Disclaimer:  Don't own it, won't ever own it, get over it.

            Vaughn looked up from his paper-filled desk and choked on his drink.   Before him lay a sight that he never believed he'd actually see.  Vaughn rubbed his eyes, in order to make sure that he wasn't seeing things, but the sight was still there.

            Sark was in CIA custody. 

            The British assassin no longer had his well-known confident demeanor.  He now slouched in the arms of the two agents that guided him through CIA headquarters.  He appeared to already be broken; and that made Vaughn wonder where the agents had caught him.  As Vaughn watched, Sark turned his head and caught his eye.  They locked gazes as the agents continued to escort Sark through the building, eventually disappearing behind a corner.  There was a certain gleam in Sark's eye, one that made him uncomfortable.  One that made him suspicious.  He didn't know what it was, but Vaughn was sure that Sark was up to something.

            He blinked and refocused as he returned from the depths of his wandering thoughts, catching undefined movement in front of him.  Looking up, he saw Weiss leaning on his desk staring at his face, with a box of Pocky in hand.

            "Welcome back, Vaughn.  Its about time, too.  The secretary was getting nervous with you staring at her like that," Weiss said, as he moved to the side, allowing Vaughn to see that he had been staring directly at a secretary across the room.  She glanced over and blushed fiercely when she met Vaughn's eyes, before self-consiously turning back to her work.  Vaughn looked at Weiss, who had slid into a chair near Vaughn's desk. 

            Weiss nodded absently to himself and responded to Vaughn's unasked question.  "You were staring at her for a full ten minutes, according to her.  Quite intently too, I might add.  But," Weiss added with a frown, "I have a feeling that you weren't actually staring at her… am I right?"

            Vaughn had to grin at his friend's befuddled look.  However, in seconds it was gone, as he put his thoughts together.  "Did you see them bring in Sark?"  Vaughn asked, picking up the box of pocky that Weiss left, forgotten, on his desk.

            Weiss shook his head.  "Nope.  But I heard about it.  So, are you mad that it wasn't you who brought him in?"  Weiss asked, idly chewing on a pocky stick he retrieved from a box hidden in his jacket.

            Vaughn shook his head.  "No… it's just that… well, I think Sark's up to something."

            Weiss looked at his friend in disbelief.  "Look, I know that there have been several run-ins with that Sark guy, and more than a few didn't turn out the way we wanted them to.  Sure he's a pretty hard guy to catch – he's an assassin, what do you expect?  But a guy like him wouldn't allow himself to be caught, especially not by the CIA.  So don't worry, even if he was up to something, however unlikely that is, there's no way that he could manage to do anything other than what we want him to.  They'll interrogate him, then ship him off to a high security prison."  Vaughn nodded in agreement with his friend, but his darkening features betrayed his disbelief.  Weiss noticed and threw his hands in the air in defeat.  "Fine, Vaughn.  But I'm telling you, there's no reason to be alarmed." Weiss said as he vacated the chair and wandered off to his own desk. 

            Vaughn didn't notice as his friend walked off, narrowing his eyes as he thought, staring blankly at the papers on his desk.  He knew, despite what Weiss said, that Sark was up to something.  A man like that wouldn't be caught unless betrayed.  Had that been the case, Vaughn was sure that he would have already heard the news.  However, hearing nothing, he believed it safe to presume that Sark allowed the CIA to catch him.  Vaughn shook his head.  As much faith he had in the CIA's abilities, he doubted they could catch the elusive British Assassin without him wanting to be caught.  But why would be allow himself to be caught?  What could he have planned out in that twisted mind of his?

            Vaughn's thoughts were interrupted by an all-too familiar voice.

            "Agent Vaughn," Jack Bristow addressed, approaching his desk.  "Kendall wants you to participate in Sark's interrogation.  Come with me."

            For reasons unknown to him, Vaughn was filled with dread at those words.  An almost irrational fear that something bad would happen gripped his heart.  Something flashed across his suspicious mind, of Sark, Irina, and Sydney in a confrontation, all three with guns out, staring down one another.  As quickly as the image appeared, it was gone.   Taking a deep breath, Vaughn nodded and rose, following Jack to the interrogation room, unable to completely put aside his feeling of dread.