Ian stared out the villa window to the glittering pool below, entranced by the black ripples that the wind created. A gloom settled over him the moment he stepped onto the jet to go to home. He had been more or less raised in the Italian villa, and considered it his home. The past week he spent pouring over books, trying to block out the sadness that seemed to consume him. He wished that he were brave enough to drink so he could forget the past year, but liquor frightened him.
A loud lap on the door jerked him out of a trance the blackened water had created. The door opened, revealing Andrew in a very sober mood. Ian continued to stare out the window, not in the mood for talk.
"Ian, I would like you to do me a favor."
Sighing inaudibly, Ian turned to face his mentor. "Yes?"
"I need you to deliver a message to someone. You'll meet them at a club in France tomorrow night. All you have to do is give them an envelope."
Looking worried, he asked, "How will I know who to give it to?"
Andrew smiled at the nervous young man. "You'll know." Patting his shoulder reassuringly, he left Ian to return to his trance-like state. It would be his second favor/mission, and Ian did not feel the same surge of pride. Instead, it was a sort of foreboding.
Hopefully, with something to do, he could finally lose the demons that haunted his every waking moment.
***
Emily slouched on her desk; fervently hoping the headache at the base of her skull would not continue to gain intensity. After spending a week in Canada she returned to LA, still not over the loss of Brigitte. It was just Brigitte, she told herself, I don't miss him
The work had stacked in messy piles around her small desk, making Emily wish she had stayed in Canada.
Being home had been good for her spirit and made her relax. The only time she felt unease was at night, when she was haunted by images of him and the words of Rambaldi. She'd wake up, soaked with a cold and clammy sweat, reaching across the bed. Her arms always came up empty, which, even though she had never slept with him, disappointed her.
Mornings were a relief, filled with her father's pancakes and maple syrup. The days were spent remembering Brigitte, and learning the stories her father was finally ready to tell. Michael Vaughn was almost broken, a sight that killed Emily and Sydney. They did their best to relieve his distress, and by the time Emily got onto her plane, Michael Vaughn had recovered significantly.
Planes were usually a place a comfort for her, but Emily wanted her debrief to be completed before she got back. Reliving France was not a pleasant experience, and a slight depression settled on her heart, clouding her memories.
The depression stayed with her, attaching hooks into her heart, not allowing her to feel happiness. It was back full force as she attempted to clear her desk of reports.
Cursing in her head, Emily glanced up at the man who was clearing his throat in her doorframe. In a second she was out of the uncomfortable office chair and hugging a grinning Marcus Weiss.
"Easy. I've still got a hole in my shoulder."
Pulling back, Emily put on a mask of anger. "You asshole. You could have contacted me." She moved back to the chair, and Mark sat across from her.
"They wouldn't let me. And besides, I just got out of that damn hospital yesterday, and they said you were on vacation. Hey, I'm sorry about getting caught, she just snuck up on me."
Emily smiled sadly. "Don't worry about it. They knew we were there, because there was someone in our hotel room. There was nothing you could have done."
Mark nodded, although he didn't let himself off the hook. Remembering the mission, he glanced at her. "Hey, the document. Did you get it?" Unless his eyes were deceiving him, Emily's demeanor became sad.
"Yea, I got it. It led me to a cave near my grandmother's house. There was a tablet inside with engravings, but when I tried to take it out, it crumbled." She purposely left him out of her report, although she wasn't sure why.
"Near the house? That man knew way too much about you. So what did it say, o great decrypter?"
Emily smiled sarcastically at the remark, but her heart was sinking at the thought of the cave. "I couldn't read it."
"Bullshit." Mark had seen Emily translate enough Rambaldi documents to know she had a gift. He asked her again, more gently, "What did it say?"
Sighing heavily, Emily said the words that had been engraved into her mind. "Shall you see as I have, and use these visions not with your anger. You, my heir, posses not my blood, but my spirit. To you I pass my gift, my curse. In hope that you can do good, I grant you inheritance of a sight beheld by no other. There is an event you must experience in order to receive my gift. That you experience love, as I have never known. May my curse not render you desolate, but loved, and give you something to sleep to."
"Shit."
"Yea. I don't think the CIA would believe it anyway, and I'd like to avoid being analyzed by Barnett just because Rambaldi claims that I'm his heir."
"Ok Em, I won't say anything." Remembering why he was there, Mark glanced up suddenly. "Oh yea, Dixon called a meeting with me and you in five. Sounded important."
"You're wounded and I just got back. Can't be that urgent."
They walked down the corridors quickly; both hoping whatever mission they were going on didn't require a lot of skill. Ever since Dixon became the task force commander, the whole building had become friendlier. Dixon was kind, and was very good at what he did. Emily felt towards him something along the lines of what she felt for Poppa. Upon arriving at the conference room, she noted that it was bare of people, save Dixon himself.
He smiled warmly at their entrance. "Glad to see you both back alive."
Emily gave him a small hug. "We're glad to be back alive."
Mark settled himself in a not so comfortable chair before asking, "So, what's the deal?"
Dixon turned to him, his eyes warm. "Be glad your dad's back at the old office building, because I'd tell him he raised you with no respect."
Mark winked at him. "I'll make sure to tell him for you."
Emily ended the playful banter. "Isn't it a little soon to be sending us on a mission? We just got back."
Dixon slid a folder across the table to Emily, looking solemn. Inside was a letter, addressed to the CIA.
I have valuable information, only to be disclosed to Agent Emily Vaughn. She can receive an envelope at the Salle Rouge in France at nine tomorrow. She will not be searched for weapons or bugs.Emily glanced up shakily. "Sark?"
Mark pulled the letter over and gaped at it. Dixon nodded to Emily.
"That's what we think. It says you can come armed, and Sark claims to have affection towards you. You're not in much danger."
Mark nearly exploded. "She's in even more danger! It's an obvious trap, one you're willing to just toss her in?"
Dixon narrowed his eyes. "No, that's why you'll be there along with other agents and a task force team around the building."
"He'll be expecting that. He's not as dumb as we'd like to hope."
Emily interrupted the heated argument by saying loudly, "I'll do it." She hadn't even meant to agree, but the words slipped unbidden from her throat. Mark and Dixon both looked concerned, neither had expected her to consent so easily. In fact, Dixon hadn't wanted her to go on the mission, but Langley ordered it.
"Em, are you sure? You haven't seen the guy in what? Six years? Even then, it wasn't exactly a happy family reunion. How can you be so confident you'll come out of this alive?" Mark had heard the stories of her meeting with Sark, and didn't like to think of another one.
"It's been five years. And I think his affection is genuine. I don't have any bad feelings about this, and you know how much I rely on my instincts. I doubt they would betray me now."
Mark accepted her words; her instinct had never been proven wrong. Dixon nodded as well, and gave her the rest of the mission specs. "Ok, you'll leave tonight, and meet Sark at a nightclub in France at nine. There'll be three agents in the club with you, as well as a task force outside. Mark, you'll be on the wires. I would have assigned this to another agent considering your injury, but I know Emily doesn't trust anyone else. Good luck." With a few handshakes, Emily and Mark were back in the operations center.
Emily let out a shaky breath, causing Mark to survey her in alarm. "You sure about this?"
Smiling thinly she responded, "Positive."
***
The smoky French club had a single motif: red. Emily weaved through different shaded rooms, looking for Sark. The other agents had not spotted him, so she headed towards a back section. Gliding through the entry, she was relieved to see this one was dedicated to maroon, a shade easy on the eyes. A figure stood out to her, back straight and swirling a scotch. The familiar ness of his profile made her heart drop into the pit of her stomach.
"I see him."
"Sark?"
"No."
Suddenly self-conscious, Emily smoothed the black miniskirt over her hips. The outfit was entirely appropriate for the club, but she still felt out of place. She slid quietly onto the stool across from Ian, unable to meet his startled gaze.
"Do you have something for me?" Her voice was low, barely able to contain the emotions running through her.
"For you? But---oh hell." Ian pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn him."
"Sark is the man that saved you?" Emily asked in a near whisper.
Ian was surprised at her knowledge. "Andrew Sark saved my life."
Mark was nearly frantic as he heard the exchange. "Emily, I don't care if you know him, just get the envelope and get the hell out!"
Ignoring him, Emily leaned towards Ian, taking the full glass of scotch from his hands. "He's a wanted terrorist."
His eyes widened. Ian had ideas about Andrew, but never that extreme. Remembering what he said at the funeral, Ian stared hard at Emily. "He's your uncle."
Swirling the scotch slowly, Emily nodded to him. "I know."
He handed her a small-unmarked envelope, speaking as she reached for it. "I wish I could get out, but I owe him too much. And I don't have anywhere else to go, no family. He is my family."
Her hands shook as she handled the white envelope, her fingers twitching wildly. Before she could put it away, her fingers were ripping the paper. Mark heard it, and was nearly screaming, "What are you doing? Wait until we can make sure its safe!"
Inside was a single sheet of paper. Unfolding it slowly, she felt Ian's gaze on her. It was brief, but the few words that were written made Emily's heart leap.
I release Ian McGinty from my debt. He is free to live life any way he chooses.
Yours truly, Andrew Sark
A smile crept onto Emily's features as she handed the note to Ian. His expression was one of happiness, relief, and fear. Taking his hand, Emily whispered, "You're free."
Ian was terrified. Andrew was just dumping him out on the streets, a place Ian had been sheltered from. "I don't have anyone but him."
Emily took his other hand. Smiling gently, she squeezed them. "Yes," she said clearly, looking him straight in the eye, "You have me."
A/N: Wow! I actually updated quickly! Please review, so then I'll hurry up with the epilogue!
*Duck
