a/n: Thank you to sallene for her patience in previewing this!

Show Time, Indeed

Neither one moved as they listened for any noise above them. Alan looked away from the low ceiling and down at his watch.

It was only 2000 hours. Sure, it was probably dark enough now, but still---It's too early.

They listened intently for several more minutes, hearing nothing to cause alarm. Alan pulled out his cell phone and called Davenport.

"Yes sir?"

"What the hell was that noise?" Alan demanded. He heard light laughter in the background.

"Uh, just a vase, sir. We, uh, well, it's all tidy now."

Moron. Alan hung up without another word.

--------

Boredom was one thing when you were alone. At least you were comfortable enough by yourself to think about anything, or do anything. But being stuck in a small room with the epitome of awkwardness just turned boredom into torture.

Ilene sat and avoided any communication with Yielding for three hours. She shifted in her seat, finding new ways to be uncomfortable. Her eyes found every speck of dirt on the floor, walls and ceiling.

She breathed out quietly, not wanting to attract his attention. What has he been thinking about for the last three hours? Her eyes found the floor again, and slowly made their way to his feet and up to his face.

He was looking directly at her. Ilene tried not to jump in her seat, but she couldn't help but let her eyes dart away from him as quickly as possible.

How long has he been looking at me? It was unnerving, especially since she hated him. Or ordered herself to hate him, anyway. Is he still looking?

Her gaze meandered to him again, only to find his green eyes still staring into her.

"What!" she yelled. He didn't even flinch, but slowly allowed a snotty smile to spread over his face.

"I was wondering when you'd notice," he said. Ilene sighed and groaned at the same time.

"You've been staring at me on purpose? Why, to annoy me?"

Alan's expression grew wider. "Maybe."

Ilene huffed at that and folded her arms in front of her. "You are such a little boy." He raised an eyebrow at that.

"I'm older than you are, so I don't think 'little boy' really is accurate," he said. "How old are you anyway?"

It was Ilene's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just curious," he replied with a shrug. Doubtful, Ilene thought.

"You first," she said, setting her jaw in its stubborn stance.

"Me first? What, are you embarrassed?" Yielding chided. "You can't be that old."

"Old? Hardly. But why should I answer you?" she challenged.

"Because you're in my custody and will do what I say."

Ilene threw her hands in the air and turned to face the wall. "Such a little boy," she muttered to herself. She heard him chuckle at her back, and that just aggravated her. She wanted to turn around and smack that snotty smile off his face.

"Twenty-nine," she heard him say. "I recently turned twenty-nine."

Not too old. She sat up straighter at that, realizing the thought was treading down a path she just didn't want to deal with now. Ilene turned around to face the agent.

"I turn 23 next month," she said. Her eyes never found his, and she folded her arms again to keep from fidgeting.

"That's not too far apart," Yielding said, as if thinking aloud.

Ilene froze. Far apart for what? What does that mean? Yielding coughed, and Ilene could tell it was fake. It only accentuated the comment. Suddenly he stood up.

"Let's, uh . . ." he stumbled, "go upstairs. We'll wait for your brother up there." He swung the door open a little too forcefully, but stopped it from slamming into the wall and held it open for her.

They went upstairs, but this time Alan—or Yielding—let her lead the way. She didn't know where they were going, but at least this time he didn't touch her. That would just make things more awkward.

Not that she minded his touch. Shut up. 'Yielding' equals 'bad guy,' remember? She shook her head and just focused on the dimly lit stairwell.

The manor was still dark, and in that darkness she could hear restless agents.

"To the left," Yielding said suddenly. Ilene changed directions and paced through the halls.

The manor actually looked fairly frightening at night. Every elaborate piece of furniture was bathed in a blue shadow. It made everything look older, and it made Ilene nervous. They passed one, only to have it move and reveal the agent Yielding called Davenport.

Might as well be haunted, Ilene thought.

"Stay sharp, everyone," Yielding said randomly. She saw shadows nod their heads.

Yielding and Ilene walked on, through a large dining room and—

Glass shattered and men screamed quietly in comparison to the loud explosion. Ilene ducked instinctively, falling to her knees and covering her head. Pieces of drywall fell with a clatter to the marble floors.

And then gunfire followed. Ilene didn't know who was shooting, but she screamed. Suddenly someone picked her up and dragged her through the dining room and into the kitchen. A hand clamped over her mouth.

Her chest was expanding quickly, contracting even faster. She was dropped to the floor, and suddenly Yielding was in front of her, his hand still covering her mouth.

His other hand held his gun, and Ilene saw his thumb flick off the safety. His eyes weren't on her, but on the doorway leading to the rest of the manor.

The gunfire stopped, and Yielding let go of Ilene. The agents still moved around the manor. Ilene could hear crunching glass as they ran.

Another shot rang out, and then nothing again.

Something fell, a muffled but hard fall.

A body. Ilene knew it, and Yielding tensed considerably. Out of the blue, he grabbed her again, whirling her around in his arms, and then she felt the blunt steel of the gun at her head. Her eyes flew open in panic.

"What? How could you?!" she hissed. "I thought we—"

"You thought wrong," he hissed back. "Not a word." With that, he tightened his hold on her. Her heart rate didn't let up for a second.

Why is he doing this! His hold around her body was starting to hurt her; he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his body, and so tight that she could feel the impressions of his arms on her skin.

He's actually going to hurt me.

-------

"You thought wrong," Alan hissed in her ear. "Not a word."

That's right! Embrace the soldier within!

He pushed aside the regret starting to surface. Sark's too close, and you're not ready!

The stairway. Yielding suddenly pulled Ilene with him, his gun to her head. Of course, he wouldn't shoot her, but Sark was here. It's justified.

The kitchen stairwell led to the bedrooms on the second and third floors. It was really just convenience for the master of the manor, so the servants could deliver meals more readily. It made for a great alternate escape in this case.

Ilene was tense in his arms, and her breathing hadn't slowed yet. She hadn't made one noise yet either, which actually surprised him. He figured she would have yelled as soon as he told her not to. Typical, but not. She seemed to be afraid.

Alan didn't quite like that thought. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt an innocent, even this infuriating but gorgeous girl. But she thinks I will.

He blinked once, clearing his mind. Sark, remember? You have a duty, and promise, to fulfill. They made it up to the second floor, and it was eerily quiet.

There hadn't been another shot in a full minute. What are the others doing?! Yielding peered around the staircase to survey the floor's hallway.

There was a body. Yielding's throat tightened. He pushed forward, with Ilene stumbling in his moves. They both knelt by the body's side. It was one of his agents. Yielding felt for a pulse.

It was strong.

What? Alan looked from the man's neck to his chest. The end of a dart stuck out of the man's clothes. Tranquilizers.

He's actually using tranquilizers?! Yielding held back a laugh. This is going to be easier than I thought.

Suddenly another explosion rattled the manor. It came from the kitchen, but Yielding could feel the pressure through the stairwell. It knocked him off his feet, and he fell on his back, with Ilene on top of him.

Flash bangs, he thought. Alan pushed Ilene off him and quickly got to his feet again. Ilene started to get up and scramble away from him. Alan pursed his lips and nabbed her again.

He grabbed her hand, holding it so tightly it hurt his own hand. He pulled her along and they quickly took the main stairs up to the next level.

Get organized, quickly! Alan knew he was reacting, not strategizing. He hadn't expected Sark to come in so . . . boldly. Explosions? It wasn't his usual style.

Yielding ran full speed to the end of the hall, and down to the south wing of the manor. Ilene had no choice to follow.

Alan chose the last room. It was another corner, but that served a purpose for him. There were two windows, one on the south wall and one on the west.

Yielding held Ilene close to him again, and repositioned his gun to her head. His hand clamped over her mouth again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He didn't expect forgiveness, not now anyway. He just tightened his hold again, and waited. Come and get her, Sark.

More shots were fired below them. Second floor. Keep coming, he thought, as if he were directing the terrorist.

It grew quiet again, except for Ilene's labored breathing. Her hair tickled his chin. Alan moved his head, and glanced around the room. There was another door, besides the bathroom.

Another entrance to the room? He didn't think any of the bedrooms connected to each other. Not a good choice for a trap. He loosened his hold on Ilene, ready to move again.

"Agent Yielding," he heard behind him. The tip of a gun was jammed roughly against his skull. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

------

The agent didn't wet his pants, which Sark had to give him credit for. But he was obviously caught off guard.

Sark couldn't see Ilene's face from his position, but she seemed all right. He was behind Yielding and to the side of him, in the perfect blind spot. The agent didn't even hear him enter the room before.

Ilene breathed loudly against Yielding's hand. The gun to her head cued a current of rage through Sark.

"Let her go, now," he ordered. His voice was extremely even, which pleased him. If this Yielding fellow thought he was such a terrible criminal, he wanted to prove him right.

"Or what? You'll shoot me in the head with a tranquilizer?" Yielding replied. His tone mocked Sark.

"I thought you would be happy I didn't kill them," Sark said with a touch of levity. Yielding snorted.

"Of course. It's your funeral."

Sark narrowed his eyes, glaring at the back of the man's head. His finger tightened on the trigger, and he smirked as he fired two rounds.

The bullets exploded in the silence of the room, zinged by Yielding's head and slammed into the wall. Ilene shrieked, and a spray of paint dust and drywall fell to the floor. Yielding didn't move, but Sark noticed the man's rigid posture.

"The funeral will be yours, Agent Yielding," Sark hissed in the man's ear. "The tranqs were only for your men. Not you."

Yielding suddenly pushed Ilene away, and swung an arm towards Sark. It caught his gun, sending it flying in the room. Yielding moved to push Sark away, no doubt to give him distance for a shot. Sark's eyes narrowed at the agent, and he charged him.

His shoulder rammed into Yielding's stomach, and the two men fell backwards by a wall. Another explosion rattled through the building, this one just down the hall. Yielding ducked automatically, giving Sark a window to land a punch to the man's face. He expected me to be alone, Sark thought with a smirk. He hit the agent again, and heard Ilene gasp.

Sark looked up, and saw a painting teetering from its hook because of the flash bang. The painting was massive. It's going to fall. Sark pushed his weight off Yielding and fell back. The painting fell.

Yielding twisted his body to the side as the frame and glass shattered by him. For some reason, Sark just waited. But a second later, he pounced on Yielding. The agent was ready and they tumbled over the glass and gilded wood. Splinters of both materials sank into Sark's clothing, and into his skin. He relished the pain for now, especially as he saw Yielding wince.

Sark ended up on his back, fending off a blow from Yielding. He caught one fist, but Yielding followed with another. It landed on his jaw, sending little sparks into Sark's vision.

He pushed hard, and Yielding fell backwards. Sark jumped to his feet and ran to the agent's side, kicking the man in the side. He smiled as he heard Yielding groan. Sark kicked him again, and again.

Then Yielding caught his foot and yanked hard. Sark landed on his side, but that didn't stop him from kicking out again.

Yielding slithered away and towards his gun. Sark looked back as his own weapon in an opposite corner. He dove for it, grabbing it as he lay on the floor, and then twisted his body to face his threat.

Yielding had his gun aimed at Sark already.

"Drop it," he ordered. Sark's gun didn't hold Yielding in its sights. "Toss the gun to me, now."

He glared at the agent, but tossed the gun away. I don't need it to kill him. The gun tumbled at Yielding's feet.

"Put the gun down," came a refreshing voice from the hall. Sark let his eyes wander to see her.

"Sydney!" Ilene cried out. His sister was on the bed, up against the headboard. She didn't dare move, and Sark was glad. No sense getting caught in the crossfire.

Yielding glanced at Sydney. "You must be the CIA agent enraptured with this terrorist."

Sark saw Sydney's eyes narrow, and he couldn't help but smirk.

"My business, not yours," she replied shortly.

"Well, I have a duty to fulfill," Yielding said. He didn't lower his gun, but Sark saw his finger tense over the trigger. But he didn't pull it.

He can't even kill me, Sark thought. Sydney saw it too.

Ilene glared at Yielding as he hesitated.

"What, afraid of witnesses?" she said, daunting him. She glanced at Sark, and he was wondering what on earth she was doing. Just be silent, Ilene, he thought.

Yielding sighed, almost more a frustrated yelp. He let his arms fall, giving up his aim at Sark, and turned to his sister. "Don't you get it?!" he practically yelled. His glare at Ilene struck Sark as odd. That's not anger, but . . . what? Something was up.

"I'm in love with you, despite your family and terrorist connections, and it's making it damn hard to do my job!" Yielding shouted.

Ilene and Sark just stared at the man, utterly confused.

"What?" they said in unison. Sydney's grip on her gun loosened. She looked just as confused. What is going on?

Ilene moved off the bed, toward Yielding. "You said I was wrong, remember?" she said. The agent rolled his eyes.

"I could have let you go first and still had Sark come here," Yielding said. "But you are . . . annoyingly good at making me forget the whole situation, even Sean."

Sean, Sark thought. Oh--the MI6 agent I killed. He watched Ilene, who was appearing less confused by the second, and more . . . touched. Sark rolled his eyes.

"Ilene," he said smoothly, "care to fill us in?"

But his sister seemed lost in the moment. "You kept me around because you . . . liked me?"

Kill me now. Sark turned to Sydney, as if to beg for the bullet to his brain. But Sydney seemed less tense and more smiley by the second. Yielding took a step towards Ilene, and stood in front of Sark, his back to the retired spy.

"I thought it was obvious."

"Sorry to interrupt," Sark said loudly, trying to break the falling spell of the room, "but I did fly around the world to come rescue Ilene, and teach this foolish punk a lesson." Yielding shot Sark a look.

"And you think I'm just going to let you go?" he challenged. Sark smirked.

"Well, at first you didn't strike me as the yielding kind, but I'm starting to question that judgment," Sark said.

The glare was joined by Ilene's. I thought it was funny. He'd wanted to use that line ever since Yielding popped up.

"All right," Sydney said, interrupting the stare-down. "Sark, we should—"

Something suddenly shot through the window, and a spray of blood splattered on Sark's face as Yielding fell to the floor. Sark just stared at the man. What the—

"On the ground, everyone!" he yelled. Something zinged by his head and hit the wall behind him. Then another, and another.

Crap!

"Alan!" That was Ilene, who crawled to the MI6 agent. Sark tried not to roll his eyes, realizing something was up and definitely more dangerous than MI6 ever was to him. Yielding bled from his shoulder, and the shock was setting in. Can't he take a bullet like a man?

"Sark." He turned to face Sydney. "Who's shooting out there?" She nodded at the window, and Sark studied it from his crouched position on the floor. The glass was still intact except for where the bullets entered. Cracks lined the glass.

"Another assassin," he guessed. "Ilene, are you all right?" He looked to her, and she just nodded. Her eyes were wet with concern as she looked over Yielding. "Here," Sark said, grabbing part of the bed linens. "Cover his wound and hold the cloth in place to stop the bleeding. Whatever you do, stay down."

With that, he crawled out the door, with Sydney in tow.

--------

Crawling did two things. One, it kept them low enough to avoid a bullet from the sniper outside. Two, it afforded Sydney a pleasant view of Sark's . . . feet.

She shook her head and tried to remind herself that life and death were at stake. And just because she was normally a CIA agent didn't grant her immunity from the sleeping MI6 agents around her.

How much longer will those tranqs last?

Not the most pressing matter, Syd. Assassin at large, remember? She crawled along.

"So is there a plan now?" Sydney whispered. She swiped at a loose strand of her hair and tried to sweep it into place with her ponytail.

"Not really," he replied. "But it'd help if we knew where he was."

Gotcha, Sydney thought. They split up and headed for different windows facing the area the shots came from. Sydney slowly raised her head over the window sill to look out.

It was beyond black. The tree line barely stood out against the sky. Sydney's eyes swept across that tree line and down the back field.

The air was remarkably still, as if nature itself was tense. Sydney let out a breath to defy the tension. She let her mind wander while her eyes focused on the field.

She thought back to what Sark had told her before they left the hostel. He'd given her the "should the worst happen" speech, which she'd heard several times in her life, but never from him. To make things even more odd, he then gave her a slip of paper, and told her to memorize the numbers on it.

"They're account numbers," he'd said, handing her another slip of paper with names of banks on it. "So my family, and you, are comfortable."

She shook her head and refocused on the grass below. She still saw nothing and so crawled out of the room and to another vantage point.

She couldn't believe he was so ready to give up. And then it dawned on her.

He already has a plan in place. She froze. Could this sniper be his way out? Suddenly she saw him, a figure darting quickly towards the manor. He disappeared inside, out of sight.

I've got to stop him. Sydney stood up and ran to find Sark. She checked the next room, but he wasn't there. Each room in the wing was empty, except for where they'd left Ilene and Yielding.

Sydney padded quietly down the hallways, running until she came to a staircase that wound to the main floor. Something crunched and cracked below. The sniper.He must have stepped on debris.

Sydney swung a leg over the banister and checked her gun. This one wasn't a tranq gun. Despite what Sark thought, she wasn't foolishly humanitarian; she had deadly force to use, if needed.

She slid down the banister, getting to the second floor in seconds. She swung her leg over the banister and crouched by it, just listening.

Breathing. It was tensely ragged. Like a sniper who has just been running. Sydney moved down the stairs, leaning back into the supporting wall. A shadow passed below, and she froze. Her gun took aim instantly, but she waited.

Whoever it was disappeared. Sydney didn't move. She couldn't hear anything.

The kitchen stairs. Sydney turned back and ran up the stairs. Her footsteps fell loudly, and she slowed her pace. No sense getting shot.

It worried her that she didn't know where Sark was. Whether or not this was his plan, it was dangerous. There are too many contracts out on his life. No one could be trusted.

A muted footfall sounded from down a hall. Sydney cautiously paced down it, her gun up and ready. The halls were dark, but her eyes blinked frequently to keep her vision fresh.

She heard it again as she came to another staircase. This one was a normal staircase, no winding curves. The sound came from above her. Sydney kept her body low to the ground and darted to the bottom of the stairs, by the railing. Someone moved and Sydney raised her gun to fire.

At the last second, she dropped her arm. Sark, she thought with a relieved sigh. He walked past the rooms and the staircase, his gun trained ahead of him. Sydney opened her mouth to whisper at him.

She stopped. From one of the rooms Sark had passed came a shadow. Sydney's eyes widened as she watched the shadow materialize. The sniper. He took two steps out of the room and raised his gun, aiming it at the back of Sark's head.

Her arm came up immediately. Her teeth clamped down on her tongue as she shut her mouth. Her eyes zeroed in on the sniper's gun. His finger began to pull back on the trigger.

Sydney fired, two quick shots. Her eyes didn't leave the sniper as he crumpled to the hallway floor, but she noticed Sark from the corner of her eye. He whirled around aiming between the shot he heard and the fallen assassin.

She finally let her arms fall to her side and started up the stairs. Sark approached the sniper, until he stood over the body.

"Nice shot," he said lightly. Sydney noticed his slightly sheepish tone. She watched him.

"Recognize him?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Kind of hard to, when you shoot him in the head," he said. A smirk slowly appeared, and Sydney sighed. She playfully slapped his shoulder.

"Come on," she said. "We have to get Ilene and get out of here." They quickly ran to towards that room. As they did, Sydney wondered if she was right to ever suspect Sark. So he didn't plan this.

But has he planned something else?

Yielding was completely out, and Ilene looked like she hadn't moved since applying pressure to his wound. Sydney's heart jumped as she noticed her tear-streaked face.

"Julian!" Ilene seemed relieved to see him. "I heard shooting." Sark just nodded.

"We need to get going, Ilene," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet. She resisted a bit, looking at the fallen agent.

"But—"

"But nothing," Sark interrupted. "Sydney." It was a prompt to leave, but Sydney shot him a look that objected.

"Any idea about what to do with him?" she asked. Sark frowned at her, and then at the unconscious agent. A dark thought crossed her mind, and Sydney cringed at what other possibilities Sark might think up.

Suddenly, he released the light clip in his gun and slammed in a fresh magazine of bullets. He cocked the gun, sliding the first bullet into the chamber and looked down at Yielding.

"I have an idea."