Meet the Parents

            Irina wasn't in the French chateau. So Sark flew to London, where she wasn't present either. The flat in Zurich was empty, and Germany was the same.

            Moscow was a waste of time, and Sark knew she wasn't in the United States. He tried Taipei.

            She was expecting him, of course. Sark didn't expect her not to, not when he was obviously tracking her down. She sat casually in a morning breakfast room; it was unusual for the Chinese, but Irina herself blended in nicely with a silk vest and pale linen pants. Her hair was twisted in a bun on the crown of her head.

            She motioned for him to sit across from her. Sark did so with a smirk.

            "Taiwan is nice, this time of year," he began with a touch of mockery. Irina's lips curled upward, but didn't quite reach a smile.

            "I didn't intend for Strachen to capture you," she said. Sark waved her words off.

            "I didn't come here for an apology, Irina," he said. "Not revenge, not your life." She raised an eyebrow at that, as if challenging him to even try.

            "What then?"

            Sark cocked his head to the side, and allowed a bemused smile to appear on his face.

            "The Retract files."

            Irina shifted in her seat.

            "How do I know you won't—"

            "Please, Irina, I'm not after it for personal gain," Sark interrupted. "We both know I'm the lesser of the two evils here."

            She actually smiled at that.

            "You're trying to make peace," she said, thinking aloud. Sark gave her a nod.

            "Yes. You recall that I was somewhat peaceful before I was dragged out by Strachen, and misled to complete a mission in the Utah desert."

            His cynicism didn't go unnoticed.

            "It's hard to make peace when you infiltrate Camp Harris and murder a terrorist." She paused, waiting for a reaction, but surprisingly received none. "It was only somewhat peaceful," Irina said, moving on, "because you weren't truly happy."

            Sark shot her an annoyed glare. "Philosophy now, Irina?"

            "You weren't happy," Irina pressed forward, "because you and Sydney can't be together."

            "Irina, don't advise me on my love life," he said firmly.

            "So it is love," she said, making Sark roll his eyes. "What will you do now?"

            Sark leaned forward in his chair, his eyes never letting up in their intense gaze through Irina.

            "I'm going to get the Retract files, and return them to their rightful owner," he said firmly. "And then I'm going to do what ever it takes to live my life the way I want."

            They sat opposite each other, staring. Sark, looking for a break in his former employer's façade; Irina, looking for her former employee's purpose.

            It ended with Irina smiling. She stood, and left the room, leaving Sark to follow. The rooms were dark, heavily shaded. More for security than anything, Sark thought. Rich reds and dull yellows covered the rooms. An ill-painted portrait of Mao hung on the wall. Irina removed the painting and started keying in her code to the hidden safe. Sark averted his eyes, more out of habit than respect for his former employer.

            She reached in and removed the directory of files, carefully handing them to Sark.

            "Have you made any copies?" Sark asked. Irina shook her head.

            "It's encrypted. Believe it or not, I haven't had time to decode it."

            Sark didn't believe her, but he took the directory, and started to leave.

            "Will you miss it?" Irina asked abruptly. He knew she referred to this life, spying, doing anything to get power and accomplish the objective. Sark smirked at the question.

            "Promise me one thing," he asked her. She hesitated, but nodded. "I know you'll do anything for Sydney to be happy. I've never expected that to extend to me. But promise me you'll leave me alone." He paused, letting that sink in. "No more missions, no favors, nothing."

            "Not even just to visit?" Irina said, smiling at him. Sark shot her a look.

            "Goodbye, Irina."



            Jack Bristow was an uncommonly tidy man. His apartment was immaculate, bordering on obsessively clean. Sark ran his fingers along the coffee table and the mantle; no dust.

            The dishes were all hand-washed and neatly drying in a drainer. The fridge was organized with neatly-stacked Chinese takeout boxes. The bottles of wine in the pantry were lined up by year, with the earliest year closest to the end. Sark's eyes scanned over the labels.

            "Chateau Petreuse," he said aloud. It was a 1990, but Sark figured it'd do. He searched the organized kitchen drawers for a corkscrew.

            He swirled the wine in a glass, letting it air out properly before taking a sip. That sip was horrid to him, especially when he was used to the 1982 bottle.

            Although, when was the last time you had that? He relented to himself that it'd been awhile.

            He sat at the counter, sipping the terrible wine and occasionally straightening his shirt. It was a blue polo shirt, with stripes like a sunburst across his chest. He wore jeans as well, and his leather jacket and gun hung on the back of a chair across the kitchen.

            Keys jingled outside the front door, and Sark set his glass down. He took a deep breath as Jack entered his sanctuary.

            The veteran spy knew something was amiss immediately. He drew his gun and turned on a light. His eyes scanned the living room, moving slowly to the kitchen. Sark waited for discovery, a daring smirk on his face.

            Jack's jaw tightened, but that's all that changed on his face. He didn't even raise his gun. Sark had to admire such rigid composure.

            "I hope you don't mind, but I opened the 1990 bottle of Petreuse," Sark said, breaking the silence. "To be honest, it's not that great of a year, but I assume you like it."

            "I assume you have a sniper watching your back," Jack answered. Sark smiled and shook his head.

            "There's no need," he said. With that, Jack raised the gun.

            "That's foolish, but I won't complain. Hands on your head," Jack ordered sternly. Sark sighed.

            "Mr. Bristow, I came for a number of reasons, which I had hoped you would allow me to explain," Sark said smoothly. Jack didn't lower the gun.

            "Feel free to talk," Jack said. "But know that I won't hesitate to pull this trigger if I don't like what I hear."

            Sark raised an eyebrow at that. "That could put a damper on things when we reach the subject of Sydney, but we'll put that off for later." Sark took another deep breath. "I've no desire to continue in this life. I could use your help in leaving it."

            Jack's eye twitched at that.

            "You've disappeared before, only to come back and steal classified materials that threaten national security."

            Sark sighed. "That wasn't by choice. I faked my death, hoping to leave our industry behind. Strachen kidnapped my sister, which was why I reemerged."

            This time Jack's mouth twitched, which was all Sark could attribute to any surprise.

            "Your sister," Jack repeated. Sark nodded.

            "I thought Sydney would have told you."

            Jack's eyes glanced to the right. "She mentioned something, but more in passing, as if it were unreliable intel."

             Sark shrugged. "My situation is an interesting one, but for the sake of time, I won't go into it," he said. "I've been reunited with my family, only to have Strachen threaten them."

            "And that's why you killed Strachen?" Jack surmised. The younger spy nodded.

            "There might have been some personal satisfaction from it, but the bulk of the reason was protecting my family." Sark took another sip of the wine. The movement made Jack flinched, but luckily his trigger finger stayed steady. "I have the Retract files here."

            Jack's brow furrowed, the first real sign of confusion the man had ever portrayed. Sark nodded to his jacket. "I've received assurances that it hasn't been copied or decoded. I trust you'll know what to do with it."

            Jack slowly went to the jacket, his eyes darting back and forth. He patted the jacket until he found the mass of the directory. He seemed somewhat amazed when he removed it.

            "Why bring this to me?"

            Sark stared at the wine glass as he slowly swirled the liquid in a smooth, circular motion.

            "I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder," he said softly. He looked up from the glass. "I don't want to worry about what your government might do if they find my family."

            Jack raised his chin slightly as he realized what was being asked of him. "You want a deal."

            Sark shook his head. "No. A deal implies that I must work with you, the CIA, any of you. I want out completely. And I want the CIA off my back." Suddenly, he remembered other threats, and the alarm must have shown on his face. "Has the CIA told other organizations that I'm alive?"

            Jack said nothing for a moment as he evaluated Sark. Finally, he put down the gun. "No, they haven't."

            Sark's eyes flickered toward the gun until it registered what Jack said. He let out a sigh.

            "You mentioned Sydney," Jack said. "What role does she play in all this?"

            Sark shook his head. "I don't know for sure, but I know that I want her in my life." Jack didn't say anything for several moments.

            He finally stuttered on his question. "Does . . . does she . . . How does she regard you?"

            Sark fought to keep back a smirk at the man's sudden uneasiness.

            "I don't know for sure," Sark said. "It's hard to have anything between us when we've been on opposite sides. But that's one of several reasons I'm leaving."

            Jack nodded, and held up the Retract files.

            "I'm willing to take this to the CIA. But I can't guarantee how they will respond," he said. Sark nodded.

            "I appreciate you trying," he said, running a hand through his hair. He pulled out a piece of paper, and placed it on the kitchen counter. "Please give this to Sydney. This is how she can contact me, if she wants to."

            Sark stood and collected his jacket and gun. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants. Jack watched but didn't raise his own weapon. Sark headed for the front door.

            "How do I know your care for her is genuine?" Jack asked to Sark's back. He paused, and turned back to the older spy. Jack stared intently at Sark, wanting the truth.

            "I'm willing to give up this life for her, for others," Sark said. "Even you can't claim that, Jack." His eyes flickered to the ground and back at Jack.

            Sark turned and shut the door behind him.