouth has dropped wide open, is making noises. Sydney looks over at her in amazement. She's not--?

She bursts out in laughter and Sydney doesn't know whether Lauren needs to be hit for being a bitch or hugged for preventing her father from squashing her idiotic friends. Vaughn goes over and puts his hand on Lauren's arm and pulls her close. "Honey..."

"'Star-crossed lovers,'" Lauren snickers. She actually snickers. She knows how to snicker?

A mutter emerges from behind Sydney and her father spins on Sark. "You have something to add?"

Sark bares his teeth. "Star. Crossed. My. Arse. Is that clear enough for you, Bristow?"

Sydney hides her face in her hands. Maybe not star-crossed, but they're definitely doomed.

***

Everyone else fled the scene -- quite literally in Marshall's case, and with a worried glance on Weiss' part -- but Sydney's stuck. She casts a wary look at the men on either side of her and considers the potential ramifications of taking a couple steps back out of the line of fire.

Life was significantly easier when she didn't worry about her father killing Sark with a patented Jack Bristow stare-of-death.

"Don't expect me to welcome this development."

Sydney bites her lip, feeling the chill from the menace in her father's voice. It was better when he was just glaring.

"No, of course not," Sark purrs.

Oh. Oh, please don't taunt--

"What exactly do you mean by that, Sark?"

And definitely don't start leaning in! Sydney throws out her arms, flattening her hands against both men's chests, feeling very much like she's about to get squashed between two immovable forces.

"Okay. We're going to stop and take some deep breaths before I have to kick both your asses."

She feels Sark vibrate under her hand and turns to deal with him first, sure that her father won't do anything with her back to him.

"Look, this is already bad enough, don't you dare make it worse by poking at him," she hisses. "If you hadn't--"

"Darling Sydney..." At the sound of her father shifting behind her at those words, Sydney puts her hand over Sark's mouth. He raises his eyebrows and she does her best not to react when he licks her palm.

"Just...don't. Let me talk to him." She sees his eyes go to the man behind her and she throws in, "Please."

"If you two wouldn't mind..."

Sydney mouths the plea again, willing Sark to shut up and let her handle this. That's the only way they're walking out of here without getting any more blood on the floor, he'd better understand that. He finally nods and she spins to face the narrow-eyed glare from her father head-on.

"Dad..."

"Sydney." His expression doesn't change a bit as he bites off her name, and she can tell it's only the force of his will that's keeping his attention on her instead of Sark -- who'd better not be smirking or making faces or anything behind her back. She doesn't check. That would only be thumbing her nose at trouble.

"It wasn't something I planned, or expected to happen." She tries a smile and holds it, even when she gets no response. "Believe me."

"You really don't want me to say what I believe about this," her father states, his lip curling in distaste.

Oh boy. Well, she didn't expect this to be easy. She didn't expect it to have to happen now, either. Really, she's been hoping it would be more along the lines of "never."

"Actually, no, I don't want you to say anything other than that you trust me, trust that I know what I'm doing."

A muffled noise behind her makes her stiffen. Her father's head tilts, tongue touching his bottom lip as he considers what he sees, and Sydney clenches her teeth before turning.

Sark is completely composed, leaning against the table with his arms crossed, but there's something in his eyes that makes her ask, "What?"

"Yes, Sark, do enlighten us." The hint of a smile at the corners of her father's mouth has Sydney wondering what exactly he saw while her back was turned. He looks amused, an incredible shift from only a moment ago when he seemed prepared to make someone -- definitely Sark as the perpetrator, and possibly their co-workers as witnesses -- quietly disappear.

Sark disengages one arm and holds his hand up, palm forward, waving her question away. "Nothing. Go on."

"No, what is it, because there's something."

Sark ducks his head for a moment, then looks up at her with a very serious expression. "Sydney, the number of things that tend to go spectacularly wrong when you ask people to trust you...let's just say that it's not the argument I would put forward."

That's just great, making fun of her while she's trying to keep his ass relatively intact. "Thanks, Sark. Way to back me up there."

Her father ostensibly clears his throat, but he's holding his fist awfully close, preventing any chance of seeing the lower half of his face. Which means they're both laughing at her.

Fine. Let them kill each other.

"I'm going to go find Weiss," she informs them, flipping her hair and walking out without a backwards glance.

Weiss is nice. Weiss is quiet. Everybody likes Weiss.

***

Interlude:

Still recovering from the novelty of laughing with Sark instead of at him, Jack watches the boy watch his daughter flounce out of the room. His eyes narrow and he stops himself from leaning in for a closer look. A few more inches won't tell him anything he can't see from here -- Sark's normally distant stare is conspicuously missing.

Jack takes a breath. On the exhale, he completes his reassessment of the situation.

Very well.

"I have no compunction about telling you what I think of this," he says, pleased to see the boy's attention snap around to him.

Sark frowns and crosses his arms again, tucking his hands into the crook of his elbows. A protective gesture? Perhaps a necessary move to restrain himself from action after all that he's had thrown at him in the last quarter hour, Jack muses. God knows Sydney's made him want to shake her often enough; given their history, Sark must have been tempted more than once. Hell, maybe that's what--

No. That's a thought that doesn't need to be completed.

"I'm not particularly interested in anything you would have to say," Sark finally sneers. "This is between your daughter and me."

Jack lets his mouth quirk, his amusement deepening when he sees the boy shift. No need to do the expected and cut him off at the knees, this is much more rewarding.

"Sydney has linked herself with men before that haven't met my approval. She makes a habit of doing so. You," Jack tilts his head to give Sark a thorough look-over, "are merely the latest, if the most extreme, example."

Sark's jaw tenses briefly. "The latest?" he spits.

"Do you think you're going to be the last?" Jack asks, truly curious. For such a pragmatic individual, Sark has some interesting hang-ups.

Sark says nothing. Jack waits. And waits. It gets to the point when Jack decides to stop holding on to his composure, and his chuckle grows when Sark straightens and his face goes blank with insult.

Jack shakes his head. "Sark, you two may have no chance in hell of staying together past the next month, but that says nothing of your chances here on Earth."

He extends his hand. The boy looks at the hand with the eye of a jeweler looking for a flaw before he slowly takes it. They hold the grip for only a moment, shaking once -- at Jack's lead. Then Jack claps his hand on Sark's shoulder, just to feel the tense muscles contract further.

"Whatever you choose, whatever she chooses, you deserve to live that choice. Far be it from me to stand in the way." He gives the boy a small smile for good measure.

Outright suspicion takes over Sark's expression. He leans back, examining Jack's face, but Jack is confident that Sark won't see anything other than benign acceptance; he's fooled much more perceptive people than the one glaring at him now.

Jack steps back and waves his hand at the door. "Go on," he urges. He resists saying, "shoo," with difficultly. But that would be too much.

Sark finally spins on his heel and stalks out of the room.

Jack nods, satisfied. This will be...interesting.

***

It was kind of sweet, Sydney thought, the way he stormed in. Well, not stormed, really. Sark doesn't "storm," he sort of glides up, impassive, and then strikes you down with a lightning bolt out of no-where.

She's pretty sure Weiss would've been on the ground if she hadn't positioned herself slightly in front of him, though. Less mass or no, Sark still has that look in his eyes that precludes being messed with.

"Hey there," Weiss says with a head bob and the nervous smile of someone fending off a rabid wolfhound.

Sark glares at him, saying nothing.

So maybe throwing Weiss in his face hadn't been such a good idea. But then, he shouldn't have laughed at her, should he? She tries to get some of this across in her pointed stare, but Sark isn't looking at her. He's looking at her hand on Weiss' shoulder.

She whips the hand down and behind her back. She'd like to keep it attached.

Then another thought occurs to her. "Um, Sark?"

His eyes slowly come around to meet hers. He gives her an absolutely lethally-saccharine smile. "Yes, darling?"

So not good. "Ah...where's my father?"

Sark raises an eyebrow. "Where I left him, I would imagine."

"Okaaay. And did you leave him there breathing?"

"Hmm?" Sark tips his chin up, eyes narrowing, getting back at her -- she just knows it -- with that faux thinking-about-it expression of his. And she's in no mood.

"Just spit it out!"

Weiss snorts and Sydney rounds on him. He hasn't left? She distracted Sark and he hasn't made himself scarce? What the hell kind of survival instincts does he have?

He grins. "You two are so cute. I can't believe I didn't notice it before."

"Cute?" Sark asks in a horrified tone. "Agent Weiss, if you weren't already in enough trouble..."

Sydney sighs. "Sark, just let him go. He's sweet, but harmless."

"Gee, thanks, Syd." Weiss' grin turns sour. "I'm a teddy bear."

She sticks out her tongue at him. "Shut up while you've still got a head, you idiot."

"Fine, fine," Weiss holds his hands high and backs away. "Just, whatever did happen to Jack, don't let him know that I was the one who left you alone together, okay?"

"Oh, I don't think we'll have to worry about that," Sark assures them.

Oh, no he didn't... Sydney looks at him warily.

He smirks. "Jack gave us his blessing, darling Sydney."

Weiss chokes and quite literally runs out of the room. His laughter echoes back at them through the open door.

Sydney's pretty sure her jaw cracked, it fell open so quickly.

"H-he did what?"

"The man shook my hand and everything. Said we both deserved to live out the life we've chosen."

She cranks her mouth closed. "You know that's probably a curse of some kind."

That might be real amusement she sees in his eyes. Or she could be hallucinating after being knocked in the head during the final confrontation with the Covenant. That's always a possibility.

"I'm certain it is," Sark says as he takes her hand and pulls her toward him. She's too shocked to resist that, much less when he lowers his mouth to hers.

"We need a sunset to wander off into," she mumbles against his lips.

He wraps his arm around her waist and holds her closer, taking her breath and her ability to stand upright without his help with one of those kisses that should never end. When he finally raises his head, she blinks to see him smiling...sweetly? Her mind is fried.

"I'd rather one of those endings where the couple sinks down out of the shot, wrapped in an embrace -- wouldn't you?"

She's thinking clearly enough to hook her foot behind his and send them both to the floor in fall that both of their reflexes easily controls.

"This works, too," she points out.

##

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