a/n: Thanks to sallene for her help!

Ring Ring

Sark answered the phone as he peaked out the hostel's window. A stream of light filtered in.

"Yes," he said stiffly.

"Julian, it's Dad." He knew relief should have been his first feeling, but instead it was tension.

"Where are you?" He listened to his dad's answer, and felt his muscles tighten even more.

"Walk to the street, where it's busiest by the stores. We'll come get you." He hung up, knowing his dad would be put out by that. But it was safer.

"Sark?" It was Sydney. Sark turned from the window to face her.

"Sydney. I need you to do me a favor."

As soon as he explained, Sydney left, running out the door to go meet his dad and bring him to relative safety.

"Is Dad going to help us get Ilene?" Calvin asked. Sark didn't answer. He knew his brother wouldn't like what he was planning. Sark picked up his cell phone and called a number he normally dreaded.

"This is Bristow," came that voice that Sark knew every human (and some animals) should fear.

"Jack," Sark said. "How's my mother doing?"

There was a tense pause, and Sark could almost read the man's thoughts. How could I have the audacity to call him directly? Or something like that. Sark smirked into the phone.

"Your mother has to be one of the most annoying people on earth who's still breathing." His voice was deadpan, but it made Sark smile.

"Well, she'll probably be easier to manage with my father and brother there," Sark said. He waited for Sydney's father to pick up on what he meant.

"Your father? Has he been released?"

"Yes. Sydney's picking him up as we speak," Sark said. "Jack, I know it's a lot to ask, especially from you, but could you look after my parents and brother?"

"What?"

Sark swallowed a laugh at the man's horrified tone. "I'm sending my dad and Calvin to you, while Sydney and I rescue Ilene." And end this mess, he didn't add.

"Aren't I staying here?" Calvin whispered loudly, trying to sway his brother. Sark shook his head and turned away from his brother.

"Jack?" Sark said, wondering why the man hadn't answered.

"My agreement to do this is solely because of my daughter's regard for you. As long as you understand that, I'll watch over them," Jack said.

Sark smirked. "I love you, too, Jack." He laughed, something that Jack probably never heard before. "I'll send them on the next flight out."

He hung up before Jack could change his mind, or chew him out.

"Julian, you're sending me away?" Calvin's face was a combination of sadness and confusion. "I thought I was helping."

"Cal," Sark began, "I need you to look after Mom and Dad—"

"Cut the crap," Calvin said quickly. He suddenly looked angry, an emotion Sark doubted he ever saw from him. "Sydney's dad is looking out for them, and me apparently." Cal crossed his arms and stood straight. "You can't just dismiss me. I want to help."

Sark, however, did know his brother's stubbornness. It was a trait he normally found in himself. But this was no time for arguing. Not when Sark knew what he had to do to free Ilene, and to end this.

He didn't want to be cross with his brother, especially knowing what Calvin would go through in the future. But it's for the best. So he let his eyes freeze over and set his jaw tightly.

"You're going with Dad. I can't afford anymore liabilities tonight. Now get your things together, quickly."

He walked past his brother and over to a bag full of weapons Sydney obtained earlier. His fingers brushed the metal of guns and stun grenades. Stun? Sark grabbed one of the grenades. It wasn't an actual explosive, but a flash bang, meant to disorient. He grabbed a gun next, and sighed.

It was a tranquilizer gun. Sark dug through the rest of the bag. Tranq gun, another tranq gun, clips of tranquilizers, flash bangs, rope, grappling hook, plastic ties—

Sydney. Of course. Her version of weapons weren't what Sark would have chosen. She's playing it safe.

He sighed again, bowing his head as he tried to tell himself it was all right. Sydney was just trying to save innocent lives—

But they're not innocent! They kidnapped my family! Sark looked over to where he had his gun, one with actual bullets. At least I have that. Sark zipped up the bag quickly, nearly burning his fingertips as he did. His fists were tightly clenched.

It doesn't matter. Just get Ilene back, and move on to the next step. He didn't think about that step yet. He didn't really want to think about it in detail while Calvin was around.

The door opened suddenly, and Henry came rushing in, with Sydney behind.

"Julian! Calvin!" Their dad gave each of them a stern hug.

"Dad," Sark started as he was hugged, "we don't have much time. You and Calvin need to leave the country as soon as possibly."

Henry stopped and looked directly into his son's eyes. "Julian, I tried to see what I could as they let me go. I know there are lots of agents, but they blindfolded me as I left. I couldn't—"

"It's all right," Sark interrupted. "We'll still get Ilene." He smiled tightly, but his façade didn't assuage his father's fears.

"They told me, right before they released me, that they would hold Ilene indefinitely if you don't turn yourself in. And . . . that they couldn't guarantee her safety much longer." Henry looked like he was going to either wail or smash something.

"It doesn't matter, Dad," Sark said. "I promise you, Ilene will be free by morning." His blue eyes didn't waver, and his dad slowly nodded. Sark suddenly looked to Sydney.

"Syd, can you take them to the airport?"

She nodded, and motioned to the door. "Henry, Calvin, we should go."

Sark was grateful that she was hurrying this. He didn't want the awkward goodbye, the send-off before this op. But his dad hugged him again, as did Calvin, despite the scowl on his face.

"Take care of them," Sark whispered in his brother's ear. Calvin nodded. He gave one last look at his brother, and left the room.

Sark sighed when they finally left. He fell back on a bed and stared at the cottage cheese ceiling.

So Yielding finally made a threat. Sark's dad seemed disturbed enough by the threat that maybe Yielding would go through with it. Or maybe he just wants to make sure I'll come, especially when he keeps nicely releasing his hostages.

It didn't matter. I'm finishing this. No more liabilities. No more threats, not against his family. Not ever again. And he would make certain that the message got to everyone.

With that thought, he picked up his phone. He took a deep breath as he dialed the number.

"It's Sark. I have a job for you."

"What?" asked a thick Portuguese accent.

"An assassination."

--------

Sydney's eyes kept flickering to the rearview mirror. She knew Henry and Calvin were off safely, and that her dad would pick them up in Canada. But being in Scotland, so close to the manor where MI6 and Ilene were, made Sydney nervous. She wasn't sure if the cars behind her were merely fellow travelers, people going home from work, or what. Her fears lightened as she neared the hostel. The hostel itself was several kilometers from the manor, and the manor—well, there wasn't anything around it.

She sighed as she pulled up to the hostel. Sark was inside, alone, and soon it'd just be her and him—alone. Calvin over the last few days had at least provided a buffer. Now that was gone. And Sydney didn't know what she could say to Sark.

For two people who've been seeing each other for several months, we're certainly not very comfortable around each other. She frowned at herself in the rearview mirror's reflection. And you know why.

She got out of the car and went to their room.

He was studying a map over the room's round table. His body leaned over the tabletop, and his eyes didn't even glance in her direction as she came in.

And so it begins.

"They're on the plane," she said a little loudly, trying to break the ice she felt. Sark nodded, but still didn't look at her.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was flat.

Sydney tried again. "What are you doing?"

"Planning out tonight," he said. "You should rest." Sydney opened her mouth to object, but then stopped.

Sark was too cold right now. Maybe it was the pressure of the night's op. But Sydney felt shut out.

She bypassed the sigh she wanted to let out, and instead lay down on the bed, facing Sark. Sydney lay on her side with her hands under the side of her face. She watched him, that studious focus in his eyes—the cool indifference that spelt out determination. With his façade came distance. It'd been some time since he kept her at arm's length.

Sydney couldn't blame him. It's just how he was. And she pushed him away first, with the CIA. Though she knew he understood what her job meant to her at one time, he seemed to expect her to not like it anymore. He was right.

Working with the CIA wasn't the dream job. It wasn't even part of any dream, not anymore. She had been in too long, and too deep. There was no black and white, right and wrong. Her own actions, even CIA-sanctioned actions, proved that. Criminals weren't the devil. They didn't all deserve to be arrested and to pay for their crimes. They didn't all deserve to die. Some had suffered enough, or made atonement in some way.

Sark was a prime example. Dixon, her father, and a few others even agreed. But the government as a whole did not see it that way. Not everyone could forgive him for his crimes. And Sark couldn't hide forever.

So where does that leave me? Sydney studied Sark's lean body as he continued to pour over the map and make notes in his mind. His hands braced against the table as he leaned over it. He raised a hand and brushed a finger over his mouth. He often did that when he was thinking.

There were too many things that she just couldn't forget. Not his past, but just him. The details that made up Sark. That undying love and concern for his family, for her even. The funny random curls in his hair. The different shades of blue that his eyes turned. Those awkward smiles that he flashed, as if the smile was an unknown phenomenon to him. The strong jaw line that always turned to steel when he was determined. The way he looked at her.

She couldn't ignore it. I love him. And Sydney knew Sark loved her. So much that he's willing to leave me behind so I can have the 'normal' life.

Sacrificing. She added that to the list of those traits she couldn't ignore in the blonde spy. He suddenly glanced at her, and a flicker of annoyance surfaced in his eyes.

"What?" he asked somewhat testily. He hated it when he knew someone was watching him, something Sydney knew.

"Just thinking," she said with a shrug. But her eyes kept watching him, and Sark stood up straight with a sigh. He leaned against the nearest wall and stared at her.

"About what?" From his tone, it was as if he was bringing up the question for her sake, like how women gently lead a conversation until they get to where they want. Sydney didn't intend it, but she thought she might as well run with it.

"You."

His eyebrows twitched, the only inclination of surprise that she saw.

"Oh," was all he said next. He stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable, and went back to his map. He hates being the center of attention. Sydney sat up and walked over to him.

And then she stopped. She was less than an arm's length away, and he knew it, but she didn't say anything. She just stared at him and argued with herself about what she wanted to say.

Words aren't always the best ways to communicate. Slowly, she reached out to him, her fingertips grazing his hand. His body tensed immediately, but he didn't look away from the map. Her hand gently moved up, running up his arm until she grasped his bicep. She pulled him towards her, turning his body to face hers.

She looked at his face, and searched his eyes, which were avoiding her. Sydney let her hands wander to his face. She held it steady so he had to look at her. And then she saw why he was avoiding her. That same sadness from Wales was in his eyes, but also a struggle.

It was a struggle she'd seen before. Sark, trying to avoid emotion, trying to be brave because he knew what unpleasantries lie ahead. Sark, just being Sark.

"Julian." It was a whisper but a purposeful reminder. He stared back at her, wondering what she would do next.

Sydney's fingers stroked his skin, barely probing the skin on his face as if she were looking for something. She didn't look into his eyes, but moved her gaze over every detail of his face.

He closed his eyes at her touch, and she felt him exhale. Her hands moved behind his neck and she pulled him to her. She stretched her body, standing on tip-toes to bring herself even closer to him.

Her lips caressed over where her fingers had touched his face. She planted light kisses over his cheek, his jaw, a light trail above his lips . . .

He stood motionless, just letting her wander. His body was still tense, but the tight muscles loosened with each kiss. His eyes remained closed. Sydney paused for a moment and just looked at him. He always looked so innocent with his eyes closed. It was partially just because he looked adorable, but it was also because his eyes, and the pain within them, was hidden.

She treasured the image, locked it away in her mind and heart. And then she let her hands slide down his back until they rested at his hips.

Her lips pressed against his. No longer were the kisses light and tentative, but neither were they hot and passionate. They were simply expressions.

Sark didn't kiss back, and that was fine. This wasn't a moment of escalating passion between them. He seemed to read into her, to know that she needed to say something, but without stumbling words.

She pulled back and just stared at him again. He opened his eyes, unhurried. With every part of her soul, Sydney's gaze pierced into him. Her heart sped up and her chest started to expand and contract rapidly. She could feel the tears starting to come, and that's when he interrupted.

"Sydney," he whispered in the room's silence. He let his hands move from his sides, and wiped away the unshed tears. His hands were warm, but not sweaty. He brushed her hair away from her face, peering at her and the pools in her eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat as he finally leaned down. His lips pushed into hers, not hard or greedy, but slowly and purposefully. She let her eyes shut and just savored the feel of his mouth opening and closing over hers.

She didn't want him to pull away, ever. But he did, and she noticed the regret he tried to hide. Neither said a word, but the longing looks continued.

Finally, Sydney looked away.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I need you." She said it, and now she waited.

Sark let his arms drop back to his sides, and turned away.

"We should get ready."

--------

"Agent Yielding," Davenport called out. Alan tried not to sigh but stopped his strong pace so the agent could catch up in the hallway.

"What news?" Alan asked.

"He evaded another assassin, in Wales," Davenport said. Alan didn't try to hide his confusion.

"Wales?"

"Anglesey, to be specific," the agent relayed. "Outside a local government building, which housed some records relevant to MI6."

"Anglesey," Alan repeated. He held a hand to his forehead like he was seeing if he had a fever. But something about Anglesey . . . "Property records," he realized with a laugh.

"Yes sir," Davenport confirmed. "Sark knocked out the clerk there."

"Clever," Alan said, but not about knocking out the clerk. How did he know about the records? He expected Sark to find their location, but not through any official means. Did he bribe someone? Is there a mole? He rubbed his forehead again. He didn't want to worry about a mole right now. He just wanted Sark . . . gone. Dealt with.

Dead, if necessary.

After all, he somehow broke into a government facility. Whatever his means, he deserved to pay. For Sean.

"What about the father?" Alan asked suddenly. Davenport's mouth hung open as he thought about it.

"We, uh, we released him," he said. "But then we lost him."

Alan suppressed a groan at the incompetence of the men around him. "Spread the word. Expect Sark tonight." Alan started to walk off.

"Is he to be captured alive, sir?"

He paused and turned back to Davenport. "Our orders are to capture him, dead or alive. Whatever is necessary."

Alan stalked through the manor, thinking about what he would do when he encountered Sark. He knew he would. Sark wouldn't be caught by his men. He was too smart for that, too determined. Alan planned to be right by the bait.

Ilene.

But to guard her, and to ensure he could capture Sark.

Even if I have to use her as a bargaining chip. He changed his course and went up to her room.

He didn't bother to knock, but just barged into her room.

And as soon as he saw her, he wanted to retreat. She was asleep on the bed, dressed in jeans and a pullover. Her body lay above the covers, and her face just seemed so serene.

He wanted to kiss her, again. Not a good idea, he thought. But he moved to her, watching her sleep.

The red hair was intoxicating. He'd never really cared for Irish women. The supposed headstrong nature and legendary red hair—it was about as consistently true as all English men having large noses. But Ilene was different.

She was headstrong, but very caring as well. Passionate—that was the word for her.

She stirred, as if she could sense someone was watching her. Alan's body tensed, and he cleared his throat to try to wake her.

Her eyes fluttered a bit.

"Ilene," he said. Suddenly she bolted upright. Her hands flew to her face, rubbing her eyes and brushing her hair back.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Alan didn't miss the hint of fear in her voice. Or is that nervousness?

"It's time," he said, adding a rough authoritarian edge to his voice. He leaned over her and grabbed her arm. "Let's go."

She didn't object, but her face was hard. He tried to ignore the anger within her. The two walked through the manor. Other agents watched them as they passed. Alan nodded to each, seeing each man straighten and puff up as if mentally ready for the night's coming challenge.

A slice of the sun lingered over the hilltops. Only its light shone in the manor. All other lights were off. It was strategic. He knew the layout of the manor. He knew his men and where they would be.

Sark did not. Every advantage would help.

Ilene seemed tense. Did you expect relaxation? Alan bit his lip, as if that silence his thoughts. But Ilene's eyes darted around. She examined each agent in passing, looked all around the manor, and seemed to nod to herself as if she added something to memory.

Surveillance.

"You're trying to learn the layout, aren't you?" Alan said. He shook his head, amazed at the girl's persistence.

"You would too, if you were in my situation," she said with a tilt of her chin in the air.

"For what purpose? You won't be able to warn him," Alan said. She shrugged and didn't answer.

Stubborn girl.

They headed down endless amounts of stairs, even to the depths of a basement. He heard Ilene sigh. There was something in it, sarcastic . . .

"What?" he asked. Ilene shrugged again. Alan rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on her arm.

"What?!" he repeated.

"Fine," she said. She used her free arm to motion around the dank basement. "Predictable, don't you think? The 'dungeon' of the scary mansion." She shrugged again and didn't even bother to hide a smirk. "It's your funeral."

"We'll be fine," Alan said, and pushed her in front of him. Inside, though, he was thinking about what she said. The basement wasn't dank, but it wasn't nice either. He had to turn on a lamp to light the way, and that wasn't smart.

It'll lead Sark here though. To a basement with one way in and out.

So you'll be trapped too.

He pushed her in the corner of a small room, and shut an old door behind them. The dim light settled over them, as did silence.

Or awkwardness. Alan couldn't help but feel unnerved by Ilene's observation. That, and she kept shooting him teasing looks. Damn that woman!

He sighed, and pulled out his gun. Something to do. He checked his clip and slammed it back into the butt of the gun. He felt his pockets for additional clips.

He flicked the safety on, and just held the gun. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ilene cross her arms and scowl. He knew what she was thinking.

I'll only kill him if I have to. He didn't look at Ilene, but let himself remember Sean. He remembered the funeral, and how he never got to really see his friend again. Not the way he normally looked. It was a closed-casket funeral. Sean's other friends and family couldn't see the bullet holes, but Alan had to see the body. He was there to collect it, after Sark left him to rot.

His grip tightened on the gun's handle.

For Sean, he told himself. For Sean.

Something suddenly crashed above them, like glass. The impact's noise made Ilene jump, and Alan got to his feet.

"Guess who's here," he said with a delighted smirk. Ilene just glared at him, while Alan's heart sped up as adrenaline started to pump through his veins.

Show time.