Chapter Eleven---Prove It
They had a whole new set of guards, six of them to be exact; the big, burly, intimidating type that you never know if they are really reliable in a fight or just depend on their size. But Michael decided that if the person who brought them there could afford so many hirelings to watch over the two of them, than he could certainly afford the best.
So he didn't resist as he was escorted into the vacant looking warehouse, two men on his left and two on his right, keeping a specified distance between him and Sydney. He didn't even turn his head to catch a glimpse of her as they walked briskly, wary of another blow to his brow like before, and kept his footsteps even, ringing a bit with an air of assurance that he hoped was convincing, all the while wishing he could at least touch her hand, take a little comfort. He'd been trained to handle situations like this, but suddenly he wasn't ready.
It wasn't a long march across the deserted concrete outside, with the lifeless gray sky above reflecting their moods, through the sliding metal door, and to the left into a smaller room, not nearly as echoing as the vast expanses of the main entrance, but still with a soaring ceiling that caught up every sound and threw it back at them. His guards stopped dead as they crossed the threshold, Sydney taking the hint from them as well, but he wandered a few steps farther than anyone else, his eyes riveting to the only presence that mattered at the moment: Laramie. She stood in the center of the room so you couldn't miss her, her arms hanging by her sides, her brown hair plastered to the sides of her face, her green eyes exposing a strange sort of calm; he took it first to mean she was in shock, but then he realized that not even the victims of the worst accidents look like that, and he'd seen quite a few. A tremor went through him, but there was no time to register fear, as a new threat demanded his attention.
"I expected you earlier than this, Sydney." The voice drew his eyes along to the body beside his daughter, slender and tall with pale blond hair and frozen blue eyes, like artic skies.
One of the men scurried forward, offering Rambaldi's manuscript to him with averted eyes, and Sark accepted it with a flourish, like a king might take something from a servant, secure in his domain. He ruffled the pages with a feigned interest before handing it back, and the hired gun hurried eagerly back to his place to the right of Sydney. Sustaining his regal air, Sark greedily took in their appearance, but if he was hoping for surprise or alarm, Sydney showed neither as she observed him as well, her only reaction was to quirk her lips into a slight frown before speaking. "You have your manuscript, now we'll take our daughter and go home. We had an agreement."
Sark opened his mouth to answer her, but Laramie spoke first, taking one darting charge forward, "Mom--!" Sark latched onto her arm, and she didn't get far, his other hand coming down to lock the words in her throat as it closed over her jaw; the grip looked gentle enough, but it was evident to see the futile effort of her muscles against it.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you children should be seen and not heard," he snarled close to her ear, his accent becoming more pronounced in his irritation.
Michael lunged, he didn't think about the six--maybe seven--armed men in the room or what he was going to do, he was just moving, an instinctive reaction to his young being threatened. He managed to get halfway to the pair before they caught him, two of the men dragging him forcefully back to the wall, holding him motionless in a upright position as he dangled in their grip between them, every vulnerable inch of him spread and exposed like a man before a firing squad.
Sark brushed his sleeve like Michael had physically touched him, releasing Laramie in the process, who stood still without another protest, not even the most negligible twitch to distinguish her from a statue. He turned on Sydney again then, picking up his words like nothing had happened, "We had no such agreement, if you remember back. I said that you had to steal the manuscript for me and Laramie could go home with you, but we agreed on nothing between those two points." He smirked at his own cleverness, "You're completely at my mercy."
"What do you want with me?" Her chin came up a bit, daring him.
"The CIA," he began with a friendly invitation, engaging her with an open motion to share her secrets, "they gave you some information after you left the organization, did they not? Something to do with a discovery about Rambaldi...?"
There, that was it, he had thrown out his last card, revealed his intentions, and now it was Sydney's turn to play the situation as she chose. She dimpled at him, recognizing her own victory when she saw it. "You were always so sharp, Sark, bright and smart with so much ambition." She took a stride toward him, and when no one reached for her, she ventured another, farther and farther as she spoke until she came to stand in front of him. "But you never had direction; so good at taking orders, but not at acting on your own. So we'll exchange a little information for some information. Tell me, who are you working for now?"
"Myself." His eyes narrowed, but he didn't call for anyone to remove her. "I work for myself now."
Sydney grabbed onto that detail, twisting it to her own use. "That's why you needed me to get the manuscript, why you needed me here. You want a partner with...leadership qualities. You once thought that we were meant to work together; so what would you say if I took you up on that offer?" She looked neither to the left nor right, not even a glance at her daughter, any emotion at all and she would falter, giving him a break to fasten onto.
"I'd say you were trying to trick me." He was matter-of-fact with his retort, but he sounded a bit tentative, as if he was still assessing her words.
"I am being completely serious." Her face was static, no involuntary motion to give away the fact she was lying. Either she had perfected the practice, or she truly believed what she said.
"And I'm supposed to trust you? I'm not that naive, Sydney. I know you." He laughed dryly, coming as close as he would get to a nervous twitter.
"Fine. I'll prove it. Anything you want me to do." She had gambled, relinquishing control to Sark, leaving herself open, and a smile began edge its way across his face as he realized it.
Warily, he used a finger to rotate her so she faced the wall where Michael was held unmoving, his gaze uncomprehending and questioning. Sark freed one hand to reach into a holster hidden under his jacket and produced a gun, reaching around her to place it in her hands, curling her fingers around it.
"Kill him."
The room held its collective breath as her hands closed of their own violation over the weapon, weighing it adeptly.
The two guards restraining Michael inched away from the doomed man.
She raised the gun and levered it straight at his chest, open eyelid dipping as she aimed.
"I'm really going to miss you," she whispered, her low tone rolling like thunder in the quiet room, and she pulled the trigger.
A/N: How's that for suspense? (Insert maniacal laughter here.) Remember the more reviews I get, the faster you find out what happens!
On a more serious note, I edited the first chapter (though it's not showing up on fanfiction! grrr...)so it fits in with what happened on Sunday's awesome, wonderful, I-nearly-fainted-of-happiness show, and you can read it or not, your choice.
They had a whole new set of guards, six of them to be exact; the big, burly, intimidating type that you never know if they are really reliable in a fight or just depend on their size. But Michael decided that if the person who brought them there could afford so many hirelings to watch over the two of them, than he could certainly afford the best.
So he didn't resist as he was escorted into the vacant looking warehouse, two men on his left and two on his right, keeping a specified distance between him and Sydney. He didn't even turn his head to catch a glimpse of her as they walked briskly, wary of another blow to his brow like before, and kept his footsteps even, ringing a bit with an air of assurance that he hoped was convincing, all the while wishing he could at least touch her hand, take a little comfort. He'd been trained to handle situations like this, but suddenly he wasn't ready.
It wasn't a long march across the deserted concrete outside, with the lifeless gray sky above reflecting their moods, through the sliding metal door, and to the left into a smaller room, not nearly as echoing as the vast expanses of the main entrance, but still with a soaring ceiling that caught up every sound and threw it back at them. His guards stopped dead as they crossed the threshold, Sydney taking the hint from them as well, but he wandered a few steps farther than anyone else, his eyes riveting to the only presence that mattered at the moment: Laramie. She stood in the center of the room so you couldn't miss her, her arms hanging by her sides, her brown hair plastered to the sides of her face, her green eyes exposing a strange sort of calm; he took it first to mean she was in shock, but then he realized that not even the victims of the worst accidents look like that, and he'd seen quite a few. A tremor went through him, but there was no time to register fear, as a new threat demanded his attention.
"I expected you earlier than this, Sydney." The voice drew his eyes along to the body beside his daughter, slender and tall with pale blond hair and frozen blue eyes, like artic skies.
One of the men scurried forward, offering Rambaldi's manuscript to him with averted eyes, and Sark accepted it with a flourish, like a king might take something from a servant, secure in his domain. He ruffled the pages with a feigned interest before handing it back, and the hired gun hurried eagerly back to his place to the right of Sydney. Sustaining his regal air, Sark greedily took in their appearance, but if he was hoping for surprise or alarm, Sydney showed neither as she observed him as well, her only reaction was to quirk her lips into a slight frown before speaking. "You have your manuscript, now we'll take our daughter and go home. We had an agreement."
Sark opened his mouth to answer her, but Laramie spoke first, taking one darting charge forward, "Mom--!" Sark latched onto her arm, and she didn't get far, his other hand coming down to lock the words in her throat as it closed over her jaw; the grip looked gentle enough, but it was evident to see the futile effort of her muscles against it.
"Didn't anyone ever teach you children should be seen and not heard," he snarled close to her ear, his accent becoming more pronounced in his irritation.
Michael lunged, he didn't think about the six--maybe seven--armed men in the room or what he was going to do, he was just moving, an instinctive reaction to his young being threatened. He managed to get halfway to the pair before they caught him, two of the men dragging him forcefully back to the wall, holding him motionless in a upright position as he dangled in their grip between them, every vulnerable inch of him spread and exposed like a man before a firing squad.
Sark brushed his sleeve like Michael had physically touched him, releasing Laramie in the process, who stood still without another protest, not even the most negligible twitch to distinguish her from a statue. He turned on Sydney again then, picking up his words like nothing had happened, "We had no such agreement, if you remember back. I said that you had to steal the manuscript for me and Laramie could go home with you, but we agreed on nothing between those two points." He smirked at his own cleverness, "You're completely at my mercy."
"What do you want with me?" Her chin came up a bit, daring him.
"The CIA," he began with a friendly invitation, engaging her with an open motion to share her secrets, "they gave you some information after you left the organization, did they not? Something to do with a discovery about Rambaldi...?"
There, that was it, he had thrown out his last card, revealed his intentions, and now it was Sydney's turn to play the situation as she chose. She dimpled at him, recognizing her own victory when she saw it. "You were always so sharp, Sark, bright and smart with so much ambition." She took a stride toward him, and when no one reached for her, she ventured another, farther and farther as she spoke until she came to stand in front of him. "But you never had direction; so good at taking orders, but not at acting on your own. So we'll exchange a little information for some information. Tell me, who are you working for now?"
"Myself." His eyes narrowed, but he didn't call for anyone to remove her. "I work for myself now."
Sydney grabbed onto that detail, twisting it to her own use. "That's why you needed me to get the manuscript, why you needed me here. You want a partner with...leadership qualities. You once thought that we were meant to work together; so what would you say if I took you up on that offer?" She looked neither to the left nor right, not even a glance at her daughter, any emotion at all and she would falter, giving him a break to fasten onto.
"I'd say you were trying to trick me." He was matter-of-fact with his retort, but he sounded a bit tentative, as if he was still assessing her words.
"I am being completely serious." Her face was static, no involuntary motion to give away the fact she was lying. Either she had perfected the practice, or she truly believed what she said.
"And I'm supposed to trust you? I'm not that naive, Sydney. I know you." He laughed dryly, coming as close as he would get to a nervous twitter.
"Fine. I'll prove it. Anything you want me to do." She had gambled, relinquishing control to Sark, leaving herself open, and a smile began edge its way across his face as he realized it.
Warily, he used a finger to rotate her so she faced the wall where Michael was held unmoving, his gaze uncomprehending and questioning. Sark freed one hand to reach into a holster hidden under his jacket and produced a gun, reaching around her to place it in her hands, curling her fingers around it.
"Kill him."
The room held its collective breath as her hands closed of their own violation over the weapon, weighing it adeptly.
The two guards restraining Michael inched away from the doomed man.
She raised the gun and levered it straight at his chest, open eyelid dipping as she aimed.
"I'm really going to miss you," she whispered, her low tone rolling like thunder in the quiet room, and she pulled the trigger.
A/N: How's that for suspense? (Insert maniacal laughter here.) Remember the more reviews I get, the faster you find out what happens!
On a more serious note, I edited the first chapter (though it's not showing up on fanfiction! grrr...)so it fits in with what happened on Sunday's awesome, wonderful, I-nearly-fainted-of-happiness show, and you can read it or not, your choice.