by Voleuse

It is broad daylight, and Sark is walking past an elementary school in Copenhagen, so it comes as something of a surprise when Sydney Bristow shoves him against the school's chain-link fence.

"Sydney," he mumbles against the biting caress of the metal. "This is unexpected."

Her breath is heavy against his ear, and she's already given his elbow a minor sprain.

"You lied to me."

He can hear a child crying in the distance, and he hopes it's not because of them. That would signal interference from an adult, and he's not keen on threatening schoolteachers. It's thuggish and common, and he believes himself above that.

"Is this really the place, Agent Bristow?"

After a moment of brutal stillness, she releases his arm. He tries not to wince.

"You lied to me," she repeats, and he feels a twinge in his shoulder.

"First of all," he explains, scanning for interlopers, "I did not lie to you. Second--"

"You killed that arms dealer!"

"Second, what did you expect?"

Her jaw clicks shut, and he smirks.

"This is what we do, Sydney. This is who we are. Now," he sees a woman approaching them from across a field, "can we continue this exchange elsewhere?"

She spots the woman as well. "Where?"

He calculates how quickly he can relocate. "I have an apartment a few blocks away." He might not even have to shed any blood, if the bribes are sufficient.

"Fine." She bites her lip. "I'm armed. You first."

He eyes her jeans, her fitted sweater, and decides to take her word for it. "Follow me."

He strolls past her, and she follows a couple of feet behind him. Not far enough to look suspicious, but not close enough to look natural. He glances at her over his shoulder. "Don't be tiresome, Sydney."

She rolls her eyes and draws even with him. "Don't even think about trying anything."

"Of course not." He takes her hand in his, and smiles sweetly. "Darling."

By the time they reach his building, he's lost feeling in that hand. He almost doesn't mind.


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