A/N: Thank you SO much wicked-sista, for reviewing! You are now my favorite
person! Lol. I don't think that Anna is related to Anna Espinosa at this
time, but you never know! OK, enough chat, time for Sarkness! I hope you
(and hopefully others) like it!
*** Aeroport Marseille Provence***
Sark strode into the Marseille airport, careful not to draw attention to himself in any way. Though he was aware that public transport was extremely risky, it was also the best way to divert the CIA and other numerous factions that were after one piece of paper he carried in his breast pocket inside his coat. Casually brushing a hand over his shorn hair, he headed for the member's only lounge to await his flight. The point was to blend in and what better way to blend then to have a drink.
He settled comfortably in a lush armchair, observing the other people in the lounge as he swirled his straight scotch around the ice. Observation was one of his specialities. It was how he learned, imitated and improved. Few people realized the ease with which one could garner new information just from watching others. Sark could tell that the young couple at the bar had just had an argument over another woman, as the lady was faced away from her man, cattily eyeing the other women in the lounge, while he remained oblivious, focused on the soccer game on the television screen above. He could see that the man in the dark coat huddled in the corner was desperately trying to look natural but was failing horribly and looked ill- suited to the posh environment of the lounge. Sark could see that a young woman sitting alone at a table was trying to read.he couldn't quite make out the title.but every so often would flit her eyes up and look around her. For some reason, she intrigued him; she had a sense of simplicity about her, a calm. He watched her for a few seconds longer, taking in her shiny long dark hair and dainty, fresh features. Sark noticed her insecurity as she would bit her bottom pink lip whenever she would glance about the room. He saw how she would fix her glasses and straighten her light green sweater even when they were both perfectly orderly. He watched as she sneakily read the last page of her book before she had finished it. Something drew him over there and he resisted, knowing full well that it was really nothing but an interest. But as he finished his drink, he thought, what the hell, I have a few hours to kill.might as well.
"As far as I know, and I may be misinformed, one is supposed to read the whole book before the ending? Or is this a misapprehension?" He asked, casually leaning onto the woman's table.
She looked up at him, deep brown eyes opening wide, and bit her lower lip. "Oh, well, I-sometimes, it's better to know the ending. Why suffer through the rest if you know how it's going to work out." Her accent had just the slightest touch of the French culture.
He grinned, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. "Sometimes, the middle parts are greatly fulfilling and intriguing."
She contemplated his reply for a moment. "Hmm, that could be true." Her lips turned up in a slight smile. "But in the same way, a tragic story is no less fulfilling at its end than at its middle!"
"Ah, the wonders of literature.perhaps further to be discussed with a drink?" He offered, raising his hand to get the waiter's attention.
The woman blushed avidly. "Oh, no thank you. I shouldn't.I'm on my way back home and then I have a meeting right away. But join me, please." She cleared her bag from the opposing chair, straightening her sweater as she did so.
He had to admit that he loved playing this character; the suaveness and the easy-going nature. Sark glanced at the waiter, hovering expectedly by the table. "Right, I'll have another. Thanks, mate. Are you sure.?" He cocked his head to one side, a persuasive look in his startling blue eyes.
Again, a sweet pink glow touched her cheeks and he couldn't help but realize that she was an incredibly beautiful woman. Ah, if only time permitted.
"No, I really shouldn't but I will have an orange juice please," she replied shyly, rifling through her bag, small change falling out. Sark passed a few bills smoothly over to the waiter.
"Oh no, that's fine. You really shouldn't-"
He waved his hand dismissively and smiled at her, "I'm David Bennett, by the way. And you are?" Sark was impressed with his ability to lie with ease; it would almost be disheartening if it wasn't so useful.
"Isabella Guigné," she answered, her French accent emerged strongly.
"You're French, I presume?" He questioned, his eyes intently on her, as he leaned comfortably back in the chair.
"From Montreal, actually. French-Canadian, I suppose you could say!" She laughed lightly, obviously still a little nervous, but she recovered. "But if you could say one thing about the Canadian winter and French-speaking 'spitters', I may have to hurt you. Don't be deceived by my calm demeanor, I'm a lion in.sheep's clothing!"
He laughed out loud. "I don't think that's it! Kudos for trying, though!"
"Hey, don't start."
Sark held up his hands, mockingly. "Peace, I make peace!"
Isabella tossed her gleaming locks. "Your turn. Where are you from? England, I presume?" she asked, mocking him.
"Funny. But yes, you are right. Guilty! I was born and raised in Britain but I now.well I suppose you could say I have no country. I travel extensively."
Isabella smiled, looking impressed. "Wow!" She sighed softly. "You must have an amazing job!"
"At times, yes." He chose his words carefully, for fear of unwanted listeners; not to mention he had only known this woman for 10 minutes. Sark never trusted. On the other hand, it was getting a little tiring, trying to keep track of the lies. He decided to variate the truth and mix it with a little reality. "Actually, I work for the U.S. government." Ok, so a slight variation on the truth. For, against, what did it matter?
She leaned forward conspiratorally and whispered. "The CIA? I suppose if you tell me, you'll have to kill me?" She threw her head back and laughed.
Sark also moved in. "I would never kill you," he said seriously. "Others.ehhhh..there's a chance!" He grinned evilly, indicating he was kidding. "But seriously, I do international work, for the various embassies." Well, he did do international work, but definitely not for the any government!
"Oh, that must be so incredible. It must.be amazing to travel. I mean, this is my first trip in years.I can't really afford to travel on the agency's salary!"
His interest piqued. "Agency?" He put his guard back on, becoming Julian Sark once again.
"Well, I work for an adoption agency in Montreal. Working with the children is.great but, ah, the work is so emotionally draining. I mean these kids have no parents, no family at all. Nothing. Do you have any idea what that is like? Horrible! I'm so thankful that I had people to fall back on during my life."
Sark felt himself soften a little bit. "Now, that is something else. Isabella, what you do is important! And I, ugh-," he paused, realizing that he was actually about to be totally honest with Isabella, "do know what you mean. My father abandoned me when I was little and what I do remember of him was that he was physically abusive to my mother and myself."
"Oh my God, David, that's so sad.but the important thing is that you made it through everything to become who you are today. Look on the bright side!" Isabella gave a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, the depths of which were still concernedly focused on Sark. "But I know from my work that sometimes the past just cannot be erased."
Sark looked away from her worried stare, shocked at the intensity of the emotions that she had awoken in him. He hadn't thought about his father in years nor what he had done to him. As he thought about his painful childhood, he could actually feel his hands shaking and laid them on the table to calm them.
Isabella reached over and covered his rough hands with her soft ones. Their eyes met and for a moment, he felt something deep within him that he hadn't felt since meeting Allison for the first time.
She looked away first, her brown eyes almost fearful but her smile tried to cover this up. "So David, can I tell you something.it's kind of important," she said quietly, chewing on her lower lip.
"Um, sure." He had to admit that this woman surprised him.and he was even more shocked to admit that he hadn't lost interest yet. "Try me."
Isabella's expression turned very serious and she whispered, "Ok, this is absolutely critical.You have." Sark's eyebrows furrowed tensely.
".a piece of olive in your teeth." Her facial expression cracked, as soft laughter filled the air and a smile showed sparkly white teeth.
Damn martini, he thought. Well, he'd made quite the first impression. But watching her grin and laugh, he couldn't help but feel his worry and tension melt away. His lips broke out into a pleasant smirk. "Alright, alright, how long, if you can manage to spit it out. Wait, with that accent, you probably could!"
She gave him a playful menacing look. "Oh, well, if you wanna start something."
The two dissolved into more laughter, Sark's attention entirely focused on Isabella. So focused that he didn't even notice the woman watching the two of them intently from afar.
***2 Hours later***
Sark strode through the terminal quickly, afraid he was going to miss his plane. Automatically, he checked his pocket, making sure the code was still there. As he walked, he tried to focus on his surroundings, checking for possible threats but his mind kept drifting back to his time with Isabella. It wasn't the first time he had started a conversation with a woman.but it was the first time that he hadn't wanted it to end after 2 hours. But for him, it was business first and that was the way it had to be. There was no room for outsiders in his life.
Still, as they had said goodbye, something in the pit of his stomach had told him not to leave her there. To stay. But he didn't, he couldn't. He had obligations to fulfill.and he had walked away from the lounge feeling strange and unguarded. During points of their long conversation, he had exposed himself and been completely truthful and now, reflecting on that, he felt unnatural. Life goes on, he thought. Isabella had been in and out of his life like lightning. Time to forget.
"What-no, we've been through this! I've taken everything out!" a woman's voice cried as Sark neared the metal detectors.
It was her. It was Isabella.
His mind was just considering the odds of this chance meeting, as her upset voice reached his ears.
"Please, I'm going to miss my flight!" she exclaimed exasperatedly.
A man in a security uniform motioned to an office nearby. "Just come with us, miss, and we will sort this out," he said politely, his accent thick.
Isabella looked around her, her expression upset and unbelieving. "How is going with you going to make this better? This ticket here.yeah, I don't get a refund for this so please let me go through! You've searched my bags, my jacket, and me! I just.I just don't understand." She looked about to cry.
"Miss, step aside, you're holding up the line!
Another officer kept the line moving through the detectors as the one argued with Isabella off to one side. Sark kept his eyes on her, watching her motion with her arms and her eyebrows furrow together
"Fine! Fine!" Isabella exclaimed dejectedly.
"Sir? Sir? Go through please," the officer said to him, with no trace of friendliness.
Sark shook his head, ridding his mind of concern for her, and stepped forward. Just as he did so, Isabella went through the detectors at the same time, crashing into him. He caught her by the waste and inwardly chided himself for not letting go immediately. She steadied herself with his body, not realizing at first who she had run into. "Oh, excuse me.I'm so sorry, I'm in a huge hurry.oh, David? I'm sorry.I had no idea." She stepped away from him, running her hands through her hair distractedly. "I'm so late. I'm going to miss my plane!"
Sark was at a loss for words. He didn't know how to.comfort someone.
One of the guards stepped forwards, about to apprehend Isabella. Sark stepped in, laying a hand on his arm. "Excuse, but is this any way to treat a lady? Let her go one last time. Perhaps the machine is faulty."
"Sir, I doubt that. It's highly unlikely." The guard looked angry that Sark had implied that something was wrong with the machine becoming defensive and distracted all at the same time.
Isabella snuck through the detectors as Sark entrenched the one guard in conversation. They didn't go off.
"Alright, miss, I suppose you can go now. You're clear," said the other guard. Isabella collected her bags quickly
"Right then," Sark said to the guard he had been speaking to, "I guess I'll be off to then. Lovely chatting to you!"
He caught Isabella's eye and she smiled, relieved. Thank you, she mouthed to him and they held each other's gaze for a moment. A huge truck of luggage rolled past and broke the look between them. When Sark looked back, Isabella was gone. For good, this time. Sark smiled slightly, shook his head, and headed for his plane. His future awaited him.
But he was accosted by a woman, one he had never hoped to meet.
"Stop right there, Sark!"
***
Anna grinned as she strode out of the terminal, putting the small envelope in one of her bags.
She met up with Weiss, who looked a little nerve-wracked. "Did you get it? You missed the opportunity, right? Man, we are so dead. Kendall is gonna lynch us. Do they still lynch in the Unites States?" He opened the van door for her.
"Weiss, darling, you need to calm down. I told you I would get the code. And voila, I did!" Anna answered, as she pulled off her green sweater and glasses. "A little sweet talk can take a girl a long way!"
*** Aeroport Marseille Provence***
Sark strode into the Marseille airport, careful not to draw attention to himself in any way. Though he was aware that public transport was extremely risky, it was also the best way to divert the CIA and other numerous factions that were after one piece of paper he carried in his breast pocket inside his coat. Casually brushing a hand over his shorn hair, he headed for the member's only lounge to await his flight. The point was to blend in and what better way to blend then to have a drink.
He settled comfortably in a lush armchair, observing the other people in the lounge as he swirled his straight scotch around the ice. Observation was one of his specialities. It was how he learned, imitated and improved. Few people realized the ease with which one could garner new information just from watching others. Sark could tell that the young couple at the bar had just had an argument over another woman, as the lady was faced away from her man, cattily eyeing the other women in the lounge, while he remained oblivious, focused on the soccer game on the television screen above. He could see that the man in the dark coat huddled in the corner was desperately trying to look natural but was failing horribly and looked ill- suited to the posh environment of the lounge. Sark could see that a young woman sitting alone at a table was trying to read.he couldn't quite make out the title.but every so often would flit her eyes up and look around her. For some reason, she intrigued him; she had a sense of simplicity about her, a calm. He watched her for a few seconds longer, taking in her shiny long dark hair and dainty, fresh features. Sark noticed her insecurity as she would bit her bottom pink lip whenever she would glance about the room. He saw how she would fix her glasses and straighten her light green sweater even when they were both perfectly orderly. He watched as she sneakily read the last page of her book before she had finished it. Something drew him over there and he resisted, knowing full well that it was really nothing but an interest. But as he finished his drink, he thought, what the hell, I have a few hours to kill.might as well.
"As far as I know, and I may be misinformed, one is supposed to read the whole book before the ending? Or is this a misapprehension?" He asked, casually leaning onto the woman's table.
She looked up at him, deep brown eyes opening wide, and bit her lower lip. "Oh, well, I-sometimes, it's better to know the ending. Why suffer through the rest if you know how it's going to work out." Her accent had just the slightest touch of the French culture.
He grinned, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. "Sometimes, the middle parts are greatly fulfilling and intriguing."
She contemplated his reply for a moment. "Hmm, that could be true." Her lips turned up in a slight smile. "But in the same way, a tragic story is no less fulfilling at its end than at its middle!"
"Ah, the wonders of literature.perhaps further to be discussed with a drink?" He offered, raising his hand to get the waiter's attention.
The woman blushed avidly. "Oh, no thank you. I shouldn't.I'm on my way back home and then I have a meeting right away. But join me, please." She cleared her bag from the opposing chair, straightening her sweater as she did so.
He had to admit that he loved playing this character; the suaveness and the easy-going nature. Sark glanced at the waiter, hovering expectedly by the table. "Right, I'll have another. Thanks, mate. Are you sure.?" He cocked his head to one side, a persuasive look in his startling blue eyes.
Again, a sweet pink glow touched her cheeks and he couldn't help but realize that she was an incredibly beautiful woman. Ah, if only time permitted.
"No, I really shouldn't but I will have an orange juice please," she replied shyly, rifling through her bag, small change falling out. Sark passed a few bills smoothly over to the waiter.
"Oh no, that's fine. You really shouldn't-"
He waved his hand dismissively and smiled at her, "I'm David Bennett, by the way. And you are?" Sark was impressed with his ability to lie with ease; it would almost be disheartening if it wasn't so useful.
"Isabella Guigné," she answered, her French accent emerged strongly.
"You're French, I presume?" He questioned, his eyes intently on her, as he leaned comfortably back in the chair.
"From Montreal, actually. French-Canadian, I suppose you could say!" She laughed lightly, obviously still a little nervous, but she recovered. "But if you could say one thing about the Canadian winter and French-speaking 'spitters', I may have to hurt you. Don't be deceived by my calm demeanor, I'm a lion in.sheep's clothing!"
He laughed out loud. "I don't think that's it! Kudos for trying, though!"
"Hey, don't start."
Sark held up his hands, mockingly. "Peace, I make peace!"
Isabella tossed her gleaming locks. "Your turn. Where are you from? England, I presume?" she asked, mocking him.
"Funny. But yes, you are right. Guilty! I was born and raised in Britain but I now.well I suppose you could say I have no country. I travel extensively."
Isabella smiled, looking impressed. "Wow!" She sighed softly. "You must have an amazing job!"
"At times, yes." He chose his words carefully, for fear of unwanted listeners; not to mention he had only known this woman for 10 minutes. Sark never trusted. On the other hand, it was getting a little tiring, trying to keep track of the lies. He decided to variate the truth and mix it with a little reality. "Actually, I work for the U.S. government." Ok, so a slight variation on the truth. For, against, what did it matter?
She leaned forward conspiratorally and whispered. "The CIA? I suppose if you tell me, you'll have to kill me?" She threw her head back and laughed.
Sark also moved in. "I would never kill you," he said seriously. "Others.ehhhh..there's a chance!" He grinned evilly, indicating he was kidding. "But seriously, I do international work, for the various embassies." Well, he did do international work, but definitely not for the any government!
"Oh, that must be so incredible. It must.be amazing to travel. I mean, this is my first trip in years.I can't really afford to travel on the agency's salary!"
His interest piqued. "Agency?" He put his guard back on, becoming Julian Sark once again.
"Well, I work for an adoption agency in Montreal. Working with the children is.great but, ah, the work is so emotionally draining. I mean these kids have no parents, no family at all. Nothing. Do you have any idea what that is like? Horrible! I'm so thankful that I had people to fall back on during my life."
Sark felt himself soften a little bit. "Now, that is something else. Isabella, what you do is important! And I, ugh-," he paused, realizing that he was actually about to be totally honest with Isabella, "do know what you mean. My father abandoned me when I was little and what I do remember of him was that he was physically abusive to my mother and myself."
"Oh my God, David, that's so sad.but the important thing is that you made it through everything to become who you are today. Look on the bright side!" Isabella gave a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, the depths of which were still concernedly focused on Sark. "But I know from my work that sometimes the past just cannot be erased."
Sark looked away from her worried stare, shocked at the intensity of the emotions that she had awoken in him. He hadn't thought about his father in years nor what he had done to him. As he thought about his painful childhood, he could actually feel his hands shaking and laid them on the table to calm them.
Isabella reached over and covered his rough hands with her soft ones. Their eyes met and for a moment, he felt something deep within him that he hadn't felt since meeting Allison for the first time.
She looked away first, her brown eyes almost fearful but her smile tried to cover this up. "So David, can I tell you something.it's kind of important," she said quietly, chewing on her lower lip.
"Um, sure." He had to admit that this woman surprised him.and he was even more shocked to admit that he hadn't lost interest yet. "Try me."
Isabella's expression turned very serious and she whispered, "Ok, this is absolutely critical.You have." Sark's eyebrows furrowed tensely.
".a piece of olive in your teeth." Her facial expression cracked, as soft laughter filled the air and a smile showed sparkly white teeth.
Damn martini, he thought. Well, he'd made quite the first impression. But watching her grin and laugh, he couldn't help but feel his worry and tension melt away. His lips broke out into a pleasant smirk. "Alright, alright, how long, if you can manage to spit it out. Wait, with that accent, you probably could!"
She gave him a playful menacing look. "Oh, well, if you wanna start something."
The two dissolved into more laughter, Sark's attention entirely focused on Isabella. So focused that he didn't even notice the woman watching the two of them intently from afar.
***2 Hours later***
Sark strode through the terminal quickly, afraid he was going to miss his plane. Automatically, he checked his pocket, making sure the code was still there. As he walked, he tried to focus on his surroundings, checking for possible threats but his mind kept drifting back to his time with Isabella. It wasn't the first time he had started a conversation with a woman.but it was the first time that he hadn't wanted it to end after 2 hours. But for him, it was business first and that was the way it had to be. There was no room for outsiders in his life.
Still, as they had said goodbye, something in the pit of his stomach had told him not to leave her there. To stay. But he didn't, he couldn't. He had obligations to fulfill.and he had walked away from the lounge feeling strange and unguarded. During points of their long conversation, he had exposed himself and been completely truthful and now, reflecting on that, he felt unnatural. Life goes on, he thought. Isabella had been in and out of his life like lightning. Time to forget.
"What-no, we've been through this! I've taken everything out!" a woman's voice cried as Sark neared the metal detectors.
It was her. It was Isabella.
His mind was just considering the odds of this chance meeting, as her upset voice reached his ears.
"Please, I'm going to miss my flight!" she exclaimed exasperatedly.
A man in a security uniform motioned to an office nearby. "Just come with us, miss, and we will sort this out," he said politely, his accent thick.
Isabella looked around her, her expression upset and unbelieving. "How is going with you going to make this better? This ticket here.yeah, I don't get a refund for this so please let me go through! You've searched my bags, my jacket, and me! I just.I just don't understand." She looked about to cry.
"Miss, step aside, you're holding up the line!
Another officer kept the line moving through the detectors as the one argued with Isabella off to one side. Sark kept his eyes on her, watching her motion with her arms and her eyebrows furrow together
"Fine! Fine!" Isabella exclaimed dejectedly.
"Sir? Sir? Go through please," the officer said to him, with no trace of friendliness.
Sark shook his head, ridding his mind of concern for her, and stepped forward. Just as he did so, Isabella went through the detectors at the same time, crashing into him. He caught her by the waste and inwardly chided himself for not letting go immediately. She steadied herself with his body, not realizing at first who she had run into. "Oh, excuse me.I'm so sorry, I'm in a huge hurry.oh, David? I'm sorry.I had no idea." She stepped away from him, running her hands through her hair distractedly. "I'm so late. I'm going to miss my plane!"
Sark was at a loss for words. He didn't know how to.comfort someone.
One of the guards stepped forwards, about to apprehend Isabella. Sark stepped in, laying a hand on his arm. "Excuse, but is this any way to treat a lady? Let her go one last time. Perhaps the machine is faulty."
"Sir, I doubt that. It's highly unlikely." The guard looked angry that Sark had implied that something was wrong with the machine becoming defensive and distracted all at the same time.
Isabella snuck through the detectors as Sark entrenched the one guard in conversation. They didn't go off.
"Alright, miss, I suppose you can go now. You're clear," said the other guard. Isabella collected her bags quickly
"Right then," Sark said to the guard he had been speaking to, "I guess I'll be off to then. Lovely chatting to you!"
He caught Isabella's eye and she smiled, relieved. Thank you, she mouthed to him and they held each other's gaze for a moment. A huge truck of luggage rolled past and broke the look between them. When Sark looked back, Isabella was gone. For good, this time. Sark smiled slightly, shook his head, and headed for his plane. His future awaited him.
But he was accosted by a woman, one he had never hoped to meet.
"Stop right there, Sark!"
***
Anna grinned as she strode out of the terminal, putting the small envelope in one of her bags.
She met up with Weiss, who looked a little nerve-wracked. "Did you get it? You missed the opportunity, right? Man, we are so dead. Kendall is gonna lynch us. Do they still lynch in the Unites States?" He opened the van door for her.
"Weiss, darling, you need to calm down. I told you I would get the code. And voila, I did!" Anna answered, as she pulled off her green sweater and glasses. "A little sweet talk can take a girl a long way!"