a/n: Yeah, so this Sydney-only POV thing is definitely not working, as you could probably tell. I can't even divide it up fairly between her and Sark's POV. So this is now just 3rd person limited omniscient—I'll follow different characters at different times (but I'll stick to one POV per scene). But don't worry—I'll play up Syd's POV as much as I creatively can. Thanks to sallene for previewing this!
Attempts
"London it is," Sark said after lengthy discussion. Sydney nodded and picked up the pace to the airport.
Sark had called a few of his sources, trying to put out feelers for where this Yielding fellow was. Sydney had spent the last hour trying to tell him that MI6 covered a decent amount of territory in Great Britain alone; odds were that the agent was there.
And now she, Sark and Calvin were headed that way. But only after one of Sark's sources supported the theory.
Sydney couldn't help but feel alone. Not that she was—obviously she was helping Sark—but she felt like no one had their backs. Her dad was trying to dig up what he could, but Sydney could tell he was under pressure because the rest of CIA knew Sark was alive.
There was always her mother, but Sark didn't trust her, and that was that. So they relied on instinct and what sources Sark felt he could trust.
Which pointed them to London, for starters.
They boarded a plane, a direct British Airways flight to Heathrow. The flight was moderately full, but not overcrowded to be uncomfortable. Sark and Calvin sat behind Sydney, all three in first class.
"There's simply no way I'm traveling coach for a flight this long," Sark had said, demanding luxury. Calvin, of course, had no complaints.
The pressure made her ears pop. Sydney extended her jaw, up and down, easing the sharp pain. She could hear Calvin snickering with his brother.
She turned around in her seat to face them. "Settle down, you two," she scolded. The two blondes looked up innocently at her.
And Sark's eyes, as usual, made her heart speed up. That fierce ice blue that stared right through her, right to her heart. The obvious heat in them made her blush—he always looked at her with such intense passion.
She gave him a catty smile, toying with him. "Don't think I don't know you're smirking behind my back."
That made him grin outright.
Sydney settled down in her seat and sipped at a soda. She wished she and Sark were sitting together, but she knew neither felt comfortable leaving Calvin alone, even only a seat behind from each other.
The sun shot into her eyes, and she pulled the shade down. The sun would be a burden for awhile as they flew West and met the other half of the world.
After a few hours, the soda got to her. Sydney stood up and moved for the restroom. Of course it was occupied; were they ever available?
She looked back at Sark and Calvin. Cal's head rested on Sark's shoulder. She smiled at the sight.
Her eyes swept over nondescript passengers. She wasn't looking for anything, but a man in a jean jacket caught her attention.
Men shouldn't wear jean jackets. Of all terrible fashion items to wear, a man should never purposely choose that. Of course, not that Sydney had tons of time to browse through InStyle, but some things were just instinct.
Obviously not his instinct.
A plump woman emerged from the bathroom, and Sydney went in. When she came out again, the man was flipping a little too hard through a duty-free catalog.
No wonder. He buys from those things, she thought.
The in-flight movie was less than thrilling. It was a boy-meets-girl romance with few comedic lines. The kisses were forced, as if the leading actors hated each other. Sydney sighed and decided to sleep.
The flight was over nine hours long. Sydney checked her watch. Six hours to go.
Nature called again when she awoke, and Sydney made her way to the bathrooms with clouded vision.
She splashed water on her face and pressed a paper towel to her skin. It revived her a bit, enough for her to start thinking.
Sark was remarkably calm about his family being kidnapped and with everyone after him. As she left the bathroom, she saw him asleep. His head leaned back on the headrest, his eyes shut and even peaceful. He still smirked, but Sydney was learning that that was an innate expression for him.
It made her smile.
And freeze. Her eyes caught Jean Jacket man. He had dark eyes and they were focused on Sark.
Sydney watched him without leaving the restroom galley. He watched Sark. The man's mouth twitched and then he looked away.
A citizen, recognizing him?
She scrapped that theory immediately and made her way back to her seat.
The jean jacket. It was slightly cool on the plane, but not enough to warrant a jacket. None of the passengers used any of the blankets. A way to hide a weapon?
Sydney wasn't sure what to think. She didn't want to unnecessarily cause a scene or draw the man's attention. But she tried to figure out how to alert Sark, especially if she was right.
It didn't matter. The man stood and went to the galley. And Sydney quickly turned to face Sark, who seemed wide awake now.
"Does that man seem suspicious to you?" she whispered quickly. But Sark's eyes were on the galley, as if he'd followed the movement himself.
"Was it the jean jacket for you?" he asked. She nodded. "An assassin, probably." He didn't show any panic, just intense scrutiny, and as usual that floored Sydney.
"How can you be so calm?" she hissed at him.
"He can't do anything publicly. He'd be trapped," he said. His eyes never left the curtain blocking the galley. "But I bet he's prepping. I don't suppose you have a gun on you."
"I do, actually," she said. It was one of the benefits of having a CIA badge. But she didn't advertise that. Her gun was stowed in her bag right now.
"Really?" Sark's surprise was genuine. "I was joking. We don't want the attention either." He gently pushed a sleeping Calvin to lean on the window, and then he leaned forward, grabbing something small from his boot.
Sydney sighed and turned back in her seat. She spoke over her shoulder. "How are you going to stop him?" She didn't hear any answer.
The man emerged, tugging at his jacket. What an obvious tell, Sydney thought. He went to his seat, and all was quiet.
The stewardess made her rounds to the first class passengers. She started with Sark.
"Champagne?"
"Yes please," she heard Sark say. Sydney glanced over her shoulder between the crack in between the seats. Sark glanced at the champagne, then Sydney. Realization dawned on her.
Drugged? Poisoned? Before she could decide which, Sark stood up. He took a sip of the champagne as he made his way to the bathroom.
He drank it?!
A couple of minutes later, Sark emerged, empty glass in hand. He faked a yawn and stumbled back to his seat. Calvin was still asleep.
Sark leaned back in his seat, and winked at Sydney when she shot him a look. Relief flooded her. So there is a plan here. She followed Sark's lead and settled in her seat. Both pretended to rest, but neither shut an eye.
Hours passed, and the captain made an announcement. The plane was only minutes away from starting its descent. Sydney went to the restroom again, surveilling the assassin as she walked to and from the tin bathrooms.
He looked nervous but confident. He avoided Sydney all together, and stared ahead.
Calvin and Sark were chattering again, and Sydney couldn't help but feel frustrated. They're joking at a time like this?!
She expected the assassin to make a move, soon.
---------------
Sark, however, knew better. Having stalked his prey like this several times in his life, he knew the assassin wouldn't try a thing on the plane.
He'll wait till we land.
So he sat back and enjoyed the flight. The second in-flight movie was lame, but Calvin laughed. His brother still had no clue about the situation.
The champagne was good, though a little too bubbly for his tastes. Sark petitioned two more glasses from the obliging stewardess.
The plane landed, without incident. Sark yawned and stretched as he and Calvin stood. He grabbed his bag, full of items he purchased from Vancouver. Sydney kept shooting him panicky looks, and he almost rolled his eyes.
Relax!
They exited, and Sark kept his eyes open for a men's room.
When he found one and headed towards it, Calvin spoke up.
"Great, I have to go too," he said. Sark stopped and smiled.
"No you don't," he said. He shot Sydney a smile and a look. "Stay with Syd."
The men's room was active, but that just made things more fun. Sark anticipated a thirty-second gap between his entrance and the assassin's. He used the time to find an appropriate place.
The restroom's capacity was large; the sinks came from either side of a wall in the middle of the facility, while stalls and urinals surrounded the outer walls. Sark stepped out of sight behind the wall of sinks. He leaned against the ceramic tile and waited.
He heard footsteps, in and out. The normal pattern was quick shuffles to the closest open stall, usually on the other side of the wall. One set deviated to move further away. Sark considered getting his knife from his boot, but something challenged him for a more direct method.
The jean jacket came into view, and the assassin hesitated when he saw Sark. Sark glared at the man. It was more than hesitation. The assassin froze like a deer on the road. Sark stood up straight and faced the man, his eyes never relenting.
"I know why you're here," he said coolly. "How are your odds?" It was cocky, to be sure, but enough boldness may just make this fashion victim realize his mistake.
The man stepped back, weighing his options. Sark knew the outcome already, but waited patiently for the man's decision.
He went for something in that awful jacket, and Sark dove ahead towards him. He closed the distance as the assassin fumbled for aim at Sark. The gun was out and ready, but the assassin was not. Sark slid across the tile floor and tried not to think about how unsanitary that move was as his weight slammed into the assassin's legs. The man fell on his rear, and Sark quickly stood up, picking up the man by the denim collar. He grabbed the gun and tossed it in the trash.
A loud flush covered the sound of Sark's first hit. The man groaned as blood started from his nose. Sark quickly pushed the man into a handicap stall. He kicked the door shut behind him and slammed the man against the wall.
"You're as stupid as you appear," Sark said. He smiled politely and then grabbed the man by the hair. He yanked the hair hard, down to the toilet. The man's head connected sharply with the porcelain. Sark smiled at the sight, and quickly left the restroom.
Calvin looked ticked when he came out.
"Why couldn't I go? I have to go," he said, pouting like a newly potty-trained toddler. Sark shot him a look.
"We need to leave quickly. You can go somewhere else." Sark led the way, walking quickly as he pulled out a disguising baseball cap from his bag.
The assassins were emerging. Irina wasn't lying. This time, anyway.
"What happened?" Sydney asked once they found a car and were safely driving off.
"We were right," he said. "He's unconscious in the men's room." He saw a flicker of surprise.
"You left him alive?" It was a question, but it made it seem like she disagreed with the decision.
"Yes," Sark answered. "He was out of his league." He heard Sydney gasp.
"Out of his league?! He tried to poison you!" she exclaimed. Sark's brow furrowed.
"Poison?" he repeated. "What makes you think that?" Suddenly he realized what must have gone through her head while they were on the plane. "The champagne wasn't poisoned. I was just thirsty."
Sydney screamed in annoyance and frustration, drawing a bewildered look from Calvin and a laugh from Sark.
-----------------
Ilene paced around the cell, annoying her parents in the process. They continued to bemoan their situation, and hope Julian was all right. Ilene, though, couldn't help but stew over her confrontation with Agent Yielding.
He knew Julian was in danger, and not just from his government. And yet he kept that from Ilene, and just demanded information and sympathy for his own pain, all the while rejoicing in the fact that assassins were trying to kill Julian!
Even now she just wanted to scream out. She crossed her arms over her chest and stayed quiet instead. She couldn't act too distressed; her mother was distressed enough for all three of them.
Ilene ran her fingers through her wavy red hair. She sighed at her situation. She wish she could warn Julian.
The cell door squeaked, and Agent Yielding came in with his usual commanding presence. Maybe it's his height, Ilene thought. The man had to be over 2 meters tall, and with his lanky build, it just made him seem even taller.
"I have some news," he began, glancing from the parents to Ilene. "Sark just evaded a hitman at Heathrow."
Henry and Barbara gasped while Ilene cheered. She jumped up and down once and clapped her hands. Agent Yielding cocked his head to the side, perplexed by her behavior.
She stopped her cheering and looked pointedly at her parents. "That means he's fine."
"For now," Yielding said. Ilene glared at him. "There will be more. But of course I want him to make it here alive." He winked when he said that, and it took every ounce of control in Ilene not to slug him. She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips together. It must have had some effect—Yielding sobered up.
"May I speak with you outside?"
And he meant outside. Ilene followed him to a parking lot, all the while wondering why on earth he was leading her there. Weird. The building they came from was only two stories, but they had gone up in the elevator. Again, weird.
The sun was high above them, and it heated Ilene's hair. She glanced over Yielding. The dark suit couldn't be comfortable. But it does make him—
She stopped herself there and waited for the hateful agent to explain this excursion.
"Ilene, I wanted to apologize," he said. "I was extremely cold to you yesterday." Ilene blinked.
"You're apologizing?"
Yielding nodded. "He's still your brother, and I admire your loyalty to him." She rolled her eyes.
"It's not just loyalty," she said, sighing dramatically. "That's what you don't see. Julian isn't bad!"
The agent swallowed and folded his arms over his chest. He shifted his weight. "Look, I know we don't agree on that. But with several people wanting him dead, I think Sark would be safer in British custody."
Astonishment. It was clearly printed over Ilene's face. "And you figure that . . . how?" And suddenly she knew what he wanted from her. She started to laugh, while the agent looked around him as if looking for the joke.
"Did I miss something?"
She shook her head. "I've been trying to figure out why you've been paying all this individual attention to me—why you've been even caring what I think. And now, with this claim of safety with the government . . . I figured it out."
"What?" Yielding asked.
"You want me to think you're a good guy, that you really want Sark alive, for his own good," she emphasized. "You're using me, to get what you want. To get me on your side so I will help you bring him in."
He didn't answer, but opened and closed his mouth as he tried to come up with something. Ilene shook her head and again.
And then, taking a look around, the light bulb came on in Ilene's head.
"I'm not using you," he started to say.
"Yeah, right," she said. Suddenly Ilene kicked him, a forceful kick in the groin. Yielding grunted as he went to his knees.
Ilene turned from the agent and ran in the noon sunlight. The brightness was almost disorienting, but she kept running. She had no idea where she was. If this was London, it wasn't any part of town she knew, though it was definitely a metropolitan area.
That doesn't matter now. Just get away and warn Julian!
She ran hard, her slender legs pushing her forward. Her hair streamed behind her, floating in the air as she kept running.
After a block in the strange city, Ilene glanced over her shoulder. Yielding wasn't behind her, but she heard tires squeal.
She turned forward again and ran. Hide! She ran past building after building, but nothing looked populated enough to blend in.
And then she saw it—every girl's dream, and in this case, her salvation: a shopping center.
Ilene darted inside. She glanced back to see if Yielding or anyone else saw her go in. Nothing. She slowed her pace, but still hurried through the shopping center.
Women, shopping bags, small children, teens . . . They laughed and rejoiced in their purchases, completely oblivious to the intensity that flew by them.
Ilene stopped suddenly as she saw the perfect hiding place. She ducked into the store.
Cacique was an upscale lingerie boutique, and a handful of women browsed eagerly for a spicy outfit. Ilene joined their ranks.
"Are you looking for anything in particular?" one woman asked Ilene. She wore heavy makeup, and tried to hide her disdain for Ilene's less than fresh appearance. See how you do after being kidnapped.
"Yes, I see what I want. Can you open a dressing room for me?" Ilene quickly grabbed three items and followed the clerk.
She didn't bother to try anything on, but just sat on the fitting room's bench. She checked her watch. Only a minute had gone by, but she knew she'd need more time to hide.
"Have you seen a young woman, red hair, blue eyes, and slightly out of breath?" The voice was familiar in its persistence. Ilene swore under her breath. Yielding.
The clerk started to answer, and Ilene cautiously emerged from her fitting room. The other rooms were occupied but there was a stock room in the same area. Ilene tried her luck.
The door knob turned, but the door seemed stuck. Ilene bit her lip and slammed her shoulder into the door. It gave.
"There she is!" The clerk sounded shocked, but Ilene didn't care. She quickly moved through the stock room. Racks of lingerie lined the walls, and boxes littered the floor. Ilene stumbled over some, but kept going when she heard Yielding yell after her.
"Ilene, stop!" She heard him stumble as well and smiled. At least it's not easy for either of us.
The room wasn't huge, but Ilene could see a door towards the back. To the receiving docks, she thought. Ilene suddenly felt her foot catch on something. She tripped and started to fall.
The ground and underwear came close to her vision. Ilene caught herself on a box, pushing herself back up. Just then, Yielding tackled her.
The two crashed on top of the boxes, and fell with Ilene's back on the hard ground. Yielding's chest was heaving from the chase, and Ilene fought to control her own breathing. The weight of his body pinned her down, but she struggled to hit him and push him off.
Yielding grabbed her wrists and pinned them down above her head. She started to knee him but he shifted his weight to prevent her legs from moving.
"If it makes you feel better, that really hurt," he said with a gleam in his eyes. Ilene renewed her struggles, but unsuccessfully.
She sighed
and stopped for a moment. "How did you find me in there?" Of all the shops, and
they chose the same one?
Yielding smiled. "Lingerie
store—you thought I wouldn't have the guts to come in, let alone search for you
there." She flashed him a mocking grin, then tried kneeing him again.
She stopped when he spread his body over hers more, even ducking his head closely over hers, all to quiet her. She just glared at him. He hadn't moved yet, but stared back at her. It seemed like a battle of wills, or some last defiance to escape. But that wasn't quite it either.
"Is everything all right?" It was the clerk, no doubt wondering why two people lay surrounded by lingerie she intended to sell. Yielding cleared his throat.
"Yes," he said. "Just a thief ma'am." Ilene glared at him again for the lie. He flashed her a smirk and stood up, pulling her up with him.
Yielding handcuffed one of Ilene's wrists, and then his own. "No running," he said sternly.
They both walked out of the shopping center—Ilene scowled while Yielding smirked. When they reached his car, in an emergency lane outside the center, Yielding pushed her towards the driver's seat.
"You want me to drive?" she asked. Yielding laughed.
"No. I'm not uncuffing you, and I'm not climbing over the seats." He pushed her again. Ilene huffed again as she scrambled over the seats.
The drive was quick and silent. Ilene stared out the window, ignoring Yielding completely.
"I'm not trying to use you, Ilene." He didn't look at her, but acted like he was talking to the radio. "I'm doing what's right."
She muttered something under her breath, making him look over at her. He sighed and stopped the car outside the government building.
He got out of the car, practically dragging her out—or at least, so it seemed to her. Ilene straightened her shirt.
Yielding led her back into the building, down the elevator, and towards her cell. He stopped again, and made her face him.
"No more escape attempts," he said. He tilted his head down at her, ever the authority figure. Ilene smiled sweetly.
"Fine," she said. Then she kicked the back of his leg, almost in a sweep. Yielding landed on his back with a surprised yelp. The handcuffs connecting them pulled at her, but she stayed victoriously on her feet. "Any other requests?"