[Alias] Improvisation Tactics
Title: Improvisation Tactics
Fandom: Alias
Feedback: ... Is loverly.
Word Count: 537
Rating: PG
Characters: Sydney, Sark
Summary: Sark has legitimate questions about Sydney's improvising.... Sydney is, as usual, unamused.
Disclaimer: I own about as much as I did the last time I did one of these things. Which is nothing.
Author's Note: Written for The Alphabet Drabble Meme.
allfireburns asked for Sark/Sydney with the prompt bravado.
"I can't believe you."
"You're not helping, Sark," Sydney shot back as she dug through the desk drawers for the disc they had come to retrieve. Why couldn't terrorists just be organized and not hide codes to their superpowered next-gen weapons, or whatever it was she was chasing after this week, in insignificant, little discs that could get lost amongst piles and piles of... What is that? ...The crumpled remains of a fast food bag. How very classy. She tossed the bag into the nearby trashcan, figuring no one would notice if that was out of place, and looked up at Sark who was still standing over their unconscious mark, looking completely bewildered. "I can't believe you're still standing there when we've got three minutes until the security cameras go back online."
That, apparently, was enough incentive to get Sark looking for the damn disc, but it didn't stop him from talking. Pity, that. "Honestly, Sydney, do you normally get by on just luck and sheer bravado?"
"You can't tell me that you admire my skills and then turn around and call me a hack, you hypocrite," she growled. Technically, she didn't really care what he thought of her, but if he was going to be a smartass, she might as well call him on his bullshit.
"I never called you a hack," Sark responded, tone mildly hurt, as he busied himself with the act of checking under a statue- of course, Sark would know all the interesting places to hide a disc that size. She'd just continue with the desk, thank you very much. "And I do admire your skillset... It's your improvisational tactics that I have questions about."
Sydney slammed the desk drawer shut with a scowl and moved onto the next one with the same amount of ferocity. "It took care of him, didn't it?"
"You threw your shoe at him."
She looked up and shot him a glare that could have melted steel, but Sark was too occupied with the bookshelf to pay her much notice. "I have another one," she threatened. It wasn't as if the damn shoe was what knocked him out- Marshall's latest bit of tech had taken care of that much of it- so it wasn't nearly as ridiculous as he made it out to be. The shoe just proved to be the appropriate last-ditch distraction and, really, nothing more needed to be said about it. Sark, however, didn't seem to know the meaning of those words.
Sark turned around, twirling the disc between two of his fingers, one of his eyebrows raised. "Your professionalism is astounding, Agent Bristow. As for your other shoe, you might need it to dispatch security, so I wouldn't waste it on me." He stepped over the mark's body and headed for the door and Sydney resisted the urge to throw the nearest lamp at his head in favor of following him out as quickly as possible, lest he call her professionalism into question again.
On the other end of the comms, Dixon coughed in a way that was a bit too much like a hastily covered up laugh. She grimaced, muttered something about him being a traitor, and picked up her discarded shoe, studying it thoroughly before muttering casually into the comm, "You know these heels are really pointy. Sark only needs one eye, right?"
</lj>
Fandom: Alias
Feedback: ... Is loverly.
Word Count: 537
Rating: PG
Characters: Sydney, Sark
Summary: Sark has legitimate questions about Sydney's improvising.... Sydney is, as usual, unamused.
Disclaimer: I own about as much as I did the last time I did one of these things. Which is nothing.
Author's Note: Written for The Alphabet Drabble Meme.
allfireburns asked for Sark/Sydney with the prompt bravado."I can't believe you."
"You're not helping, Sark," Sydney shot back as she dug through the desk drawers for the disc they had come to retrieve. Why couldn't terrorists just be organized and not hide codes to their superpowered next-gen weapons, or whatever it was she was chasing after this week, in insignificant, little discs that could get lost amongst piles and piles of... What is that? ...The crumpled remains of a fast food bag. How very classy. She tossed the bag into the nearby trashcan, figuring no one would notice if that was out of place, and looked up at Sark who was still standing over their unconscious mark, looking completely bewildered. "I can't believe you're still standing there when we've got three minutes until the security cameras go back online."
That, apparently, was enough incentive to get Sark looking for the damn disc, but it didn't stop him from talking. Pity, that. "Honestly, Sydney, do you normally get by on just luck and sheer bravado?"
"You can't tell me that you admire my skills and then turn around and call me a hack, you hypocrite," she growled. Technically, she didn't really care what he thought of her, but if he was going to be a smartass, she might as well call him on his bullshit.
"I never called you a hack," Sark responded, tone mildly hurt, as he busied himself with the act of checking under a statue- of course, Sark would know all the interesting places to hide a disc that size. She'd just continue with the desk, thank you very much. "And I do admire your skillset... It's your improvisational tactics that I have questions about."
Sydney slammed the desk drawer shut with a scowl and moved onto the next one with the same amount of ferocity. "It took care of him, didn't it?"
"You threw your shoe at him."
She looked up and shot him a glare that could have melted steel, but Sark was too occupied with the bookshelf to pay her much notice. "I have another one," she threatened. It wasn't as if the damn shoe was what knocked him out- Marshall's latest bit of tech had taken care of that much of it- so it wasn't nearly as ridiculous as he made it out to be. The shoe just proved to be the appropriate last-ditch distraction and, really, nothing more needed to be said about it. Sark, however, didn't seem to know the meaning of those words.
Sark turned around, twirling the disc between two of his fingers, one of his eyebrows raised. "Your professionalism is astounding, Agent Bristow. As for your other shoe, you might need it to dispatch security, so I wouldn't waste it on me." He stepped over the mark's body and headed for the door and Sydney resisted the urge to throw the nearest lamp at his head in favor of following him out as quickly as possible, lest he call her professionalism into question again.
On the other end of the comms, Dixon coughed in a way that was a bit too much like a hastily covered up laugh. She grimaced, muttered something about him being a traitor, and picked up her discarded shoe, studying it thoroughly before muttering casually into the comm, "You know these heels are really pointy. Sark only needs one eye, right?"
</lj>
