A Bargaining Ploy
Based on the movie Mission Impossible: 2
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Aniah
AniaHope@aol.com
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They said no actor fics, so this isn't about Dougray Scott. Don't get me wrong, if I could, I would, and if pigs could fly, there'd be no such thing as an airplane. Please R & R. I need to know if this is worth finishing.
Disclaimers: I own nothing 'cept my fish, my dog, and my mind. The rest is all material. Animals aren't material because they have minds of their own. I guess I don't own them either. Fly free, my fishies!
Dreams are the conduit of my life.
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The room was a mess. Biocyte would have to pay a couple hundred thousand dollars; at least, to make up for the damage an IMF agent and a former IMF agent had done to their best labs. Ethan watched helplessly as Nyah moved towards the Chimera vial.
"Go on, Nyah. I'll cover you," Sean motioned towards Ethan, a malice-infused grin lighting his face.
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Nyah's breath rattled in her chest. "Don't do it," Hunt pled, his voice controlled, yet strained.
She smiled wistfully. "Looks like this time you lost, Ethan," she slowly picked up the syringe, and stood.
"Move out!" Ambrose called, shoving her in front of him. They ran down the corridors, red lights flashing as they made their getaway. Shaking his head in remorse, Hunt also escaped, through a window. As he plummeted 40 stories down, he contemplated, something unusual to his mind.
He watched from a distance as Ambrose and his team separated, in order to elude any authorities the Australians might throw at him.
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It was a night for celebration. By the time everyone under Sean's command had regrouped at the compound, it was past eight. "Get dressed, I'm taking everyone out to dinner," he beamed jubilantly at his associates, half of whom knew that they would end up staying back.
Smiling blithely, Nyah rummaged in the closet they shared and came out with a wine-colored dress. It was spaghetti-strapped, with a sequined bust and hem. It fell just short of her knees, and hugged her hips. She took a plain black purse, which held a bit of "make up." To most people, even Sean, they were ordinary. To her, it was her way of income: the thievery tools that helped her become so successful. She didn't think she'd need them, but hey! She was with Sean. Anything could happen.
She applied a bit of lipstick and blush, and looked up to see the renegade IMF agent buttoning up a camel-colored silk shirt. He wore black slacks, pressed, and smelled of frankincense. "Ready to go?" he asked, offering his arm.
"Just," she replied, running a hand through her hair. "Where're we going?" They walked down to the side of the compound away from the harbor, and got into a black car.
"A seafood place," he replied. The others took up two similar cars, and they drove a half an hour to the restaurant.
They made toasts, drank fine champagne, and dined continentally on oysters, rock crab, and other delicacies. They weren't finished till midnight. Ambrose let the personnel at the compound switch with those at dinner, so that everyone could party.
He and Nyah walked along the harbor, with Hugh and another man discreetly behind. "Success always makes the winner feel high, doesn't it?" she asked, scanning the water for…Ethan? She didn't know.
"Victory is a nice arrangement," he agreed, putting a muscled arm around her waist. They stopped to look over the wooden railing, and out onto the cold water. "Marry me, Nyah," Sean said suddenly, looking at her with a content expression that remotely reminded her of a lion, after a large meal.
The image of the gutted commercial plane passed through her eyes. "I don't have a conscience," she said softly, to herself. What if I'd be marrying a guy who doesn't have one either?
"No. You're a thief," he replied, knowing the excuse she held as the reason for her unorthodox occupation. "But after we wed, you wouldn't have to do that anymore. I'd provide for us," he let his arms go taut against the railing. "We'd be secure," he remarked.
"All those people…" she sighed forlornly. "And we wouldn't be safe," Nyah answered, anger building up inside her. "The IMF would hunt you down. Hunt would hunt you down…" she covered her mouth, quelling the urge to laugh hysterically at the play on words.
"Hunt…" It was a transformation. One minute relaxed and poised, Ambrose suddenly whipped around, as if looking for the stealthy IMF agent. "With L37,000,000, we can leave no trace. Not even the IMF has that kind of funding. 55 million US dollars, Nyah. We can go anywhere, hide from anyone," he kissed her, lips familiar in their bruising force.
"I…I don't know, Sean. I need time to think," she replied. Truthfully? Ethan may have just been a fling, but he was at least civilized, and had treated her as an equal, not an ornament. But what choice did she have? Sean had bailed her out of the jail setup, and he expected her to stay with him. She thought by the time the mission was over he would be in a max prison, but that had failed. What could she do? IMF would "disavow all knowledge" of her.
"Why would you need time to think?" He asked insolently, throwing an arm out towards the cobalt water. I can't believe this, Nyah growled inwardly.
"Sean," she waited till he turned from the water to look at her. "I don't want to marry you. I don't want to marry anyone, so don't think that it's because of Ethan. I don't wash, I don't clean, and I don't want any commitment," she said it quickly, with eyes closed. She half expected him to bash her.
"You should think, before you speak," he smiled, shaking a finger at her. "If I need to make a choice, I deliberate it first," he put an arm around her bare shoulders and they walked silently back to the black cars with the rest of the second shift of henchmen. I cannot BELIEVE this hypocrisy, Nyah fumed to herself, clutching her purse to keep from slugging Ambrose.
They arrived at the compound at 2:30am, the deep of night. Sydney Harbor was silent, with only the cool sound of waves lapping at the jetty. Nyah changed into cutoff capris and a warm flannel of Sean's. She could feel the watchmen seeking her out in the darkness, and it made her skin crawl. She knew that they were jealous of Sean's "privileges," though she suspected Hugh was more envious of her place in his affections.
The wind whipped the tails on the shirt, and her unbound hair. She breathed the silence, the rawness of it all. Sean's world wasn't this, unguided, inconstant. Everything had its order. He could never appreciate the beauty of chaos, of a messy apartment, the way she could. She thrived on chaos.
Nyah smiled grimly, and glanced back at the three pinpoints of flashlight trained on her in an ironic spotlight. They were a ways away, not close enough to stop her. Give my regards to civilization, she thought towards the dolts.
**SPLASH**
The water wasn't that bad, actually. She heard the subordinates' simultaneous cry, and took a breath. Underwater it was inky, but she could make out the faint outline of the jetty, and swam under it.
"Get the boss!" Ulrich's yell was a worried one, and she watched him train his light around. Nyah grabbed hold of one of the support beams and pulled off a shoe. When the sound of footsteps above her meant that he was turning away, she threw the footwear as far as it would go.
Sean's roar of fury was audible, all the way down there. "Did someone push her in? Did she fall? Look out for Hunt, I'm sure he had something to do with this!" Of course he'd think that I didn't do this on my own. His running footsteps on the deck weren't as heavy as the others'; he was barefoot.
With two soft thumps (his shirt and pants, she guessed) he was in the water too. "What are you waiting for, idiots? I want SCUBA gear here, now!" She took a deep breath, and went under. She could hear them vaguely.
Nyah kept under as long as her lungs would allow, and came up even farther away from the edge of the dock. She barely breathed, and grabbed a support beam above. She could hear them splashing around, and see the lights of those still on the deck.
She was just beginning to feel comfortable in the water, when something slithered past her leg. As much as Nyah could deal with extremities, animals weren't her specialty. "Holy shit!" Soon as she said it the lights came down on her, and she dove down, as deep as she could go, thanking God that she had had swimming lessons as a girl.
Breast-stroking silently, she surfaced…Only to find herself ringed by Sean and four cronies, with a disappointed Hugh training a high-powered flashlight right in her eyes.
"Get her," Sean growled.
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It was too bright, when Nyah woke up. Her hair was mussed, and she felt strangely clean. Worst of all, she couldn't move. Sean's black-clothed arms held her waist vice-like on the ivory sheets of his bed. Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap. Crap, she thought to herself, he's probably enraged.
"Why'd you do it?" His warm breath blew on her ear, and she shivered.
"I'm not going to have any freedom around here, am I?" Nyah replied just as quietly, her chest hurting painfully with the prospect.
"Not 'til you can prove to me that you'll stay," he replied.
"It's not like I'd have any if I could leave," she taunted him, realizing faintly that she smelled like…frankincense. "Did you bathe me, or something?"
"It's not anything I haven't seen before," he answered, fondly, nuzzling her bronze neck.
"Sean, I swear, if I can't have any personal space I'm going to go mad!" She struggled to get out of his grasp, and in a sudden release flung herself off the bed and onto the floor in front of the fireplace.
"Then look forward to losing your sanity, Nyah," He looked down on her disheveled form with a hungry smirk, "because I will enjoy showing you how much I adore you."
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A.N: So, things happen a little differently in this AU of mine. ^__^ Should I finish this? I wonder. Please R&R!