Vaughn opened his eyes slowly, feeling the throbbing in his skull intensify as more light seeped into his vision. He tried to rub his eyes, but he couldn't move his arms from where they were held above his head. Dreading the worst, he looked up slowly. His wrists were tightly bound to a ceiling beam with coarse rope. He couldn't shift them even an inch in any direction.

"So, sleeping beauty awakens," came a voice from the shadows in the corner.

With a sinking feeling, Vaughn recognized the silky measured British voice. "Sark..." he mumbled.

His captor moved out of the shadows, "Yes, Agent Vaughn. How...perceptive...of you." Sark's short blonde hair was, as always, immaculately groomed, and his searing blue eyes, perfect nose and slightly pouty lips coupled with his thin face made him look both noble and devious simultaeneously.

"I won't give you any information," Vaughn spat through gritted teeth.

Sark stepped a few feet closer, "Oh, but you will. I, Vaughn baby, know how to make gentlemen like you talk. In fact," he continued, "You'll be one of the more difficult ones, but I'll break you down."

Vaughn regarded him with disdain, but ther was a glint of fear in his eyes. "Torture won't work," he said quickly.

Sark smiled, "Yes, I did figure you'd say that. And I'm feeling generous today, so you're safe from that unfortunate event...for now."

Vaughn breathed an inaudible sigh of relief.

Sark laughed, a chilling sound, and spoke, "Would you like a drink?" he asked.

Vaughn's mind raced, trying to figure out what Sark was planning. He knew that there could be poison in the drink, but he also knew that he wouldn't be killed--at least this early in the game. Sark needed information, so he wouldn't do anything rash. What could the plan be?

"A drink would be great," he said tentatively.

Sark smiled in satisfaction, "Good. What would you like?" he opened a suitcase that lay beside Vaughn, which was filled with all kinds of alcohol.

"Martini?" Vaughn said, feeling ridiculous.

Sark nodded, "Your wife shares the same affection for martinis. Personally, I prefer red wine--a tad femme, I know, but the habit began at an early age."

Vaughn could stand it no longer, "What do you want?" he questioned sharply.

Sark halted his making of the martini and laughed, "That's for me to know and you to find out. However, it would be rather crass of me to torture you after you specifically requested me not to do so."

Vaughn nodded slowly, and was surprised when Sark stepped over and calmly untied him. "There, you could run, but..." he patted his pocket meaningfully and Vaughn knew he had a gun.

"Sark...why are you doing this?"

"Because, Vaughn baby, I want to fight you."

"I thought we were having drinks."

"Yes, and after the drinks, I would be honoured if you'd fight me. If I win, you tell me the information. If you win, you leave without telling me anything."

Vaughn thought about the proposition, "And if I don't accept those terms?"

"Then torture becomes a definite possibility."

Vaughn winced, "Alright...I suppose that couldn't hurt."

Sark's mouth twisted in amusement as he set a martini in front of Vaughn, "It will hurt whichever one of us loses," he said.

Vaughn sipped at his drink, which was delicious, "Yeah...do we have any rules? For the fight, I mean."

"I knew what you meant. Have we any rules? Of course...no guns or knives. I've already taken your weapons, so we needn't worry about /you/ breaking the rules."

"What about you?"

"Very observant." Sark reached into his pocket and withdrew the gun. He pointed it at Vaughn, who winced again, but Sark only said, "Bang" and placed it on the table. "Drink your martini and get to it," Sark snapped, suddenly much less laconic than before.

Vaughn did, gulping it down quickly and thanking god that it eased his still-throbbing head slightly. He stood up.

"Very well," Sark said, "I see that you've been working out lately," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Vaughn nodded, hoping Sark was duly impressed by his muscles. His years in the CIA had left their mark on him in the form of biceps, pecs, and sixpack abs. Sark, in contrast, was slimmer, more cat-like, with smaller muscles.

"Ready when you are," Sark said impatiently.

"Oh, I'm ready," Vaughn said, and lunged at Sark, knocking him over. He sat on him, and raised a fist to hit him in the face, but Sark squirmed his arm out from under Vaughn's knee, grabbed his wrist, then flipped him over, stood up, and kicked Vaughn in the ribs.

"Call yourself CIA? You couldn't beat Arven Sloane."

Vaughn lept to his feet, insulted. He tackled Sark and punched him in the gut once before Sark got the upper hand again, putting Vaughn in a headlock. They stood this way for a moment, both breathing hard, until Vaughn reached out with his left hand and grabbed the gun Sark had set on the table.

He swung it back, making contact with Sark's cheekbone, relishing the dull thwack it made, and Sark's inadvertant gasp of pain. Sark released hold on him, and Vaughn whipped around and pointed the gun at him.

Sark laughed, "You cheated," he said, seemingly nonchalant at the pistol pointed at his head.

Vaughn gripped it tightly, "I'm going to walk out of here, and if you so much as take one step after me, I'll blow your brains all over this shitty little room."

Sark nodded, "I expected you might, but you never got your prize..."

Vaughn paused, "What is it?"

Sark extended his hands, and cupped Vaughn's face in them. Vaughn pulled the trigger, but the gun only made a dull click. Sark laughed, and drew Vaughn towards him, kissing him proprietarily on the lips, hard.

Vaughn stumbled back, "What...the gun...you..."

"Not loaded, of course. I knew you'd not be able to resist the temptation to shoot me in the face, and I didn't /really/ want to risk my life. And, by the way, you're a much better kisser than Lauren."

Vaughn just stared at him, "Can I leave?" he asked.

"Of course. I got what I wanted," Sark said.

"But...what about the information?"

"Oh, please. You know nothing that I don't at this point. That was not /really/ the objective of our little meeting, Mr. Vaughn."

"Oh..." Vaughn managed, and stumbled out of the room.