Chains of Self - cont'd

[lunasky]

Chapter 11 - Aftermath

i am justified.
i am purified.
i am sanctified.
inside you

"What the fuck did you do that for?" Sark cried out after they had made their way out of the small office window and landed six feet below in the not so soft concrete.

"What?" Vaughn replied thought he knew exactly what Sark was talking about. He was just not eager to pursue the topic so he made a joke of it. "Do you mean when I kissed you or when I fixed your hair and saved you from walking around with it sticking up?"

Sark responded with a glare after they did a short sprint into the next alleyway. "No. What I meant was when you decided to throw the chances of success out the window by blowing our cover. Trust me. I could have gotten him to talk after I was done with him. Now, it won’t take long for his friends to find him. And even though Andre won’t be able to tell them what happened, I’m sure it won’t take them long to figure it out. What where you thinking?!"

Vaughn swallowed roughly and buried his true thoughts far bellow the surface. He wasn’t about to say anything to Sark about him reminding him of Sydney. He settled for, "I couldn’t let you do that to yourself."

"Oh the Great Boy Scout out to protect my virtue." Sark rolled his eyes, the sarcasm dripping from his voice as they snuck their way through some small bushes at the side of the next property. "Where were you twelve years ago, when I really needed you?"

Vaughn shot Sark a surprised look and then glanced back towards the road they were now following, forcing his mind not to do the math. But it was too late. His thoughts had too much momentum.

He looked at Sark out of the corner of his eye. If Sark was twenty-four, and he thought he was being generous with that estimate, then twelve years ago he would have been twelve when…when whatever. If he was actually twenty four now. If not, he was even younger. Vaughn swallowed again as a wave of nausea built up. He had no intention of excusing Sark his way of life. Sark had many opportunities to become more than what he had been programmed to be. Like Sydney.

Or maybe not quite like Sydney. Sydney hadn’t had her entire childhood removed from her brain. Sydney hadn’t been kidnapped from her parents and thought Vaughn suspected that Jack used Sydney to test the principles of Project Christmas on, Vaughn couldn’t for a second believe that Jack had submitted her to the same torturous techniques that Sark had been. After all, Jack would not have had to break Sydney, to gain her loyalty and devotion. As her father, he already had it. Jack would not have prostituted out his daughter to further along her training. Vaughn was sure that even Jack, had lines that he would not cross.

So were did that leave Sark?

Vaughn shuddered at the thoughts that ran through his mind, but whether he shuddered at the images they provoked or the superimposed feeling of Sark’s lips on his, Vaughn wasn’t sure. In fact, he was trying really hard to block the later thoughts from even forming in his mind.

Thankfully, they finally reached the car and Vaughn was forced to think about more practical things. He threw the keys at Sark. "Start driving. We’ll drive directly there. I’ll make some phone calls."

Sark looked at him in shock. "We’re driving there?"

Chapter 12 - A Drive through the Night

you let me violate you, you let me desecrate you
you let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you

"Ok, here are the driving directions." Vaughn said snapping shut his phone and handing over some notes scribbled on the back of an envelope he had obviously found in his pocket.

Sark glanced at them while driving. "You’re crazy. It’s going to take us over fifteen hours to get there."

"Not if you drive faster," Vaughn retorted eyeing the speedometer as Sark accelerated even more. "Besides, I’ve already called the airlines. The next direct flight doesn’t leave for another twelve hours. There’s a flight to Germany in six hours but then there’s a five hour stop over. At least driving we have some sort of control over how quickly we get there. I’ve called all the info in. Weiss is prepping a team now and he’s calling the local police. He’ll call me as soon as they have any intel."

Sark nodded but kept his eyes on the road.

...

Several hours later, Sark rubbed his eyes. The road ahead of him was clear, which wasn’t surprising considering the time of the morning.

He looked over at the sleeping form next to him. The first part of the drive had been filled with a myriad of phone calls and pieces of angry or excited conversation of which he had heard half. Sark smiled to himself. Apparently Weiss didn’t think it was a good idea for them to be driving directly there either, though Sark imagined, Weiss’ reasons were probably different than his own. Sark didn’t want to drive because long drives always gave him more time to think than he really wanted. Especially now, when there was no mission to occupy his mind with. He imagined that Weiss’ dispute with the idea was because it involved driving with him.

Sark sighed and rubbed his eyes again. The damn contact lenses were bothering him so he finally rolled down the window and keeping one hand on the steering wheel, used the other to gently pluck out the offending lenses and throw them out the window.

He rubbed his eyes again in relief this time. He had better than 20/20 vision and he usually found that cheap glasses or lenses actually hindered his vision with their tiny imperfections, giving him a headache.

He smiled as he remembered the time Irina had called him high maintenance when he had purchased his custom made sunglasses from an Italian vendor. He supposed she was right, since he had made her stop there while they were on route to a mission. But she had humored him and only teased as a reproach.

But now his musings only filled him with a bit of sadness that they’re partnership was over.

Because if he admitted it to himself, the truth was that he actually missed her. Even though theirs had been a strange relationship. When she had arrived one day at the ‘boarding school’ and met with Chernenko, Chernenko introduced him to her because he was Chernenko’s prize student. Forget that since his training, Chernenko had modified the techniques. Forget that he had modified the techniques because of Sark’s own failures. Forget that those failures had included holding a knife to Chernenko’s chest and demanding to have his memories back or he would carve out his teacher’s heart. Chernenko had taken those all in stride. And after the guards had come, and sedated him and pulled the knife from his hands, Chernenko had caressed his face softly. Sark shivered as he remembered the scene vividly. But that had been the point as well. Chernenko had wanted to make sure that Sark never forgot the lessons of that day.

Nevertheless, he was always Chernenko’s favorite student. But the day he met Irina, changed his life forever. He didn’t know how she had seen the thoughts in his head; it was almost like she could read his mind. She asked to speak to him in private, to evaluate him, and Chernenko had agreed. But what Irina had spoken about had not been his achievements.

Rather Irina had spoken to him about his own anger and how it filled his soul to the brim. She had told him that his anger was not because of any of his own failures, which Chernenko had forced him to believe but rather was caused by the fact that he was nothing but a puppet being controlled by a weak man. She had described with amazing precision, the feelings within him; his resentment and anger, his guilt over helping to train other children; she spoke of his feeling of betrayal towards them like she had first hand knowledge. And then she had offered him a way out.

That night, Sark had crept into Chernenko’s study and found him alone at his desk. Irina had told him that she would take care of the alarms, and in honesty, he knew that Chernenko had not expected Sark to ever try anything again. Chernenko had believed that the lessons learned would not be forgotten. He had been correct. The lesson had not been forgotten, but rather better understood.

That night, he didn’t make the same mistake again, and gave his former master no opportunity to activate the disengaged alarm. But Irina hadn’t let him keep Chernenko’s heart. She had told him that it was not revenge that he sought, but rather freedom; and revenge, if he allowed it to take root, would bind him more securely than Chernenko ever had. Again, Sark had the impression that she spoke from experience.

So Sark had discarded his trophy and taken her as his new mentor. One with whom he was treated as an equal, in the sense that he had something of value to contribute. And she had taught him much. But looking at himself objectively, he also recognized that working with Irina had cemented within him, a deep underlying sense of inferiority. He knew he was a good operative. He knew he was one of the best. He knew he was intelligent and charming when he wanted to be. He knew all these things to the very core of his being and he was proud of that. But inside all that, in his very soul, he felt corrupted. It was something that Irina had felt about herself and she shared that same opinion of him. There was something contemptible within them both at the very center of their being. And he didn’t understand what that was.

But that was why he couldn’t fault her for betraying him. Because part of him felt like he deserved that betrayal. That’s also why he’d never pursued Sydney anymore than his few superficial attempts at friendship. Because part of him knew that he really wasn’t worthy of her.

Sark broke from his wandering thoughts as he took the ramp to the new highway that he wanted. And then he looked at the sleeping man beside him.

After the phone calls had ended, an uneasy silence had settled upon them, each of them lost in their thoughts. Finally, after more than an hour, Vaughn had rested his head on the window and sleep had claimed him, thought it was likely that he hadn’t intended it.

And Sark was left driving, alone in his thoughts. No one had ever stood up for him the way Vaughn had during their earlier meeting. Irina had saved his life on more than one occasion, but even she had never tried to shelter him from actions deemed necessary by a mission. She had never tried to spare him from any discomfort, especially when it could compromise what they sought. Yet Vaughn had.

And Sark was completely baffled as to why. Was it just the Boy Scout streak that Vaughn adamantly denied existed, peaking through? But then why did Vaughn loop the videotape and withhold Sark’s secret from the CIA? Was Vaughn just incapable of seeing anyone suffer, if he thought he could do anything about it? But that didn’t make sense, either. Sark remembered the sound of Vaughn’s voice when he had threatened Andre earlier, in the club. And after, though Vaughn had only wanted to knock the man out, he hadn’t stopped him from snapping his neck either.

But it wasn’t that Vaughn was incapable of violence, either. Sark also distinctly remembered Vaughn slamming his head down on the table when he had apprehended him in Stockholm. Then, Vaughn had only been too happy to cause him a bit of extra pain and that was something that Sark could understand. He had hurt Vaughn. Hell, he’d tried to kill him. Therefore he had more than deserved that extra hit. But then, didn’t he also deserve the humiliation of having to prostitute himself in order to save the woman that Vaughn loved? Sark shook his head in confusion.

And then there was the matter of the kiss. Sark sighed as all his thoughts whirled around in his head. It wasn’t that he hadn’t kissed men before, of course he had. And it wasn’t that he hadn’t kissed men before that he’d liked, either. Men or women, Sark had realized a long time ago that it didn’t really matter where he got his pleasure from. But what he’d also realized a long time ago was that the only people that would be interested in giving him pleasure were people that held the same decrepitude within their souls as he did.

And so, his pleasure had also become his damnation. He loved Allison. She was beautiful and smart and one of the strongest women he knew. She was a much better ‘student’ than he’d ever been and Sark suspected that perhaps some of his affection for her was simply for this reason. People always wanted to love someone they considered at least as good as themselves. Actually, Sark knew that people really wanted to love people that they felt were better than themselves in some way. Because then when the love was returned, it indicated that the other person saw something within themselves that was better than the person that they in turned loved. But everyone needs love and eventually everyone learns to get it wherever they can.

And so he loved Allison. She was smarter and harder and colder than he was. She truly had no belief that there was anything wrong with what she did. And she loved him because he had been her teacher and maybe because he had been Irina Derevko’s right hand man. And maybe too, because sometimes he could be smarter and harder and colder than she was.

But there were times when he couldn’t close his eyes to the fact that she held the same critical fault that he had. The time he had confronted her about Tippin had been one of those times. He had seen in her eyes, her desire to believe in the hoax. He had seen the hope there plain and simple; the hope that a decent man like Will Tippin, could actually love her back.

And he had to struggle to put that out of his mind. He needed her. She needed him. They were really all they had.

He had never dared to love Sydney because he truly felt that he did not deserve her. Could he now dare to win the esteem of her lover? A man more black and white than she ever was, but yet also a man more willing to accept that his answers weren’t always everybody else’s. Did he dare hope to ever win Vaughn’s respect or maybe something more?

Sark shook his head violently to try and expel the ridicules notions. Vaughn, no matter what he had to do on a mission to save the woman he truly loved, was never going to think that he was anything more than a cold-blooded murder.

And as he clenched the steering wheel, forcing his knuckles to go while, Sark had to admit that perhaps he liked Vaughn better when he was just a righteous CIA Hero.

At least he’d been able to understand him then and hate him for what he was.

Chapter 13 - The Chase

Hate me,
Do it and do it again.
Waste me,
Rape me my friend.

They arrived in Genoa twelve hours later. Vaughn quickly phoned Weiss when they were within the city limits. They had traded off sometime during the night, allowing him to catch a few hours of sleep, but now Sark was once again at the wheel, listening to a one-sided conversation.

"Weiss. It’s me. We’re just reaching the city limits. Do you have the team there already?"

Pause.

"And? Did you find her?" Vaughn practically screamed with relief, but Sark watched his expression change as Vaughn listened to the phone.

"Tell me now. What’s going on?"

Pause again.

"You found Jack?"

Sark could hear the faint buzz of Weiss talking.

"We’ll be there in..." Vaughn looked around at the street signs that were coming up and judged his map, "fifteen minutes."

Sark watched as Vaughn snapped his phone shut, ending the phone call. "They didn’t find them did they?" he asked quietly.

Vaughn shook his head. "I don’t think so. Weiss wouldn’t tell me much over the phone. Apparently they found Jack though." His voice was thick with frustration and worry.

Sark nodded and pressed down on the accelerator a little more.

...

Vaughn barely waited for the car to stop moving before jumping out. Sark had pulled up behind the church and in front of where the building was supposed to be. Or what was left of it, anyways. Before them stood a half-standing, charred, and broken-down building. It looked like an old residence that the priests from the church may have lived in. There were hundreds of local police milling about; some redirecting traffic through the narrow streets, some trying to help the CIA personnel that were working. Vaughn saw a fire truck beside the burnt-down building as well. The firemen were rolling up the hose and loading it back on the truck.

"Weiss!" Vaughn yelled at his friend who was talking to another CIA agent. Weiss looked up, acknowledged his friend with a frown and then finished talking to the other agent. As Vaughn started walking towards him, he caught the tail end of the conversation.

"I don’t want him here. He’s just going to complicate things." Weiss said.

The other agent shrugged. "Well, you try telling him no."

Weiss turned to Vaughn. "Vaughn look-- "

"Are you talking about me? You don’t want me here?"

Weiss shook his head. "No. I was talking about Jack."

At that moment Jack came out of the side of the burnt building. His clothes were a mess, he was covered in dirt, and his left arm was in a sling. "I want some flood lights brought in now!" He barked out to a nearby agent, who scurried away quickly to fulfill his order.

Vaughn looked around. Now that he was closer to the scene, he noticed that there was an odd tension about. He turned back to see that Sark had followed him out of the car and stood a few paces away. "What’s going on?" Vaughn demanded, turning to Eric.

But Jack spotted Vaughn first and moved straight for him. "Agent Vaughn! I’m glad you’re here. I assume you don’t believe the preposterous allegations that they are putting forward--"

Vaughn’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. As Jack moved closer, Vaughn noticed that some of the dirt on his face was in fact blood. "What allegations?"

"Vaughn..." Weiss tried to interrupt but Jack wouldn’t let him.

"The ridiculous allegations that--"

"Agent Bristow!" Weiss yelled to stop him from speaking.

But Jack turned to Weiss, his face furious. "I’m not going to stand here and let you waste any more time! My daughter needs help and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you stop this!"

But Eric had had enough. With a sympathetic look to Vaughn he spoke to both of them. "Mike, Sydney’s dead."

Vaughn felt all the wind getting knocked out of him as he staggered back from the non physical blow. "Wwhat?"

Eric turned to Vaughn and put a hand on his shoulder. "I’m so sorry Mike. The DNA tests just came back. There were some charred remains that we found in the building, Kendall called in a few favors to get them processed right away and..."

But Vaughn had stopped listening. He hardly noticed that it took him a moment before he remembered to start breathing again.

Suddenly he started walking towards the building, pushing Eric aside as he did so. He didn’t hear Jack’s shouts of protest to Eric and he didn’t hear Eric calling for the police. The sides of his vision had clouded over and the only thing he could see through his tunnel vision, was the burnt down old residence.

...

"Mike, Sydney’s dead."

Sark felt his stomach bottoming out. They were too late. Everything they had done had been for nothing because now they were too late. And he was surprised at how truly upset he felt.

From his vantage point a few feet behind the group though, Sark saw what the information had done to Vaughn. Though he could only see the corner of his face, he saw that it had turned impossibly pale. And for a brief moment, Sark thought Vaughn was going to collapse right there. But he didn’t. He watched Vaughn sway back against his heels, but then like a pendulum, the momentum seemed to drive him forward as well. Forward, past Weiss and Jack and towards the building.

And Sark barely had but a moment to follow him.

Three...six...nine...

"Stop!" Agent Weiss was speaking to him. "Officer, can you take this man into custody?" Weiss had grabbed his arm.

Twelve...fifteen...

Sark pulled against Weiss’ hand as the Italian policeman came towards him, taking out his handcuffs.

Twenty one...twenty four...

Sark turned to Weiss. "If you don’t let me go, in less than a minute you’ll be taking my corpse into custody." He reminded him.

Weiss looked at him and narrowed his eyes, obviously considering the option.

Twenty eight...thirty two...

Weiss looked at the police officer and shook his head. "Fine. It’s ok officer, let him go for now. We’ll sort this out when Agent Vaughn comes back out."

The police officer released him and Sark didn’t bother listening to Jack’s rising voice or Weiss’ arguments against him, he merely took off at a run, towards Vaughn.

...

Sark suffered a moment of panic as he entered the residence about ten feet behind him. But upon entering through the charred door, he found a small hallway that was completely empty. Burn marks were visible through the light provided by the small window on the door and Sark could see that part of the wall connecting two rooms was destroyed. He brought his hand up to cover his nose as the smell of burnt ash and smoke burned his nostrils as he inhaled.

Sark stepped gingerly through the debris at his feet, pausing to look through the holes in the wall but he found the light provided by the door to be minimal. Vaughn could be hiding in the shadows, and he would never know.

Sark kept moving through the hallway, carefully, aware that though fifty feet provided him with some freedom, he wasn’t exactly sure how precise the fifty feet measurement was. And though he had surmised that it wasn’t based directly on line-of-sight he didn’t know if it could be blocked by heavy walls. In his case, a little bit of interference could turn out to be deadly.

At the end of the hallway, the corridor curved and brought him into a large open room. Sark surmised that the room had originally been a living room where the inhabitants could have congregated but from the broken down equipment lying about, it looked like it had recently been transformed into a laboratory of sorts. There were two small windows on the other side of the room and the little amount of light cast everything in shadows. There were some metal frames in the corner that looked like they could have been gurneys at one point and overturned chairs scattered about; their plastic melted and distorted.

To his relief, there by the side of what was left of a cabinet was Vaughn, leaning against the warped metal, bracing his upper body against it, while retching on the floor. Sark moved quietly towards to him, not wanting to intrude on his grief.

But Vaughn heard his footsteps as Sark moved through the debris and look briefly at him. For a moment, a look of confusion crossed his face as his eyes landed on Sark’s face but then it disappeared. Then all that was left was a look of desolation.

A wave of sadness made its way through Sark, which he didn’t completely understand. He knew that he was upset about Sydney, more than he cared to admit really. And he also felt guilty and sad at the thought of what might have become of Allison but he had no way of knowing if she was also dead and he knew better than to ask. But he didn’t think either of those reasons were the cause of the sadness that he felt watching Vaughn.

Vaughn crouched down while still holding on to the metal cabinet with one hand and brought his other hand up to cradle his head. Sark moved the final step forward and put a hand on Vaughn’s shoulder.

For minutes they stood as if frozen in time. Vaughn never acknowledged Sark’s touch except for leaning into it slightly and Sark forced his hand to remain perfectly still. Sark understood that if he squeezed Vaughn’s shoulder or moved even a finger that reality would come crashing down on both of them.

Reality did come crashing down but it was in the form of Weiss, who came into the destroyed lab and shattered the silence.

"Mike--"

Sark saw that Weiss stopped speaking as he saw his hand on Vaughn’s shoulder. But rather than admit guilt by jerking his hand back, Sark merely moved his hand down to Vaughn’s arm and helped him rise.

Vaughn didn’t say anything as Weiss approached them wearily. Finally, Vaughn looked at his friend, "I want to see her."

"I don’t think that’s a good idea Mike."

Sark watched as Vaughn’s lips tightened in anger.

"Eric, I need to."

Weiss shook his head sadly. "She’s gone Mike. The lab that performed the DNA analysis transferred the remains back to Los Angles when they were done with the tests."

Vaughn stepped forward and gripped Weiss arm. "Let me see the files."

...

Weiss led them out to the mobile headquarters that they had set up in the piazza in front of the church.

As they approached, Vaughn noticed how the agents milling about suddenly stopped talking. The headquarters really consisted of a few tables and computers hooked up to two generators. Agents and local police were working together to try and resolve what had happened.

Weiss reached one of the tables and pulled out a manila envelope. As Vaughn was about to take it from him, Jack caught back up with them.

"Vaughn, don’t tell me you believe them?"

Vaughn slid the pictures out of the envelopes and stared at them.

"Agent Vaughn?" Jack raised his voice but Vaughn didn’t look up. For a moment, Vaughn didn’t know what he was looking at. His eyes could still see, but his brain had stopped processing the information.

Finally he understood that Jack was talking to him so he looked up at him. Then, at the same time, he suddenly understood what it was that he had been seeing in the photographs.

He grabbed Jack’s shirt and hauled Jack closer to him. "Did you see this?" Vaughn demanded but Jack just stared at him coldly.

"Of course I have. And they mean nothing. It’s not her."

"It is her! That’s what you don’t get Jack. That’s all that’s left of her." Vaughn could feel the hysteria starting to creep into his mind.

"Listen to me Agent Vaughn. I know my daughter. I know she wouldn’t end up as a piece of unrecognizable flesh!"

Vaughn didn’t realize that the photos were starting to crumble between his hands. "How do you know that, Jack? How can you even begin to know that after everything you’ve done to her, she wouldn’t end up like that? This is your fault!"

Jack’s face hardened even more. "How do you figure that you have the right..."

But Vaughn didn’t let him finish. "You did this to her, don’t try and deny it! That’s why they took you. Did you tell them how you broke your own daughter? How you brainwashed her and implanted all those triggers in her mind? Is part of you a little bit proud that you could invent something so powerful, that twenty years after the fact, people are still trying to possess it? How badly did they really have to torture you to get them?" Vaughn suddenly stopped talking and it was only because of the sudden silence that he realized that he had been screaming. All the agents had stopped what they were doing and were staring at him.

Jack’s face had paled a little but his expression hadn’t changed. It was still cold and hard. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Vaughn finally let go and tossed the crumpled pictures on the desk. "Well I do. And I hope you live with guilt forever."

Vaughn was about to turn away when suddenly he felt his cheek explode and he was thrown backwards. Jack was screaming at him but he didn’t really understand what had happened.

But between his anger and anguish, Vaughn found that he really didn’t care. He launched himself back at Jack. He didn’t think he got in a direct hit before he felt himself being pulled away and saw Eric holding Jack back. Vaughn half turned to break the hold on himself, and found that it was Sark that had pulled him off.

Sark.

And oddly enough, his noticed that his eyes were blue again.

Feeling betrayed and angry, Vaughn shook off Sark’s hand which was lingering on his arm and turned away. Without much thought of where he was going, he started to head in the direction of the car.

...

Sark watched Vaughn’s retreating figure and quickly turned to Weiss.

"Where is he going?" Weiss asked him.

Sark shook his head. "I don’t know, but he’s going to need some time. All of our stuff is back in Amsterdam, so I’m driving him back there. It’s an excuse for him to have a few days to himself."

"I can’t just let you guys go back there!"

Sark tried not to bare his teeth in anger. "Do what you have to. I know the CIA can monitor my location and Vaughn’s vitals. You know I can’t do anything to him. Tell your boss that I’m still able to provide some intel to shut the bastards down who did this. I will get it to you. Just give him a few days."

Weiss looked at him strangely but then nodded.

Sark didn’t wait for anything else before turning on his heels and running after Vaughn again.

Chapter 14 - Drugs and Guns

jekyll in you, brings out the wired in me
i have no defense, i'm all that you see
the night is a bomb blast
the night is on fire
sing with me in the gasoline choir

Vaughn let the monotony of the open road lull him into a stupor. It wasn’t that he had never let himself consider the possibility that Sydney was dead. The possibility had haunted him at various times in the last week and a half, but he’d promptly pushed it out of his mind. He’d understood the theoretical possibility but not the actual sense of loss.

And so when Weiss had told him that Sydney was dead, it wasn’t that he didn’t believe him, his mind could fathom that the unthinkable had occurred; just not his heart. And so, without thinking, he had raced into the burned down building.

He didn’t really remember making his way into what was left of the laboratory. He didn’t remember stepping over a jumble of debris. All he really remembered was looking around at the destruction and knowing that Sydney had been there. But unlike the warehouse that he and Sark had visited in Los Angeles, he hadn’t been able to feel Sydney in the air around him. He had looked at the warped metal that was once a gurney and he knew that she must have lain there. But there had been no comfort in that thought. All he had felt was emptiness.

The feeling had started in the pit of his stomach, almost like a cramp but then his body had seemed to change its mind and turned it into nausea. And then he had to brace himself against a metal cabinet while he vomited out an empty stomach.

It had felt like his body had been trying to purge that empty, hollow feeling. But it hadn’t succeeded.

He had been helpless; stuck in the void of unbelievable emptiness until Sark had laid his hand on his shoulder. And then the horrible, empty feeling had receded just a little, and a strong arm had guided him, allowing him to get up. He knew he should have left it at that. He knew he shouldn’t have demanded to see the pictures. He should have spared his mind the images of the charred flesh; completely unrecognizable to anything other than a laboratory machine. He should have let his mind remember her as she had been; with her hair loose around her, her face full of determination, her full lips quick with a smile just for him. He really wished he hadn’t tainted those memories of her, because now they were all he had.

Vaughn closed his eyes and leaned the side of his head against the coolness of the window. He could feel that horrible, empty feeling coming back again in the pit of his stomach, and there was nothing he could do about it.

...

Sark drove in silence for five hours, all the while watching Vaughn out of the corner of his eye. Vaughn didn’t say a word until they pulled off the road to get some food.

"Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

Sark glanced at him briefly. "Back to Amsterdam. I thought you could use some time to yourself."

Vaughn nodded but didn’t speak again.

"Hungry?" Sark shifted the car into park.

Vaughn shook his head.

"Well, I am so get out of the car. This is the first fast food restaurant that I’ve seen, so it will have to do."

After a silent lunch where Sark inhaled his food and Vaughn ignored his, Sark made his way to the back of the car and opened the trunk.

Vaughn followed him out to the back of the car. "What are you doing?"

Sark reached into the trunk for their handguns and passed Vaughn’s Colt 45 to him. Then he took the small Glock that Vaughn had procured for him, and tucked it into his belt, on the left hand side. Once the gun was secure, Sark reached for a small bag that contained the CIA emergency equipment and unzipped it. It took him a moment of rummaging through it to find what he was looking for, but eventually he found a small vial and a pouch. Grabbing both, he shut the trunk and got back in the car.

Eventually Vaughn got into the passenger’s side.

"Do you have access to cash?" Sark asked him.

Vaughn nodded.

"Good. Once we get back into the Netherlands, I want to stop and pick up a laptop. We’re also going to need clothes and other essentials."

Vaughn gave him a curious look, but he didn’t comment. He just nodded slowly again.

Sark shrugged his suit jacket off which was quite wrinkled by now, and threw it into the back seat. Then he started to roll up his left sleeve until it was above his elbow. Opening the pouch that he’d brought in with him, he found the syringe. With ease, Sark tied a small field bandage on his upper arm and then filled the syringe from the vial that read Dexamphetamine. Finding his vein, he quickly injected himself with the drug.

After he was done, he pressed a small band aid to the inside of his arm and looked up to see Vaughn looking at him intently.

"It looks like you’ve done that before." Vaughn said quietly.

Sark shrugged. "I only do what’s necessary, I assure you. It’s been over thirty six-hours since I last slept, not counting the one hour nap I had on the way here."

"You’re going to be insufferable when you come down."

Sark couldn’t help himself but smirk. "From this stuff? Government issued drugs are relatively tame, let me assure you. Besides, I thought I was already insufferable."

To Sark’s disappointment, Vaughn didn’t join in on the banter, he just looked away.

Sark allowed himself to imagine that he could feel the drugs suddenly coursing through his system. Whether the sudden boost of energy he felt was a result of his imagination or the drugs, he didn’t know. But he responded to it by starting the car, slamming it into first gear and peeling out of the parking lot with a satisfying squeal of the tires. Within five seconds he was already in fourth gear and heading back towards the highway.

...

It was in the early hours of the morning when they arrived back in Amsterdam, some thirty hours after they had left. Vaughn was dozing in the passenger side, and judging from the awkward angle of his neck, Sark was quite sure that he wouldn’t be in a pleasant mood when he woke up.

The effects of the second dose of amphetamines he’d taken were starting to wear off as well, and he could feel the tiredness clinging to him. That, as well as the cramped and claustrophobic feeling he had from driving so long, were making him incredibly irritable. He rolled down the window a crack to allow the fresh air to blow on his face. The night air was cold, but it succeeded in waking him up a little.

As he turned the car off the highway and took the main road towards the downtown, Vaughn stirred. Sure enough, the first thing he did was rub the back of his neck before looking around.

"Where are we?" Vaughn asked disoriented, and looking around. "Are we back at the club?"

Sark pursed his lips. "Observant aren’t you? I knew they made you an agent for a reason." He kept his eyes on the road and purposely ignored the glare that Vaughn was throwing him. Finally after a minute he continued. "Somehow, the people responsible for everything found out pretty darn quickly that we were on their tail. I wanted to come back here to see if we missed anything."

Vaughn nodded but didn’t say anything. Sark found a tiny parking spot, across the street from the club, and maneuvered into it.

As they were about to cross the street, Sark noticed a dark SAAB driving towards them. Looking on either side of the street and then following the car with his eyes, Sark waited patiently for it to pass them. But as the car approached, and Sark looked at the driver, he didn’t even have time to think before his body was propelling him into action.

Sark threw Vaughn to the ground and had his pistol out and cocked before Vaughn even knew what was happening. With a well-aimed shot, Sark fired through the rear window and hit the driver in the back of the head. He got off two more shots, just in case before the club exploded across the street and he threw himself down on top of Vaughn. A shower of broken glass came raining down upon them as Sark shielded his face with his arm.

"What the hell was that?" Vaughn exclaimed when Sark finally moved off of him.

"That was one of Andre’s two sidekicks last night. Obviously, he didn’t want us coming back to investigate anything."

Vaughn stood up and shook tiny pieces of glass off of himself as he turned and looked at the car that had crashed into another parked car.

Sark judged the distance and then looked back at Vaughn. "Don’t move. I’m going to go check out the car." He waited until Vaughn nodded before taking off down the street.

The car was completely smashed and the bullet hole in the driver’s head indicated that he was quite dead. Avoiding pieces of the broken window, Sark reached in through the passenger side window and grabbed some papers that had fallen on the floor. Grabbing the man’s cell phone and wallet from the front pocket of his jacket, Sark was about to pull himself out of the car when he noticed a small GPS unit mounted to the front dash. With a quick tug, Sark pulled it off, ripping some wires in the process.

With sirens ringing in the distance, he tucked the all the equipment into his front pocket and ran back to the car.

Chapter 15 - Punishment

a thousand lips a thousand tongues
a thousand throats a thousand lungs
a thousand ways to make it true
i want to do terrible things to you

It was almost the next evening, when Sark awoke, and looked around in confusion. The orientation of his bed to the room was strange to him and looking around; he could see the room cloaked in unfamiliar shadows. It took him several seconds before his mind kicked in to remind him of where he was.

And as the previous day’s events unfolded in his mind, Sark shook his head in anger. He’d been through worse without losing his bearings, and it was unacceptable to him that his mind had now taken those few seconds to get back into the game. He understood well that the loss of a few seconds always had the potential to mean the difference between life and death.

Sark forced himself up to a sitting position. Taking a few drugs shouldn’t have had this effect on him. Even the time that he had woken up in Tajikistan after being captured by one of Irina’s ex-partners, he’d woken up with his wits about him. Even sporting a half cracked skull.

Sark smirked at the memory and then berated himself for letting his mind wander over irrelevant facts. He forced himself to take stock of his surroundings which obviously he had been too preoccupied to do before he passed out in exhaustion. The reality of the situation was that he was in a somewhat nice hotel room, somewhere on the opposite side of town from where they’d been staying before. A very nice hotel room, now that he thought back to the bellhop’s reaction to their early morning check-in.

He shifted and stretched, trying to work out all the kinks that had developed in his back and neck, and then quickly decided that perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to let Vaughn have the bed, while he took the couch. Apparently the only room available when they had checked in had been a one-bedroom suite and at the time, he hadn’t trusted Vaughn’s thought processes to remember about the tracking device that bound them together. He had figured that if he slept on the couch, then if Vaughn decided to go for a stroll, at least the noise would wake him.

Sark rubbed his neck and decided that if Vaughn was still too distraught to think when he next decided to go to bed, perhaps he would just tie him up and lock him in the bathroom or something.

Sark forced his feet down off the couch and made his way over to the window so that he could open up the blinds. He could see the setting sun casting an orange and yellow glow across the sky, in between the tightly packed buildings of the city.

Not trying to be particularly quiet, he walked over to the bedroom and looked inside. Sure enough Vaughn was still in bed. He was tangled badly in his blankets as if he had been tossing and turning for quite some time, but the struggle seemed to have finally worn him down. He was sleeping so soundly that his body couldn’t even be bothered to close his mouth.

And for a brief moment, Sark indulged himself and let his eyes linger over Vaughn’s sleeping form. Finally, shaking his head, Sark decided to use the opportunity to take a well-deserved shower.

...

Washed and changed, Sark sat back down on the couch and leaned his head back. Vaughn had woken up during his shower and was now taking his turn under the steaming water.

Sark reached over to his jacket and removed the GPS and cell phone that he had retrieved from the car. Looking them over, he made a mental note to grab the emergency tool kit he had seen in the car, as soon as he had the chance. Putting them back into his jacket pocket, Sark took out the documents and started reading them over.

He had been right. The man that he had seen with Andre at the club was also an interested buyer. Sark found a few contact names. He was so immersed in the documents that he didn’t even hear Vaughn come into the living room and sit down in the chair across from him.

"Did you find anything?" Vaughn’s voice broke the silence.

Sark looked up with a start and then narrowed his eyes. "Does the name the Covenant mean anything to you?"

Vaughn shook his head and then seemed to change his mind mid-way. "No, wait. I think they were mentioned briefly in sit-report I read about two weeks ago, but that’s it. A militant, Russian reformist group, I think."

Sark rubbed his hands as he pondered this new information. As he was massaging his knuckles, he looked at his hand and his forehead creased in irritation. The temporary tattoo hadn’t washed off completely in the shower and it still marked the back of his hand.

"The dye didn’t wash out of your hair either." Vaughn commented quietly.

Sark snorted. "No, not surprisingly it didn’t. This was CIA standard issue was it not?"

Vaughn smiled sadly. "It’s a good look on you though."

"Makes my eyes bluer?" Sark asked innocently.

Vaughn nodded.

Sark snorted again. "Great. Because looking distinctive is a good thing in our line of work."

Vaughn shook his head. "Does everything in your life come down to how well it fits into your life as a spy?"

"Of course."

Vaughn shook his head sadly again and then reached into one of the bags carrying the purchases they had made yesterday. He pulled out a bottle and threw it at Sark.

Sark caught it with one hand and looked at him questioningly.

"It’s baby oil. It will remove the tattoo from your hand. Didn’t you wonder why I picked it up yesterday?"

Sark smiled. "I’ve long since stopped trying to make sense of why the CIA does certain things. Did you buy me any cotton balls?"

Vaughn shook his head again, but this time with a small smile on his face.

"Figures." Sark walked over to the bathroom and grabbed a handful of toilet paper and used it to soak up the oil. Sure enough, the baby oil removed the remnants of the tattoo.

Sark walked back to the sofa and sat down, tossing the bottle on the coffee table. "Do you want to order some food?"

Suddenly the small smiled vanished. "No," Vaughn answered and walked back to the bedroom. With an audible click, Sark heard the door shut.

With a sigh, Sark decided to set up the laptop.

...

Vaughn huddled in the corner of the bedroom as the nausea and pain wracked his body. He sat there in the darkness and allowed it to encompass him completely. He couldn’t help feeling that in a way, he deserved it.

He had failed her in the worst possible way and allowed someone to snatch her away from the safety of her home. And then, just a few moments ago he had almost failed her again. He had almost pushed the horrible emptiness aside and allowed a small smile to cross his face. He had almost allowed Sark’s banter to ease his mind and he had almost allowed his strength to carry him. For one brief, frightening moment he almost allowed himself to find comfort in being taken care of.

But thankfully he had remembered. He didn’t deserve anyone to take care of him. He had failed in taking care of Sydney. He didn’t deserve to have his pain eased, it was only a small penance compared to what she must have gone through.

He rocked himself back and forth by bringing his legs up to his chest. He was determined to bear his punishment as he was meant to now. For at least as long as he could.

...

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Sark looked back at the screen but the text still looked like it was slightly out of focus. It was only nine o’clock in the evening, but it felt much later. Sark cursed to himself quietly. It would likely take him a couple more days to fully recover from the after effects of the drugs.

He stood up and made his way over to the balcony. Once outside, he leaned against the railing and let the cool air wash over him. Taking a moment to enjoy the solitude, Sark breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes to block out the distraction of the streets below. With deep and even breaths, he forced his mind clear of everything, until all he was left with was his own consciousness. With the precision of a surgeon, he sorted through his thoughts from the last few days, ordering them and discarding the ones that were irrelevant.

He hadn’t lied to Vaughn when he said that he only used whatever drugs were necessary. There was no danger of him ever becoming an addict because Sark despised every minute that he was under the influence of a foreign substance. He despised the tremors that came with stimulants and though he treasured a good glass of wine, he knew his limit with alcohol as well. He drank to enjoy the tastes not to lose control of his inhibitions; though he was fairly certain he didn’t have any inhibitions left to lose.

In that small regards, he had understood Vaughn’s desire to drive to Genoa because Sark understood the desire for control; especially in a world with so many variables. He understood because it was a desire that was ever present in him.

Which was why Sark now savored his ability to stand perfectly still in the cool night air.

A small sound behind him interrupted his thoughts, and caused him to open his eyes.

Vaughn had finally come out of his room and was making his way to the small bar.
Sark opened the balcony door and went back inside, all the while watching Vaughn’s movements. Grabbing a handful of the single shot bottles, Vaughn walked over to the kitchenette. Sark watched him as he absentmindedly sniffed at the leftovers of his meal before moving it aside and grabbing a plastic cup off of the counter. Vaughn filled it with three shots of rum and then tossed the glass back with one quick swing.

"Do you want me to order you anything from room service?" Sark asked, trying not to become nauseous just from looking at what Vaughn was drinking.

Vaughn ignored him. Sark shrugged to himself, turned back to his computer on the coffee table and checked his messages.

Finally Vaughn wandered into the main room where the couch and television were and tripped over the cord for the laptop, unplugging it from the wall. Vaughn swore as he spilled his drink and Sark swore as the laptop was jerked away from him and almost fell to the floor.

"What the fuck are you even doing?" Vaughn yelled.

Sark closed the laptop and stood up. "I’m trying to do something productive other than to drink myself into a stupor."

"Fuck you." Vaughn replied angrily.

Sark stood up, clenching his fists. "The bastards that killed her are still out there. Don’t you want to catch them?"

Vaughn responded by taking the empty glass and throwing it against the wall. The remnants of the liquid showered out as the plastic glass bounced off the wall and onto the floor. Sark watched as Vaughn clenched his fists and then stood up and went to the bar to pick up some more small bottles. "Why don’t you call room service and ask them to bring me up a real bottle, not just these stupid shots."

"Call them yourself." Sark retorted. He moved the laptop safely off the table and then turned back to Vaughn. "If you’re going to be drinking yourself unconscious, can I trust you not to wander off without me? I would rather not die tonight, but if you’re going to be such great company, I’d just as soon grab some more sleep on something more comfortable than the couch."

Vaughn glared at him and drank the liquor right from the small bottle. Sark spun around on his heels and headed for the bedroom.

Chapter 16 - Fear

swallowed followed
heavy about everything
but my love
swallowed sorrowed
i'm with everyone and yet not

A loud clanging of glasses brought Sark out of his sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he looked over at the alarm clock. The ugly, red flash of 3:14 stung his eyes but this time he remembered right away why he felt strangely hollow and exhausted. He pulled the pillow over his head and was about to go back to sleep when he heard another crash from what sounded like the living room.

Sark forced himself out of bed and wandered towards the sounds. When he arrived at the living room, he found Vaughn sitting by the coffee table with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of tequila lying empty on the floor. It didn’t look like he had moved at all. Vaughn glared at him and then took another swig from the bottle.

Tiredly, Sark sat down on the floor beside him and leaned his back against the sofa. He took the bottle from Vaughn’s hand and helped himself to a mouthful. He didn’t bother trying to hide his grimace as the foul tasting liquid burned his throat. When Vaughn tried to take it back, Sark moved it out of his reach. "I don’t think so. Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to mix drinks? If you just drank that whole bottle of tequila, I have no idea how you are even still conscious."

"Give me the fucking bottle Sark," Vaughn slurred angrily.

Sark finally gave up and returned the bottle to him, but not before drinking a little more himself. However, he found that repetition did not improve the flavor, or the roughness of it.

Vaughn eyed the whiskey suspiciously as if debating on wiping the mouth of the bottle. In the end he decided against it and brought the bottle back up to his lips. After he had gulped down another mouthful, Vaughn leaned against the table with his elbows and rested his face in his arms. Sark watched him in silence for a few minutes before Vaughn looked back up. "Are you scared of death?" he asked Sark quietly.

Sark took a deep breath, startled at the question. Then he shook his head.

"Why not?" Vaughn’s speech was slightly slurred, but his eyes were focused intently on him.

Sark shrugged. "What’s the point? It’s bound to happen eventually."

"But, what about after? Doesn’t the thought of disappearing into nothing or worse, living forever as nothing, scare you?"

Sark sighed and shifted uncomfortably. "No," he answered reluctantly. "But not because I find either of those alternatives comforting."

"Then I don’t understand."

Sark looked away from him. "It’s because of the way that I am, I think. I can sit and force myself to think about eternity, and I can feel unsettled in the sense that it’s something I don’t understand and therefore can’t prepare for. I can feel unease at the thought of wasting away for eternity, with only my own consciousness to keep me company. Or I can feel a sense of futility by imagining that when I die, it will all be for nothing if my consciousness just winks out of existence. But all of those actions require serious meditation on my part."

Vaughn straightened up a little. "You mean you don’t ever feel scared?"

"Not really. Not scared. Fear isn’t exactly an emotion that’s prized in our field, after all." He smiled a little, remembering Vaughn’s earlier words about how all the things in his life were valued at how they fit into his profession.

Vaughn moved his face a little closer, as if he were examining him and Sark could smell the alcohol on his breath. "They can do that? They can just remove certain emotions from you?"

"The physical manifestations of some emotions, yes. At least suppress them to a great extent. But-"

Vaughn interrupted him by grabbing both of his shoulders and bringing him closer. "Help me. Do that to me," Vaughn pleaded. "Make me forget. Make this hole in my soul go away, please."

Sark could see the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. He forced his voice to stay low. "You don’t know what you’re asking."

"I do. You know how to do it. You helped train the other kids. Make me forget. Please. I just don’t know how to live feeling like this! I tried, but I’m too weak. Please, help me."

"No!" Sark shoved Vaughn away, angrily. "You don’t know what you’re asking for, trust me. I’ve lived through it, on both ends. How can you even ask?"

Sark pushed himself up off the floor and Vaughn buried his head in his hands. It took him a moment to realize that Vaughn was crying.

And the tug inside his heart drew him back over to the man sitting on the floor. He grabbed Vaughn under his arms and forced him to stand up.

Vaughn swayed unsteadily and turned around so that he was facing him.

Sark looked at his red eyes and he could read the pain in them. There were wet tracks on his face and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching forward and gently wiping them away.

Vaughn closed his eyes and let him.

"There are other ways to heal pain." Sark spoke quietly; his right hand still on Vaughn’s cheek and Vaughn opened his eyes and looked at him. Sark watched him stick the tip of his tongue out and lick his lips nervously.

He took that as permission to continue.

Sark placed his other hand behind Vaughn’s back and brought him closer. Vaughn’s eyes didn’t waver from his own until eventually their faces were less than an inch apart. Then Vaughn’s gaze dropped to Sark’s lips and then back up to his eyes.

Sark didn’t move any closer and neither did Vaughn.

The tension continued to build, with neither of them moving either further or closer apart until Sark looked down at Vaughn’s mouth. He noticed that Vaughn’s lips were moist from when he’d just licked them and slightly parted. So Sark opened his own mouth slightly and brought his face a little bit closer still. They were so close now, that they could inhale each other’s breaths.

And Sark could feel the heat building in the room. Finally, Sark slowly brought his face the rest of the way until he felt Vaughn’s soft lips against his own. But it wasn’t really a kiss; it was more of a caress. Vaughn didn’t move, except to close his eyes, so Sark brushed his lips against Vaughn’s, keeping his own eyes open so he could watch. Vaughn had some stubble on his cheeks but Sark found that he didn’t mind. The disheveled look made him look more human; more approachable. It made the thought of what he was doing seem a little bit less insane. Sark then slowly turned his caress into a kiss.

He could feel Vaughn leaning his face into his hand, so Sark deepened the kiss a little. He brought his tongue to the tip of Vaughn’s mouth and ran it along his lips in mimicry of Vaughn’s action moments before. Sark’s eyes were so intent on watching the pain recede from Vaughn’s face that he almost didn’t register the salty taste of his lips.

But Vaughn shivered and then suddenly he felt Vaughn’s tongue tentatively meeting his own and Sark lost all thought of watching Vaughn. And though he had been the one to set the purposefully slow pace, suddenly Sark found that he couldn’t stand the pressure any more. He brought up his other hand to Vaughn’s face and savagely thrust his tongue into his mouth.

Vaughn moaned quietly and grabbed a handful of Sark’s hair.

Finally, Sark pulled back and they looked at each other, though Vaughn swayed a bit in his arms.

"This has tragedy written all over it," Sark said quietly.

Vaughn reached for his arm and pulled him closer. "This already is a fucking tragedy."

Sark nodded and without letting Vaughn trip over his own feet, maneuvered them both so that they were sitting on the couch.

"You hate me, I know..." Vaughn started to say but Sark cut him off with a scowl.

"I don’t hate you," Sark whispered and brought his face back towards Vaughn’s and captured his lips with his mouth.

When they finally broke apart again, Vaughn ran his hand lightly over Sark’s lips. "Why are you doing this?"

Sark looked at him worriedly. "Do you want me to stop?"

Vaughn shook his head and Sark focused intently on Vaughn’s eyes. They were a bit glazed from the alcohol, but there was still a spark of lucidity in them. "But that doesn’t explain why you’re doing this? What’s in it for you?"

"You’re not the only one trying to heal, you know."

Vaughn closed his eyes and nodded. "I’m sorry."

Sark watched Vaughn rest his head back against a cushion. "Let me get you a glass of water." Vaughn nodded, but when Sark returned with a tall glass, Vaughn was passed out on the couch.

"Oh for fuck’s sake." Sark cursed quietly under his breath and drank the water himself.