a/n: Thanks to sallene for previewing this!
Waking Up
The breeze was light and it tickled his face. Alan rolled toward the breeze, but stopped any movement when he felt the sharp protest from his right shoulder. He winced but bit his tongue.
Alan let his eyes open, slowly as light hit his eyes. He faced a window, through which he could see a lake just beyond some trees and a field. Where are we?
"Hold still," he heard, but it wasn't directed at him. Alan raised his head off the bed he lay on. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed bandages over his shoulder. He looked beyond that, and noticed he had no shirt on. And then he saw him.
Sark. The terrorist grunted and winced.
"I'm fine, Syd," he said. They stood inches apart but Sark pulled away. His upper body was bare.
"You have shards of glass in your skin," the American agent said. "Come here." She reached out to him and pulled him back. Alan heard Sark sigh. It was strangely normal, this exchange he watched. Except that one of them is an enemy to every country on this planet.
But he hasn't killed you.
Alan tried sitting up. His right arm rested on his chest, and he pushed himself up with his left arm. His movement attracted attention.
"The bullet's out now." It was Sark who spoke. Hearing the man speak, right in the same room as Alan . . . The accent was as normal as his own, but the coldness was evident. Sark started towards him, leaving Sydney to watch the men. Alan looked around the room quickly, searching for a makeshift weapon.
"But to be clear," Sark continued, "I'll gladly re-lodge that bullet in your shoulder if I must." His eyes, that icy blue that Alan despised, now warned him in more than just words.
"I'm surprised another one's not lodged in my brain," Alan said. He narrowed his eyes to slits at the terrorist. The two men stared at each other.
And then, suddenly, Sark turned his own stone face to a smirk.
"You're probably wondering where we are," Sark said. He turned away and walked to a closet. Alan didn't dare take his eyes off the man, just waiting for the knife or bullet that Sark threatened. "The lake out there is Loch Sloy. I purchased this cabin several years ago, when I worked for Irina Derevko."
What?! Sark was just talking, quite openly considering what an enigma he was reputed to be. He looked over the clothing in the closet, and that's when Alan noticed the scars. They were long and hadn't even come close to disappearing. Most of them were still pink. There were no scabs, but . . .
Strachen. Ilene was telling the truth. Not that he doubted it. But Sark really had been worked over. He picked out a shirt and pulled it over his arms like a jacket. He turned to face Alan as he buttoned the shirt. Identical scars covered the man's chest and arms as well.
He looked away from Sark. "Where's Ilene?" he asked, clearing his throat.
"She's asleep. It's still early." It was the American who spoke. "I'm Sydney." The introduction was awkward at best, but Alan smiled as politely as he could muster.
"Is . . . is she all right?" he asked. Alan didn't dare look at Sark for the answer, but it was he who spoke.
"She's as good as can be after being kidnapped, held against her will, and brainwashed," Sark said, his voice escalating with a thinly controlled anger.
"Brainwashed?!" Alan swiveled his body so his feet touched the ground. He started to stand. Sark quickly moved to him and pushed his chest back so Alan sat down again. The movement was swift and angry, yet Sark looked as composed as ever.
"What was with the whole 'I love you' bit?" Sark demanded. His eyes froze over, and Alan felt that this was the assassin's interrogation mood.
Alan shifted his eyes to stare at the wood floor. He could feel Sark's eyes on him.
"I didn't plan on that happening . . ."
It sounded odd and lame as soon as he said it, and Sark jumped on that.
"Didn't plan on what happening?" Suddenly Sark almost gasped. "Did you touch her!"
"No!" Alan exclaimed, holding his left hand up as if to enforce his innocence. "No, I didn't touch—well, yes, but not—"
Sark's eyes widened as his jaw became stone. Suddenly the man swung at Alan. He ducked, but too late. The right hook caught him on his cheek, and Alan fell back on the bed.
"Sark!" Sydney said. Alan ventured a look between her and Sark. She glared at him, and for some reason that affected Sark. He folded his arms in front of him and stepped back from Alan, which Alan appreciated greatly.
"There are more important questions than your sister," he said, and instantly regretted. It was bold, and Sark shot him a look that said as much. Alan cleared his throat and charged ahead. "You're a murderer and criminal, and not just in my country. You have to pay for what you've done."
Sark rolled his eyes. "Why does this sound familiar?" Alan noticed the sly glance Sark gave Sydney. "Agent Yielding, regardless of your opinion, which doesn't count by the way, you're in no position to enforce any judgment on me." His eyes penetrated Yielding, and it was nerve-wracking. The man was good, Yielding had to admit. Just as his reputation indicated.
Sydney coughed, drawing a look from Sark.
"Why did you bring me here?" Alan asked. Hostage? Leverage? MI6 would eat Sark alive if that was the case. "You shoot me, and then . . ." He trailed off and glanced down at his shoulder.
Sark smirked, an expression Alan was beginning to think was permanent. "If it was me who shot you, you'd be dead," Sark said. "I wanted to leave you behind at the manor, but Ilene insisted that you be cared for. We weren't about to do that in the middle of a bunch of slumbering MI6 agents."
Alan tried to process what was said, but it wasn't very clear in his mind. Before he could ask another question, Sark left the room. But Sydney stayed. She studied the floor, and her brown hair fell like a curtain over her face. She brushed it aside, and Alan had to admit she was stunning. Not his type, but stunning just the same.
"Just so you know," she said quietly, "Sark didn't shoot you. It was an assassin, who was aiming for Sark."
Ah. Alan could guess what became of that assassin. Not that it matters.
"Is that supposed to change things?" he asked stubbornly. Sydney tilted her head to the side.
"I used to be like you," she said. "I used to think there was always a clear answer to right and wrong."
"There is," he said automatically. Sydney smiled at him. It was a smile that mocked wisdom at him.
"No, there's not." She looked away, and seemed lost in her thoughts as she spoke. "If so, you would never kidnap an innocent person to get revenge or do your job. And you wouldn't be okay with loving someone whose brother is a retired 'terrorist.'"
Alan sighed. "Who said I was okay with it?" She smiled at that and headed for the door.
"For her sake, I hope you are."
-------
Sark's teeth were leaving impressions in his tongue, but he didn't focus on that. He tore off the shirt he'd just put on and changed into a t-shirt and sweat pants. He threw on a pair of running shoes and bolted out of the cabin door.
His pace was fast and unsteady. The uneven ground didn't help but it did get him away for awhile. He ran through the tall browning grass, feeling the blades whip by him. His breath created faint white puffs in the morning air. It was getting cooler, each day, and Sark noticed the leaves starting to turn to their orange and reds.
Thoughts started to flood his mind as his energy started to flow out. Yielding was going to be a problem. Mainly because of Ilene. He was more than slightly annoyed at his sister. It's one thing to fall in love, but with an agent?!
He smirked as he realized that must have been close to what Jack Bristow thought when Sydney told Jack about him. He sighed out loud as his feet padded over the grass and in between large trees.
Sydney was trying to figure out what he planned. She assumed that he wasn't aware, but Sark could feel her analysis constantly sweeping over him.
She wouldn't be happy with him when he left. At least it won't come as a surprise. But it was what he had to do. He would miss them all, he knew. He would be alone again, and this time to a degree he never knew before.
He stopped running and looked at the sight before him. Loch Sloy wasn't huge, but it was beautiful. It was partially its isolation. There were no direct roads to the lake, but a good SUV or hike could get you here. Later in the day, Sark expected tourists to start coming.
All the more reasons to enjoy it now.
Sark uncovered a tiny boat from an edge of the water, where the vessel waited under leaves and a tarp. He dragged it out and into the water, jumping in as his feet got wet. The oars were in good shape, and he dipped them in the water and started to pull back.
After a few strokes, he was moving steadily to the middle of the loch. He breathed out with every stroke, quickly pulling air back in as he leaned forward for the next movement. His arms started to burn, and he relished it.
The rhythm he found was soothing; the water lapped off the sides of the boat and the sound was comforting. The isolation was comforting as well.
You'll survive, he thought. This is how life could be. Alone, but in solitude. He pulled harder on the oars. Time to relax, see the world without the world seeing you, escape . . .
He was good at escaping. This time it would be permanent. He knew assassins and various organizations would still look for him, but he was all right with that. The worse that could happen was that he'd die, and he was fine with that as well. His family would come to that conclusion long before it actually happened.
He wasn't sure if they would buy the death, but that didn't matter too much. They would know he was gone, and this time longer than the first eight years he disappeared. The trick was Sydney. Based on her comments and objections, she wouldn't make this easy for him.
Which is why you've kept her out of the loop.
Sark pulled hard on one oar, and leaned forward with the other, turning the boat. He back-stroked with one oar until he was directed to a different end of the lake. With that, he started his pace again.
Little fish jumped from the water, gaping their mouths to catch flies. Fishing, he thought. I haven't done that in . . . Never. Although he had used fishing as an alias a couple of times in his life.
He smiled to himself as he realized his plan would work. The life still ahead of him wasn't bleak.
Sark looked around him, and found himself a few meters from shore. He turned the boat again, and then adopted a racing speed. His arms no longer burned but just ached and tingled. The muscles visibly moved as he pulled back with each stroke. His breaths were louder now as he exhaled. He grimaced with the strokes, a part of the process to reach his destination. A groan escaped his lips, but he punished that by biting down on his tongue.
Suddenly he yanked the oars out of the water and dropped them in the boat. He leaned back and just enjoyed the momentum as he and the boat drifted.
"Julian!" The voice echoed across the water to reach him. Sark didn't sit up, but calmly glanced at his sister. She was dressed already, which surprised him. She stood on the shore, watching him. Sark sighed and grabbed the oars again.
His pace was deliberately slow. He jumped out and splashed in a foot of water as he came to shore. Ilene watched as he dragged the boat back under the tarp and leaves.
"Have you spoken to Mom and Dad yet?" he asked. Ilene nodded.
"They're fine," she said. Sark shot her a look.
"I think they were more concerned about you," he said with a touch of condescension.
"They want to know when we're going back. I think Mom's tired of Mr. Bristow."
Sark laughed at that, which drew a bewildered look from Ilene. He waved the look off. "You have to know Jack Bristow," he said, smiling to himself. He glanced over her again. She wore something of Sydney's—jeans, a blue v-neck that brought out her eyes . . .
"You look nice," he said. "Prepping yourself to see Yielding?"
She glared at him. "Very funny."
"What's more funny is that it's true," he said back. Ilene sighed.
"I can't help that I . . . that I—"
"Like him?" Sark filled in. She didn't look at her brother but just nodded to the ground. "Ilene, there are just so many issues with this—"
"I know, but you and Sydney made it work. And he's not a bad guy!"
It was Sark's turn to glare. Yes, whereas I was evil. He ignored that part. "Sydney and I have hardly made it work. And this situation is just so much more complicated, admittedly because of me."
"Julian, I don't think he'll turn you in," she said, her eyes wide with hope. He couldn't help but smirk at the naïve assumption.
"Ilene, let me explain the complexity of this all to you," he said, the condescension returning. "I didn't kill him because of you, and because Sydney would hate me. Because you care for him, I didn't leave him there after he was shot. He can't be trusted alone, which is why Sydney's guarding him." He took a breath. "I can't release him because he may call his buddies after me, and because he may come after you again. And to top it off, I do have an undetermined number of assassins after my head." She opened her mouth to object, but Sark pressed on. "And, I still have you, Calvin and our parents to protect."
"So what are you going to do?" she asked. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "You could fake your death for them. That way the assassins will think—"
"Ilene, I've done that before, so many times that it's become the boy-who-cried-wolf syndrome."
Sark rubbed his left arm, trying to loosen up the developing knot in his muscles. He shook his feet, one at a time, trying to rid himself of the excess water.
"So what's the solution?"
Sark smirked at his sister. "I'm working on it." With that, he walked back to the house.
Yielding was a problem, but Sark studied the problem in his mind as he walked. What's the ideal solution to a problem?
Turn the problem into an asset. He nodded to himself. Yielding could be an asset, if he could be trusted. And if he really cared for Ilene . . .
Sark was about to determine that. After a quick shower, of course.
The agent was looking out the window. He carefully flexed his right shoulder, probably to test the wound and pain. Yielding stared ahead even though Sark knew he heard him enter.
"How's the shoulder?" Sark asked. He saw Yielding's jaw line stiffen and anticipated the proud reply.
"Why? Feeling sympathetic?"
Sark smirked at the agent's back. "Not in the least." Yielding turned around at that, glaring. Sark just held his smirk.
"What do you want from me?" The man pocketed his good hand, leaning against the wood walls. He was taller than Sark, but just by a few centimeters. His dark hair made him look less trust-worthy, so Sark got to business.
"That depends on what you're willing to give," Sark replied cryptically. Yielding rolled his eyes and sighed.
"I don't believe in bribery," he said with a lift of his chin to the air. Sark laughed at him.
"That's naïve, Agent Yielding, but I'm not asking you to buy your freedom," Sark said. The agent furrowed his brow with obvious confusion.
"Then what are you asking?"
"I'm asking you what your intentions are with my sister," he said with a slight smile. Yielding sighed. "You know my reputation, Yielding, so don't forget that I won't hesitate to kill you if you intend to mistreat her in the slightest manner."
It was Yielding's turn to smirk, which did funny things to the man's nose, but Sark let that go.
"I told her you were ruthless," he said. Sark didn't grace that with an answer.
"Thank you for stating the obvious," Sark said. "Now answer the question. Do you care for my sister, or did you just use her to get to me?"
Yielding began to pace the small room, avoiding Sark's eyes. "Yes, to both questions."
Sark nodded for him to continue, and Yielding took a deep breath. "I kidnapped her to use her against you. But I . . . it's hard not to notice her traits." Sark raised an eyebrow at that. "Her strong will," Yielding quickly went on. "Her fierce determination, and loyalty, mainly to you."
It was Sark's turn to pace.
"I'm not surprised," he said to the agent. "Ilene and I have always been close."
"That was partially why I kept her until last, if what she said was true," Yielding said. Sark cocked his head to the side.
"What did she say?" Sark asked. It was interesting to hear that she made a stand for him. Not that he doubted she would, but that she actually did under the circumstances was commendable.
"Strachen. It must be true, based on your scars," Yielding added with a nod to Sark's chest and arms. "Tell me, did you savor the man's death?"
He's baiting you. A shame, really, because Sark was starting to warm up to him. Yet Sark let himself remember pulling the trigger, those quiet shots and the satisfying sound of Strachen dying upon the bullets' impact.
"Yes," he said with a smirk. He stared at the agent, daring him to ask another question to bring out the monster in him. But Yielding just nodded.
"I probably would have too," he said quietly, more to himself, it seemed. Sark suddenly saw into what he was thinking.
"Like the satisfaction you would have felt had you killed me and avenged your friend," Sark said. Yielding's eyes studied the floor but slowly rose to glare at him. Sark reached to the back of his pants and pulled out his gun. "Here's your chance."
He tossed the gun to Yielding, who actually caught it despite his gimp arm. Sark shut the door to the room, cutting off interruptions for the moment.
"Feel free," Sark invited, standing in front of Yielding. The man looked at him warily. Sark just waited.
Slowly Yielding raised the gun. It stayed level at Sark's head for several seconds, and then the agent lowered it.
"I can't," he said. Sark smirked at him.
"Why? Because you fear Sydney will come in here and shoot you, or because of Ilene?" Sark waited for the answer.
"Ilene," Yielding said shortly. "I could care less if your girlfriend shot me in retribution."
Sark watched the man's eyes, but the agent's gaze never wavered. His hands were steady as well as his breathing. Slowly, Sark smiled.
"To be honest," Sark started, "it'd make things simpler if you just shot me." The confused look on his face was perfect, but Sark pushed ahead. "I have a problem, one you've created. I could use your help to solve it."
Yielding took a step back and leaned against the wall again. He nodded for Sark to continue.
"My family's been used as leverage too many times. If they know anything about me, they're in danger—as long as I'm alive," Sark said. Yielding raised an eyebrow.
"As long as you're alive? I can still shoot you, if you want," Yielding said with a slight smile. Sark smirked at that.
"Yes, I'm sure I wouldn't have to twist your arm too hard." He crossed the room, and leaned against a dresser, opposite Yielding. "I have a plan in place, but it would work better if I knew someone was around to watch out for them."
Yielding narrowed his eyes at Sark. "Your family?"
Sark nodded. "How serious are you about Ilene?"
"That depends on her," Yielding said with a glance at the floor.
"Serious enough then," Sark commented.
"If you're asking me to protect them, I have two questions." He waited for Sark to indicate for him to continue. "One, what about Sydney?"
"Sydney has her own life to go back to, and she should return to it."
"Okay. Second question: if you're not protecting them, what will you do? Contemplating suicide?"
Sark didn't answer directly. "Not in the traditional sense," he replied. "But I'll be going away. And they all have to know that it's permanent."
Understanding dawned in Yielding's eyes, and then something else.
Was that sympathy? Sadness? Sark smirked at the man.
"The things we do when we start to feel, Agent Yielding."