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He first encountered Agent Reed through a barrier of glass. She was coldly professional, icy where the women he usually encountered were passionate, and just as beautiful.
Two CIA agents standing behind her, she met his eyes without qualm, her gaze steady on him as he swaggered to the glass.
In the subsequent interrogations, he sat across a table from her, wrists cuffed, jaw sore. She always looked salon-perfect, and she never smiled. For a very long time, he didn't even know her first name, let alone any useful information. An NSA agent, she was an unknown quantity to him.
One day, however, he overheard a guard speaking to her, small talk about cafeteria food or something equally banal. He gleaned nothing important, save for her name: Lauren.
At night, he rolled the syllables on his tongue, silently.
Lauren.
Months passed, and freedom came. With freedom, information.
He wasn't surprised to learn she had married Michael Vaughn. It was typical, really.
Walking down the street in Zurich, however, he was surprised to encounter her. He had been sent to obtain the codes for a safe in Buenos Aires, and had, with a bit of glee. It was in no way linked to Rambaldi, and he enjoyed the lack of interference.
She was dressed like a tourist; the jeans, sweater, and scarf an odd contrast to her usual attire. For a moment, he was captivated by the dissonance, then her gaze swept over him, and back again.
He caught her arm before she completely recognized him, and drew her into a side alley, away from the traffic. She didn't have a moment to scream.
"Agent Reed." He slipped a gloved hand over her mouth, smiled when she attempted to bite him. "A pleasure to see you again."
"Sark." Her voice almost didn't quaver when he let her speak. "What do you want?"
"I'd like to know, Lauren," he smiled, "what you're doing here. Late honeymoon?"
She winced.
"It can't be that you're on a mission, since you're not field-rated."
She avoided his eyes, and he smirked. "Let's take a walk."
She didn't say a word as he escorted her to his nearby vehicle. He didn't even have to prompt her to buckle up.
By the time she was seated in his hotel room, she could meet his gaze again, and he liked what he saw in her eyes.
"You're more talkative than I remember, Mr. Sark." She took a sip of water from the glass she had requested. "Terrorism agrees with you?"
He shrugged, nonchalant. "I find I've never taken to captivity very well. You?"
She set her glass down harshly; he half expected it to break. "What do you want?"
He ambled across the room, took the seat across from her. Smiled at the flicker of something that crossed her face. "Tell me what you want, Ms. Reed."
That flicker of something appeared again, and transformed her.
He didn't start when she leaned, viper-quick, to kiss him.
Hours later, he watched her sway from the room without a qualm.
Secrets safe.
Months later, he met Sydney in the field yet again, and raced her for another Rambaldi document, yet again.
They ended up in a stalemate, glaring at each other over a table.
A physical confrontation was unpredictable, he decided, however satisfying it might be. Sydney's weaknesses lay elsewhere.
He relaxed his posture, tilted his head as he eyed her latest costume--an elegantly tailored dress, woven sheerly and showcasing as much flesh as possible.
"Have I mentioned, Sydney, how lovely you look this evening?"
Taken aback, she growled at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I find it hard to believe Agent Vaughn walked away from you." He gestured at her legs, and the ridiculous stilettos encasing her feet. "Of course, having...encountered...Lauren myself, I suppose it is understandable. She's quite fierce herself, given the right circumstances."
Sydney's head whipped back, as if he had slapped her.
He supposed he had.
She vaulted over the table, page forgotten, and Sark found himself slammed into a wall, her body pressed up against his.
"Then again," he breathed, "I can't imagine he's seen this side of you. Nothing compares."
There was hate in her eyes, and she kissed him like death.
They fucked on the table, next to the Rambaldi manuscript, and he walked away with the page in his pocket.
Once, in Los Angeles, he spotted Agent Vaughn walking across the street.
Unobserved, he didn't bother to hide his grin.