Disclaimer: Alias and its characters belong to JJ Abrams and ABC.

"You're late, Bristow."

"It took longer than I expected. Not my fault." Rubbing arm. "There are vicious people out there."

Smirk. "Is the great Sydney Bristow admitting defeat?"

"Bite me, Sark. I got the package, didn't I? Mission accomplished."

"Not quite. We still have to hide it somewhere. ETA under seven minutes." Eyeing package. "Is that what we discussed?"

"Of course it is. I'm not an amateur."

"Well, pardon my concern, but it is rather important."

"Don't tell me how important this is. I know damn well how important this package is—"

"You don't need to get into hysterics, Bristow."

"What did you just say to me? I do not get into hysterics, you pompous—"

"You needn't be so bloody defensive."

"You needn't be so bloody juvenile."

"And you say that I'm being juvenile?" Crossing arms. "You're the one who has to resort to mockery—"

"Shut. Up. We're wasting time. What's the ETA?"

"Five and a half minutes."

"Here."

Grunting. "Bloody hell, this is heavy."

Smirk. "Wimp."

"Are you going to help me, or what?"

"Help you? I managed to get this far all by myself. Are you telling me that you can't even get it up these stairs?"

"Shut up, Sydney. You know, as well as I do, that you are invariably the man in this partnership. Why do you think I sent you in to get the package while I waited here
and stood guard?"

"Because you're lazy."

"True. Also, it is because I know this is more of your expertise."

"What? Just because I'm a woman means that somehow I—"

"Can you not be quite for two minutes? You'll blow our cover!"

"You are such a sexist little pr—"

"Come now, Syd. Let's not say anything we'll regret tomorrow."

Hissing. "I regret a lot of things that have happened between us, Sark."

"Ouch, darling." Wincing. "Words hurt, you know."

"No more than you deserve, you cocky bastard."

"Ah, as much as I would love exchanging pleasantries with you, my vicious little harpy, can we not just get this over and done with? ETA three minutes."

"Fine. Let's hurry up."

"Now, where to hide this monstrous thing?"

Pursing lips nervously. "In the attic, you think?"

"They'll find it. The attic is the first place they'll check."

"Well, it's not like it will fit in the safe, Julian."

Frowning. "How about the arsenal?"

"I don't want to hide it near the guns. If they break in looking for it, they'll have easy access to the weaponry."

"Bloody hell, Syd, it's not as though we leave the damn things loaded and lying about."

"Yes, but they're not stupid. Give them the opportunity, and they'll load it."

"I already told them they are not to go into the arsenal under any circumstances."

"I still wouldn't feel safe. Just put it into the attic."

"By myself?" Whining. "But it's so heavy."

"Damn it, it's too late! There they are now..." Sighing. "Another year, another failed attempt."

Grabbing her arms. "Sydney, why do we put up with all this?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When did we start working for them? When did we forget about us?"

"Sark, we both know when we started that a lot of things would change. Like our priorities, for one..."

"Let's go, Syd, just you and me. Let's take a vacation down to the French Polynesia. Just forget about them and that bloody package."

Sighing longingly. "We can't, Julian."

"Why the bloody hell not?"

"Because they're our children!"

"...So?"

Pause. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Wait, Syd! Come back! I can't bloody well take this up to the attic by myself!" Sighing. "God, I hate Christmas."

Fin.