[WaM] 024 - An Unfamiliar Feeling
Jun. 23rd, 2008 10:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elementof_risk[ooc: Following story line going on in Rachel and Sydney's journals. To get the whole effect, read this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this and this, all written by the fabulous Rachel and Syd mun. This is merely my companion piece of Sark's aftermath of reactions to the brilliant work she's already done. :-)]
Fear, he knew. It was one of his earliest emotions, the first he remembered, imprinted on his brain, hardwired in. Fear and rage, and the way they mingled in his blood, under his skin until sometimes he thought they were all that was really true about him. When Bomani had threatened Lauren, he had felt it for the first time for someone else--fear for her safety, planning how to keep her alive, what he would do. There had been concern he wouldn't arrive in time, and the relief when he did he'd pushed back under a biting remark at the surprise in her eyes.
But this...sick terror that twisted inside of him, that let him risk everything to contact Sydney, to get what he needed from her...this was new. It tightened in his chest and coiled in his stomach, and his fingers trembled slightly as he sent emails flying to Katya and his second-in-command. The plane was fueled and ready with emergency flight plans filed thanks to a great deal of pull and some carefully placed bribes. He boarded, receiving confirmation from Kian just before take off that the team would be there. Three hours into the flight, Katya's reply came through.
Julian,
It seems that Umbertide is indeed the likeliest place the package would be held. From what I can discern, the building you want is at the attached coordinates. The buyer for the virus was a Seri Avash Nara. Local, vicious, as they are. With the virus at his disposal he could have been dangerous, and I cannot say what else he might have as a contingency plan. The supplier is dead, so he is likely who you are looking for. No connections to anyone else I can find, higher up, as it were. He seems to be independent.
If you need anything else, Мой милый, don't hesitate to call.
K
He read it twice, then sent a message to Kian.
Meet me at these coordinates, in 9 hours. S
The sick feeling was still there, knotted up inside of him. He poured himself one drink--just one--to try and settle it, to block out the images of what Rachel could be going through. But these were the people he knew, at least by type. He was one of them. And if someone had destroyed his ticket to the big leagues, if there was a chance at getting it back...he knew what he'd do.
The thought was no comfort at all.
* * *
He wanted to order his men in without waiting, to take the facility, but then they risked a three-way firefight that could leave Rachel caught in the middle, and that wasn't a risk he was willing to take. A man with a few others exited the building, moving to a vehicle. Pulling up the files Katya had sent, he nodded. It was Nara.
"Tarrington, take your men and follow that vehicle. Do not let them see you, but do not engage unless necessary to stop them from leaving the country. I want to know where they go."
"Yes, sir..." The voice came back, faint.
"Will that leave us enough," Kian whispered from where he lay next to Sark.
"The CIA is going to take the building. I want intel. We'll regroup before engaging," Sark responded, eyes fixed on the building and he felt more than saw Kian's nod.
He watched the tactical team sweep in, watched the others, picking out Sydney and Vaughn with practiced ease. When they went in, he pushed back the need to rush in after them, and when the medical unit arrived, his fingers curled tight enough around his gun that Kian looked worried. They went in, and Sark started praying to anything that would listen that they wouldn't come out with a body bag. It seemed like ages, but when they came, when he saw her, he almost cried. A soft sound escaped as he looked through the binoculars. She looked like hell, but she was alive, and that made her the most beautiful thing he had seen.
Sydney and Vaughn went with her, and again, he found himself wanting to throw caution to the wind because it should be him with her, there. But she was safe. He had to keep saying that.
"Find out where they're taking her," he ordered softly, eyes still fixed on the building, waiting for the rest to leave.
He had to know.
* * *
"Sir?"
The voice barely penetrated the fog that seemed to have settled around his brain. Sark crouched in the middle of the room, fingers lightly trailing in the water. The tub, the hose, the disturbance all around, it told a story, and it was one he didn't want to hear but which echoed around and around in his brain. He could almost feel the choking, hear her gasps, his body trembling imperceptibly in the cold of the room.
"Sir, I found these..." Kian held out vials to him, and Sark stood, taking them, forcing himself to focus. He read the labels, his eyes closing briefly. How close had they come to stopping her heart? Had they had to resuscitate her to get what they wanted? Had her heart stopped? Had she slipped away from him, even for a second, following everyone else he'd ever loved? He'd seen the bruises, knew she'd been beaten, but this...
Crossing to tub, he trailed his fingers inside the water, eyes following the hose upward, staring there for a long moment.
"Pack them up," he finally ordered, shooting Kian a look.
"The drugs, sir?"
"Yes, all of them. I don't think we have any of this particular derivative."
"Yes, sir."
His phone rang and he answered it sharply. "Where are they?"
"Perguia, sir. They've stopped and gone into a building here. It seems to be a facility of sorts, a bit like Galway."
"Any activity?"
"Heat monitors are picking up several inside, moving fast."
Likely getting rid of things for fear they'd be tracked. Of course, Sydney would be too worried about Rachel. He was as well, but there was little he could do, all things considered, besides this.
"Keep them there, we're on our way." He tucked the phone away, and gave Kian a cold smile. "Bring the drugs and the shackles. We're going to Perguia."
* * *
They took the building hard and fast, breaching security with a brutal efficiency. They met with resistance, but Sark had said the minions were not to be bothered with keeping alive, so they didn't.
"Sir!" Sark spun, and found Kian holding Seri Avash Nara with a gun to the back of his neck. "He was trying to slip out the back again."
"Well we can't have that," Sark murmured, moving closer, raising his own gun. He only stopped when he pressed the gun to the middle of his forehead.
"You've come because of the girl? You're who she works for?" Nara looked at him, defiant.
Sark smirked. "No. I'm not who she works for. You should wish I was, though. They might show mercy, might just have locked you away for the rest of your life, or given you a clean, lethal injection for your execution. I am something much, much worse." He leaned in, lips near the other man's ear. "I'm Julian Sark. Have you heard of me?"
He pulled back enough, and caught the flash of recognition in the man's eyes, that deep knowing, that he still tried to fight off with bravado. "Then what? You want my business, my contacts? If you want the virus, they took it. You go get it back."
Sark just gave him a look from ice cold eyes. "The girl...you hurt her, badly."
"What is it to you?" Genuine confusion laced the man's eyes, and Sark gave him a cold, cold smile.
"She is mine."
And there it was, finally, that spark, that flicker, that beautiful moment when fear flooded Nara's eyes, and Sark's smile grew as he flicked his gaze to Kian.
"Is the building secure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, bring him."
* * *
Much like at SD-6, there was a basement room that made Sark's eyes light up with an unholy sort of glee, the sight of which made the man in Kian's custody pale a bit. After he strapped him down, Sark nodded for his second to leave, and leaned against a table, studying his captive.
"You wanted information from her, wanted her to tell you things..."
He was met with a silent glare.
"I don't care what you tell me, really. I have your computers, your files. Anything I might want to know about your operation, your plans, I'll just take. I tell you this so that you don't think there's any hope."
"You are Julian Sark. You always make the deals..."
"In business," Sark agreed with surprising equanimity. "Yes, I do. I'm rather known for it, actually."
"I have contacts..."
Sark rolled his eyes. "I found you in under a day as soon as I had the medical facility's location. I don't need your contacts."
He moved to tighten the straps on the man's wrists, standing over the tray of toys. "There must be something you want," the man said, desperate as Sark picked up a pair of fine pliers.
"Scream."
* * *
The man--Sark let his name slide away after they started, stripping him of it in his head, insignificant, a piece of flesh without more behind it--hung from the shackles Sark had brought from Umbertide. He had seen their position, had known she had hung there, and now her tormentor hung limp in her place. Blood ran down his hands from where each of his fingernails had been neatly pulled off. It shone slick, trickling down the line of his arms to pool in the crook of his elbow before dripping to the floor in vivid red drops under bright white lights.
Sark plunged the needle into his neck, revivng him, and aimed a kick at his ribs before he was fully awake. He felt bone give, heard the man scream again as the ribs cracked, pushing in on his lungs, and the scream reverberated around the room.
"Good, you're awake."
The man swallowed, gasping for air, his whole body trembling. "Please..."
Sark stood back, watching him for a moment, then reached for the electric baton. "Please what?"
The man shook his head mutely, and Sark tilted his head, studying him with almost academic interest.
"Since..." The man wet his lips, tried again. "I never heard you went in for vengeance..."
Sark's smile would have been perfectly in place in a drawing room as he flicked his wrist and set the dangling body dancing with electric current. "I'm trying something new."
* * *
When Sark revived him the next time, the man's heart stopped, and Sark felt like his froze, thinking about Rachel's, wondering how close hers came to giving out. He resuscitated him with the defibrillator, stepping back from the table he had him strapped to. He watched the pull of labored breaths and reached to press on the man's ribs, feeling them sink far deeper than they should, the right side of his chest seeming slightly caved in.
"I think your lung collapsed," he said conversationally.
Tears leaked from beneath the man's eyelids, and Sark smirked slightly. Leaning down, he propped his arm next to the man's head. "Did you make her cry? I don't think the likes of you could have, but tell me...did she cry? Did she beg?"
"N-no." The answer came fast enough that he doubted he was lying.
"She's better than you."
"Yes."
"Better than me."
The man was wise enough to be silent, and Sark smirked again.
"Open your eyes." It was a soft order, but the man complied immediately. Sark picked up the instrument from the tray, flicking it on and holding it up. "The last time I used this was on my father. He had information I needed, you see. He gave it to me, eventually, and I stopped, despite wanting to kill him. But he might have known something else. But, you see...I don't have to stop with you. And you hurt something far more precious to me than he did..."
"Sark...I'm...I didn't know. I'm sorry...I didn't know. Please...anything. You. Want..."
"I want her home, whole, healthy and without nightmares," Sark hissed. "I want her never to have known this...but you can't give that to me, can you?"
"I won't...not ever again..."
Sark laughed, actually laughed. "You are so very right about that."
He was still laughing as he lowered the flame to the man's skin and watched the blisters rise.
* * *
He called for Kian's help, ignoring the his second's wincing at the contusions on the man's face, the third degree burns that covered most of his now naked body, hiding the bruising that had started to mottle his skin over the time they had been working. Hours? Days? Sark felt weariness settling deep in his bones, suggesting it had been over a day. He had napped when the drugs pulled the man under, but his dreams had been haunted with Rachel's screams. He'd heard them before, after all. He didn't have to imagine them. He knew the way she would mouth off, refuse to cooperate, the hatred in her eyes, the way the sounds she made reverberated in his head, in the room. They jerked him awake every time. Then, now. The man on the table might as well have been him. And it was time to finish it.
The tub was the piece de resistance.
They lowered him in, and Sark's eyes brushed over his handiwork dispassionately. The man's eyes flickered open, mad with the pain. His lips moved, but his voice was gone from the screaming.
"Shh..." Sark whispered, shaking his head as he shifted and hooked the hose over his head where the water would rush. It wouldn't choke him, wouldn't drown him immediately. It would be slow, even if he swallowed convulsively to end it. Kian glanced at him, one eyebrow going up as his hands drifted over the knobs to turn on the water. They settled on the cold, but Sark shook his head. "Make it hot. Scalding. Let him have one last taste of Hell on Earth before he hits the real one."
Kian nodded, and turned on the water. Steam flooded the air as the water hit the air, then burned, blistered and blackened skin. It was hard for the man to scream with the water choking him, but when the water rushed over him, he managed it anyway, thrashing, trying to get away, but barely able to move with all the broken bones.
Sark stepped back, watching unflinching and without expression until the screams stopped, the flailing limbs ceased moving. Head tilting, he continued to watch as the tub overflowed, only nodding to Kian to turn off the water when it reached his shoes. Turning he moved to the sink, slowly turning on cold water and letting his hands run under it, watching the blood wash away.
"What should I do with him, sir?" Kian's voice was quiet, respectful.
"In the old days, they hung bodies as a lesson to others," Sark said, reaching for the soap. "I think that should work. Out front, before we leave, on his own gate."
"People will talk. They'll wonder what he did...who was behind this...what message its sending."
Sark reached for a towel to dry his hands, turning to look at Kian with eyes still icy with a dark sort of despair. "I'm counting on it."
Fear, he knew. It was one of his earliest emotions, the first he remembered, imprinted on his brain, hardwired in. Fear and rage, and the way they mingled in his blood, under his skin until sometimes he thought they were all that was really true about him. When Bomani had threatened Lauren, he had felt it for the first time for someone else--fear for her safety, planning how to keep her alive, what he would do. There had been concern he wouldn't arrive in time, and the relief when he did he'd pushed back under a biting remark at the surprise in her eyes.
But this...sick terror that twisted inside of him, that let him risk everything to contact Sydney, to get what he needed from her...this was new. It tightened in his chest and coiled in his stomach, and his fingers trembled slightly as he sent emails flying to Katya and his second-in-command. The plane was fueled and ready with emergency flight plans filed thanks to a great deal of pull and some carefully placed bribes. He boarded, receiving confirmation from Kian just before take off that the team would be there. Three hours into the flight, Katya's reply came through.
Julian,
It seems that Umbertide is indeed the likeliest place the package would be held. From what I can discern, the building you want is at the attached coordinates. The buyer for the virus was a Seri Avash Nara. Local, vicious, as they are. With the virus at his disposal he could have been dangerous, and I cannot say what else he might have as a contingency plan. The supplier is dead, so he is likely who you are looking for. No connections to anyone else I can find, higher up, as it were. He seems to be independent.
If you need anything else, Мой милый, don't hesitate to call.
K
He read it twice, then sent a message to Kian.
Meet me at these coordinates, in 9 hours. S
The sick feeling was still there, knotted up inside of him. He poured himself one drink--just one--to try and settle it, to block out the images of what Rachel could be going through. But these were the people he knew, at least by type. He was one of them. And if someone had destroyed his ticket to the big leagues, if there was a chance at getting it back...he knew what he'd do.
The thought was no comfort at all.
He wanted to order his men in without waiting, to take the facility, but then they risked a three-way firefight that could leave Rachel caught in the middle, and that wasn't a risk he was willing to take. A man with a few others exited the building, moving to a vehicle. Pulling up the files Katya had sent, he nodded. It was Nara.
"Tarrington, take your men and follow that vehicle. Do not let them see you, but do not engage unless necessary to stop them from leaving the country. I want to know where they go."
"Yes, sir..." The voice came back, faint.
"Will that leave us enough," Kian whispered from where he lay next to Sark.
"The CIA is going to take the building. I want intel. We'll regroup before engaging," Sark responded, eyes fixed on the building and he felt more than saw Kian's nod.
He watched the tactical team sweep in, watched the others, picking out Sydney and Vaughn with practiced ease. When they went in, he pushed back the need to rush in after them, and when the medical unit arrived, his fingers curled tight enough around his gun that Kian looked worried. They went in, and Sark started praying to anything that would listen that they wouldn't come out with a body bag. It seemed like ages, but when they came, when he saw her, he almost cried. A soft sound escaped as he looked through the binoculars. She looked like hell, but she was alive, and that made her the most beautiful thing he had seen.
Sydney and Vaughn went with her, and again, he found himself wanting to throw caution to the wind because it should be him with her, there. But she was safe. He had to keep saying that.
"Find out where they're taking her," he ordered softly, eyes still fixed on the building, waiting for the rest to leave.
He had to know.
"Sir?"
The voice barely penetrated the fog that seemed to have settled around his brain. Sark crouched in the middle of the room, fingers lightly trailing in the water. The tub, the hose, the disturbance all around, it told a story, and it was one he didn't want to hear but which echoed around and around in his brain. He could almost feel the choking, hear her gasps, his body trembling imperceptibly in the cold of the room.
"Sir, I found these..." Kian held out vials to him, and Sark stood, taking them, forcing himself to focus. He read the labels, his eyes closing briefly. How close had they come to stopping her heart? Had they had to resuscitate her to get what they wanted? Had her heart stopped? Had she slipped away from him, even for a second, following everyone else he'd ever loved? He'd seen the bruises, knew she'd been beaten, but this...
Crossing to tub, he trailed his fingers inside the water, eyes following the hose upward, staring there for a long moment.
"Pack them up," he finally ordered, shooting Kian a look.
"The drugs, sir?"
"Yes, all of them. I don't think we have any of this particular derivative."
"Yes, sir."
His phone rang and he answered it sharply. "Where are they?"
"Perguia, sir. They've stopped and gone into a building here. It seems to be a facility of sorts, a bit like Galway."
"Any activity?"
"Heat monitors are picking up several inside, moving fast."
Likely getting rid of things for fear they'd be tracked. Of course, Sydney would be too worried about Rachel. He was as well, but there was little he could do, all things considered, besides this.
"Keep them there, we're on our way." He tucked the phone away, and gave Kian a cold smile. "Bring the drugs and the shackles. We're going to Perguia."
They took the building hard and fast, breaching security with a brutal efficiency. They met with resistance, but Sark had said the minions were not to be bothered with keeping alive, so they didn't.
"Sir!" Sark spun, and found Kian holding Seri Avash Nara with a gun to the back of his neck. "He was trying to slip out the back again."
"Well we can't have that," Sark murmured, moving closer, raising his own gun. He only stopped when he pressed the gun to the middle of his forehead.
"You've come because of the girl? You're who she works for?" Nara looked at him, defiant.
Sark smirked. "No. I'm not who she works for. You should wish I was, though. They might show mercy, might just have locked you away for the rest of your life, or given you a clean, lethal injection for your execution. I am something much, much worse." He leaned in, lips near the other man's ear. "I'm Julian Sark. Have you heard of me?"
He pulled back enough, and caught the flash of recognition in the man's eyes, that deep knowing, that he still tried to fight off with bravado. "Then what? You want my business, my contacts? If you want the virus, they took it. You go get it back."
Sark just gave him a look from ice cold eyes. "The girl...you hurt her, badly."
"What is it to you?" Genuine confusion laced the man's eyes, and Sark gave him a cold, cold smile.
"She is mine."
And there it was, finally, that spark, that flicker, that beautiful moment when fear flooded Nara's eyes, and Sark's smile grew as he flicked his gaze to Kian.
"Is the building secure?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then, bring him."
Much like at SD-6, there was a basement room that made Sark's eyes light up with an unholy sort of glee, the sight of which made the man in Kian's custody pale a bit. After he strapped him down, Sark nodded for his second to leave, and leaned against a table, studying his captive.
"You wanted information from her, wanted her to tell you things..."
He was met with a silent glare.
"I don't care what you tell me, really. I have your computers, your files. Anything I might want to know about your operation, your plans, I'll just take. I tell you this so that you don't think there's any hope."
"You are Julian Sark. You always make the deals..."
"In business," Sark agreed with surprising equanimity. "Yes, I do. I'm rather known for it, actually."
"I have contacts..."
Sark rolled his eyes. "I found you in under a day as soon as I had the medical facility's location. I don't need your contacts."
He moved to tighten the straps on the man's wrists, standing over the tray of toys. "There must be something you want," the man said, desperate as Sark picked up a pair of fine pliers.
"Scream."
The man--Sark let his name slide away after they started, stripping him of it in his head, insignificant, a piece of flesh without more behind it--hung from the shackles Sark had brought from Umbertide. He had seen their position, had known she had hung there, and now her tormentor hung limp in her place. Blood ran down his hands from where each of his fingernails had been neatly pulled off. It shone slick, trickling down the line of his arms to pool in the crook of his elbow before dripping to the floor in vivid red drops under bright white lights.
Sark plunged the needle into his neck, revivng him, and aimed a kick at his ribs before he was fully awake. He felt bone give, heard the man scream again as the ribs cracked, pushing in on his lungs, and the scream reverberated around the room.
"Good, you're awake."
The man swallowed, gasping for air, his whole body trembling. "Please..."
Sark stood back, watching him for a moment, then reached for the electric baton. "Please what?"
The man shook his head mutely, and Sark tilted his head, studying him with almost academic interest.
"Since..." The man wet his lips, tried again. "I never heard you went in for vengeance..."
Sark's smile would have been perfectly in place in a drawing room as he flicked his wrist and set the dangling body dancing with electric current. "I'm trying something new."
When Sark revived him the next time, the man's heart stopped, and Sark felt like his froze, thinking about Rachel's, wondering how close hers came to giving out. He resuscitated him with the defibrillator, stepping back from the table he had him strapped to. He watched the pull of labored breaths and reached to press on the man's ribs, feeling them sink far deeper than they should, the right side of his chest seeming slightly caved in.
"I think your lung collapsed," he said conversationally.
Tears leaked from beneath the man's eyelids, and Sark smirked slightly. Leaning down, he propped his arm next to the man's head. "Did you make her cry? I don't think the likes of you could have, but tell me...did she cry? Did she beg?"
"N-no." The answer came fast enough that he doubted he was lying.
"She's better than you."
"Yes."
"Better than me."
The man was wise enough to be silent, and Sark smirked again.
"Open your eyes." It was a soft order, but the man complied immediately. Sark picked up the instrument from the tray, flicking it on and holding it up. "The last time I used this was on my father. He had information I needed, you see. He gave it to me, eventually, and I stopped, despite wanting to kill him. But he might have known something else. But, you see...I don't have to stop with you. And you hurt something far more precious to me than he did..."
"Sark...I'm...I didn't know. I'm sorry...I didn't know. Please...anything. You. Want..."
"I want her home, whole, healthy and without nightmares," Sark hissed. "I want her never to have known this...but you can't give that to me, can you?"
"I won't...not ever again..."
Sark laughed, actually laughed. "You are so very right about that."
He was still laughing as he lowered the flame to the man's skin and watched the blisters rise.
He called for Kian's help, ignoring the his second's wincing at the contusions on the man's face, the third degree burns that covered most of his now naked body, hiding the bruising that had started to mottle his skin over the time they had been working. Hours? Days? Sark felt weariness settling deep in his bones, suggesting it had been over a day. He had napped when the drugs pulled the man under, but his dreams had been haunted with Rachel's screams. He'd heard them before, after all. He didn't have to imagine them. He knew the way she would mouth off, refuse to cooperate, the hatred in her eyes, the way the sounds she made reverberated in his head, in the room. They jerked him awake every time. Then, now. The man on the table might as well have been him. And it was time to finish it.
The tub was the piece de resistance.
They lowered him in, and Sark's eyes brushed over his handiwork dispassionately. The man's eyes flickered open, mad with the pain. His lips moved, but his voice was gone from the screaming.
"Shh..." Sark whispered, shaking his head as he shifted and hooked the hose over his head where the water would rush. It wouldn't choke him, wouldn't drown him immediately. It would be slow, even if he swallowed convulsively to end it. Kian glanced at him, one eyebrow going up as his hands drifted over the knobs to turn on the water. They settled on the cold, but Sark shook his head. "Make it hot. Scalding. Let him have one last taste of Hell on Earth before he hits the real one."
Kian nodded, and turned on the water. Steam flooded the air as the water hit the air, then burned, blistered and blackened skin. It was hard for the man to scream with the water choking him, but when the water rushed over him, he managed it anyway, thrashing, trying to get away, but barely able to move with all the broken bones.
Sark stepped back, watching unflinching and without expression until the screams stopped, the flailing limbs ceased moving. Head tilting, he continued to watch as the tub overflowed, only nodding to Kian to turn off the water when it reached his shoes. Turning he moved to the sink, slowly turning on cold water and letting his hands run under it, watching the blood wash away.
"What should I do with him, sir?" Kian's voice was quiet, respectful.
"In the old days, they hung bodies as a lesson to others," Sark said, reaching for the soap. "I think that should work. Out front, before we leave, on his own gate."
"People will talk. They'll wonder what he did...who was behind this...what message its sending."
Sark reached for a towel to dry his hands, turning to look at Kian with eyes still icy with a dark sort of despair. "I'm counting on it."
