As Sloane turned to leave, he seemed to remember something; he tilted his head and looked back at Sark.
"I’ve never told you this, Mr. Sark," a ghost of a smile played on Sloane’s thin lips, "but you would have been perfect in the CIA."
Sark’s eyes narrowed, but his face remained a mask of detached calm.
"What makes you say that, sir?" The edge in his voice betrayed his wariness.
"Well, Jack Bristow now has operational control at the CIA." Sloane regarded him with wry amusement. "Surely you are aware of that."
"I am." Sark’s eyes darkened perceptibly, but he gave an elegant shrug of his shoulders. "But I’m afraid I still don’t see your point."
There was a meaningful pause.
"You never could forget Jack Bristow after Taipei," Sloane said deliberately, watching the younger man’s reaction. "Could you, Mr. Sark?"
There was a heartbeat of hesitation before Sark spoke.
"He left quite an impression in our brief meeting in Taipei," Sark answered, looking at Sloane dispassionately. "But that was strictly in a business context."
"I’m sure." Sloane gave Sark an infuriatingly smug smile. "And perhaps this... impression he left on you, was the real reason you repeatedly insisted that you were a better candidate to be embedded in the CIA instead of Irina?" He relished the dark resentment that rose in Sark’s eyes, and continued, "Was that purely altruistic of you, Mr. Sark, or did the prospect of personal interrogations by Jack Bristow prove too tempting to resist?"
A tense silence followed Sloane’s thinly veiled mockery. Sark raised his chin defiantly, but it was plainly obvious that Sloane had struck a nerve.
"My interest in Mr. Bristow," Sark began, his voice strung with anger and another deeper emotion, "is purely professional." He glared at Sloane. "And your admission that I am suited to the CIA, which I sense was meant as an insult more than anything else, only proves that your decision to send Irina there instead of me wasn’t entirely objective."
"That’s right, Mr. Sark," Sloane replied smoothly. "It wasn’t objective. It was practical. Because the whole point was for that person to carry out the mission and return with the Rambaldi artifact." Sloane paused for effect. "And ultimately, I was more confident that Irina, despite her personal involvement with Jack in the past, would be able to resist him better than you would."
A stunned expression flitted across Sark’s face, shattering his ice-cool veneer with a raw humanity. His silent lack of denial spoke volumes of truth that confirmed what Sloane had suspected all along.
Sark remained quiet for a long moment before he finally raised his eyes to Sloane.
"When we met in Taipei, Jack spoke to me as an equal." Sark levelled Sloane’s gaze. "That is more than you have ever done."
Sloane smiled in grim satisfaction.
"Congratulations," he said softly, in such a paternal tone that Sark could not tell if Sloane was mocking him. "You have finally found your point of weakness, your Achilles’ heel.And now, from this weakness you will find a source of new strength -- as you strive to win Jack Bristow’s attention, as you break yourself just to discover that he will never return your feelings the way you want him to." Sloane’s mouth twisted humorlessly. "Then your bitterness and hatred will consume you -- but yet, through it all, you will never stop loving him."
"I never said anything about loving him," Sark spoke through clenched teeth.
"You didn’t need to," Sloane said calmly, and once again turned to leave. "Farewell, Mr. Sark." He took a step out the door, then halted and looked back at Sark with a serene smile. "And good luck."
Then he was gone.
Sark stared at the empty doorway, his hands balled tightly into fists. All his defences had been broken through by Sloane’s merciless words, and everything he promised he would never let himself feel now came crashing down in an endless tide of bitterness and regret.
Sark closed his eyes, and whispered the words that Jack Bristow would never hear.
- fin -