a/n: Thanks as usual to sallene for previewing this! Just a disclaimer, this chapter was a necessary evil for me to write—hence the delay in posting it. But I have some fun stuff to write ahead. Enjoy!

Jumping to Conclusions

Ilene tried not to tuck her hair back or toss it over her shoulders, but it ended up happening every two minutes.

She sighed at her own pathetic nature, and played with her hair again. Her eyes sneaked a glance in the reflection of her spoon.

Stop being self-conscious! She dropped the spoon in a bowl of oatmeal, giving up on eating and vanity. Her hand came up to her forehead, and it felt warm. She sighed again, and went to the fridge for a drink.

Little lay within the fridge, except for ancient orange juice. Ilene settled on a glass of water. Her head was thrown back as she gulped away. But as she swallowed a last gulp, she saw a figure through the bottom of the glass.

She almost dropped it and spit out the water at the same time. Yielding stood before her. His arm looked awkwardly draped in a makeshift sling. He wore one of Julian's shirts, or whoever owned this place.

He made eye contact, but then his gaze kept shifting.

"Good morning," he said finally. Ilene smiled a little too quickly.

"Hi." She looked around the kitchen as a distraction. "Um, have you eaten?" Alan shook his head, which cued Ilene into a frenzy. She searched for another bowl and another packet of oatmeal.

Alan sat at the kitchen's bar, just watching her. Or so she assumed, because it felt like someone was watching her.

Ilene cleared her throat. "How is your shoulder?" What question is that? How do you think it is?! Idiot!

"It's okay, thank you," he said. He's so polite! She rolled her eyes to herself. You're such a girl.

"Are you . . . how are you doing?" he asked, coughing uncomfortably. Ilene quickly smiled again.

"I'm fine, thanks." The oatmeal was done, and she slid the bowl in front of him. He reached for it with his good arm, and his hand brushed hers. Both of them stared at the contact and then up at each other.

A nervous laugh escaped both their lips. Ilene turned away, busying herself with cleaning up her dishes while she berated herself for being so obvious.

"Did you talk with my brother?" Ilene asked. She was still a little nervous from what would result from that. Julian seemed negative about Alan.

A small smile spread over his lips. "We've spoken. I don't think we'll be shooting each other anytime soon."

Ilene almost sighed her relief aloud. Instead she smiled wide.

It was then that she noticed Alan was staring at her. Not just staring, but watching her, intently. He looked away when she caught him, and gathered the bowl and spoon. Ilene didn't remember him eating the oatmeal, but it was gone from his bowl. That's because you're been staring at his body!

He came around the bar and tried to wash the bowl. Ilene quickly intercepted him.

"Here, let me . . ." Her hands touched his again, and the rush that went through her also silenced her. Alan took the bowl from her hands and dropped it in the sink. His fingers rubbed her hands. Slowly, she looked up at him. Those green eyes were like jewels, and vanity pushed her to want them as badly as an emerald.

Suddenly, Alan leaned into her, so quickly that Ilene almost jumped back. His lips were upon hers, pressing hard. She heard his breathing escalate, and then her own as she savored the feel of his lips. She felt his good arm stroke down the side of her body and rest at her waist. He gripped her side and pulled her closer to him.

Ilene let her hands creep up to his face. His skin was prickly, as a shadow crept over his face from shavings long overdue. But it suited him. Ever since she'd met him, Alan had been clean-shaven, the strict, immaculate agent. This rugged side, combined with the vulnerability with his injury, just enhanced everything that was already attractive about him.

She nibbled on his bottom lip and then pressed against his lips again. She felt his tongue push past her lips.

And then she heard someone clear his throat. She broke apart from Alan in record speed, only to find Julian watching them with a less-than-amused look on his face. She heard Alan sigh quietly, and he slowly turned his head towards her brother.

"Sark," he greeted without enthusiasm.

"Making yourself at home?" Julian shot his sister a reproving look, to which she raised her chin. I'm not a little girl.

"I thought you approved," Alan said. Ilene glanced at her brother. Did he really approve? And actually say that to Alan?!

Julian grinned, but almost in warning. "Approval can always be revoked," he said, flickering a look to Ilene, "especially if you ever hurt her."

"Julian," she said, voicing her own warning. He stared at Alan, who stared back in a standoff. Suddenly her brother smiled.

"We need to leave in an hour," he said. "I suggest you . . . settle whatever you need to." With that, he left, proudly stalking out of the room.

Ilene sighed, raising her hands to her eyes and rubbing her face. "I'm sorry," she said. "He's too protective."

Alan smiled at her, and something within the look told her he realized something she didn't. But the look ended, and she was left out of the loop. "I would have killed him if he wasn't."

They stood there, both wanting to continue the kiss, but neither sure how to resume without extreme awkwardness.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Alan asked out of the blue. Ilene smiled. How English, she thought to herself.

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Sydney watched from the cabin window as Yielding and Ilene walked towards the lake. Ilene's arm was tucked through Yielding's, and even from here Sydney could see the smiles on their giddy faces.

I wonder if I ever seemed that way with Sark. She smiled sadly. At least she's happy. But whether or not it would last would depend on the one in the spy world. Just like it relies on me.

Although that wasn't entirely true—not when Sark was already plotting some masterful disappearance, much against her wishes.

Her cell phone rang, and Sydney smiled as she answered the call.

"Hey Dad," she greeted.

"Sydney," he said in his usual deadpan voice. "When are you coming back?" His tone started to change from disinterest to despair.

"We're leaving soon. Is everything all right?" she asked, sitting down on the window sill.

"Let's just say I'm ready to let Sark take care of his own," he said. She heard him sigh out in frustration, a rare expression, like any from her dad.

"Dad, they're good people," she said, smiling in between the words.

"While that's true, Sydney, they are also moronic. Are you sure you want to align yourself with such idiocy?"

She smiled, but a frown quickly covered her face. "Well, I may not be."

"What's wrong?"

Sydney sighed and tucked her hair back. "Things are becoming more difficult," she said. She tensed as she waited for an I-told-you-so speech. Instead, though, Jack was silent. She quickly filled the silence. "I mean, I don't know what's going to happen, but I doubt we'll make it work." Just hearing that from her own mouth surprised her, but it was what she thought, and what she and Sark had danced around for the last few months. She didn't want to leave Sark, but he gave her little choice—

"Do you mean I've been babysitting his annoying relations for nothing?"

Sydney sat up straight. "What?" she asked. Did he really just say that?

"Sydney, if I'd known your sentiments were waning, I wouldn't have agreed to this infernal duty," he said. She grinned, knowing her father was kidding to a degree. But again, shadows overtook her features.

"I never said they were waning." She stood up again and watched Ilene and Yielding, together. "It's just harder than I ever imagined."

There was silence again, during which she noticed Yielding leaned down to kiss Ilene.

"Sydney," her father began. She quickly moved her gaze to the floor and listened. She sensed the struggle within him to be sensitive enough. "If there's one thing I learned after your mother, it's this: whatever you decide, make sure you will not live life regretting what could have been."

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Sark stopped the vehicle by the airstrip. He quickly got out, as did Sydney and Ilene. Yielding took a deep breath.

"Your plane is waiting over there," Sark said, pointing in one direction without even looking through his dark sunglasses. Yielding's eyes glanced in that direction, and sure enough, a small plane waited for him.

"'Your plane?'" Ilene repeated. Alan smiled tightly and nodded. Somehow on their earlier walk together, they avoided talking about the now. She glanced between her brother and him.

"He can't come with us," Sark said.

"But—"

"It's too dangerous," Sydney added. Alan nodded, but thought it was funny that Sydney said that. Sark didn't tell her I'll be coming back. Gently, he took Ilene by her elbow and led her away from her brother and Sydney.

"Alan," Ilene started to protest, "I –I don't want you to leave." Her eyes were that bright blue, and they seemed mournful at the idea of them parting. Alan touched her face, his fingers gliding over her soft skin.

"I have to go back," he said. "MI6 is looking for me." Suddenly it dawned on her—Alan could see it—a question she should be much more concerned about.

"What are you going to tell them about Julian?" she asked. Alan didn't miss the trace of fear in her voice. He sighed.

"Don't worry. I'm going to close the case on him." He smiled tightly, and she suddenly grinned back. Her arms flew open and she hugged him. It was the first time that she seemed unusually child-like, and Alan couldn't help but find it endearing.

"When will I see you again?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. You can't say, 'I'm coming back after your brother disappears.' He blinked to rid himself of that thought. It reminded him about the suffering Ilene would endure later. "I'll find you as soon as I get things settled in London." With that, he kissed her, smothering any other protests and saying goodbye.

He walked to the plane, just himself as he left behind the first woman he'd ever cared about, and as he walked forward to leave MI6.

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There was a very specific reason Jack left the clip in his magazine nearly empty. There was only one bullet in it. He knew he would need more if there was an attack, but he just didn't think that was likely. He also knew that if there were such an attack, he could threaten and bluff his way with the one bullet he had in his gun.

But the main reason he even took that risk was so he wouldn't shoot Sark's family. One bullet was enough to do damage, he had to admit. But it wasn't enough to massacre all of them—which he relied on as his controlling factor.

Sark's mom, especially, was the main target. As she continued to chatter incessantly, Jack's fingers stroked the butt of the gun. If only . . .

He normally liked Vancouver, but this blemishing experience made him want to nuke the entire city.

"Mr. Bristow," came the voice he dreaded, "we really should tidy this place, before my son returns."

Tidy?! The house Jack chose was immaculate already, and why on earth would he tidy for Sark?

"Go right ahead, Barbara," Jack said steadily. His eyes held no warmth, but she smiled heartily and started tidying away.

He dismissed the woman as he changed his view. Jack walked through the house, partially to get away from Barbara, and partially to make his security rounds. He passed a bedroom, where Calvin leapt off his bed and kicked at some imaginary foe. Jack paused, staring at the boy as if he were mad. Calvin kicked out again, and landed on his rear.

Jack didn't laugh, but just groaned as he moved on. He passed the living room, where Henry was watching reruns of Jeopardy. His eyes were glazed over and weren't even focused on the screen. Jack stared at him until he blinked.

"What's wrong, Jack?" the man asked in monotone.

"Are you all right?" Jack asked without really caring.

"I'm fine," Henry said. "I've just been thinking, about what is next." Jack assumed he meant what was going to happen to their family next, what terror or attack to come.

Jack had no desire to get into any in-depth conversation, so he continued his security check. But his thoughts remained on the topic Henry brought up.

What would they do? And how would it affect Sydney? Jack had mixed . . . emotions about what Sydney said. Part of him was elated that Sydney was realizing the hopelessness of her relationship with Sark. But part of him realized how much she would care for him, even if they weren't together.

And that would make her unhappy, if they were apart. He had to praise himself somewhat that he even gave his daughter advice. And even though Sark was low on his list of people he could stand, Jack was willing to put up with it for Sydney's sake.

His cell phone rang, and Jack answered it, expecting Sydney.

"Yes," he said.

"Jack." It was Dixon. "I thought you'd like to know the latest."
"What?" Jack could feel his forehead tightening with potential concern.

"MI6 has found their missing agent," Dixon said. "And reading between the lines of what else was said, I'd say they're easing up on Sark."

Jack's mouth tightened into a thin line. "Thanks for the update."

At least that would make it easier on Sydney.

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Sark sighed some relief as he drove through the city. He was amazed at how dark it was, even for Canada. But the seasons were changing quickly. Fall was becoming a memory.

Sydney sat calmly by his side, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared ahead at the road. A glance in the rearview showed Ilene in the same posture. It was excitement for her.

For him, it was uncertainty.

He pulled up to the address Jack had given them. The house was lit up, and he could see movement within. Ilene was out of the car before Sark turned it off.

She ran to the front door, which opened before she made it to the porch. Sark watched as his mother embraced Ilene and squealed with delight. Soon Calvin and his father waited their turns.

Sydney smiled and looked to the ground. She always does that when she's pleased. Sark stared at her. She looked tired, but not just from the long flight. Something weighed heavily on her mind.

He circled the car and came up behind her. His hands rested on her shoulders but she didn't jump at all.

"Shall we go inside?" he whispered deep in her ear.

"Yes," she said with a nod. He planted a light kiss on her cheek, and then walked ahead into the house.

The family was reunited—there was some satisfaction in that. Sark grinned as hugs were exchanged, and mild handshakes in the case of Jack Bristow. The veteran spy looked like he was ready to bolt as soon as he could. Sydney saw him off as he parted for Los Angeles. Meanwhile, his parents and Calvin peppered him and Ilene with questions.

The answers were automatic to him, but passionate to Ilene. He smirked at that. Well, she does have something—someone—to be passionate about. His smirk slowly slid of his face. Yielding was good, he decided. He could be trusted. And that was good, relieving even.

Especially since his sister loved him.

Love, or in-love. Whatever the difference was. Just like he didn't know what applied to his situation with Sydney.

Does 'love' even apply to us at all? While his family and Sydney laughed and exchanged stories, Sark sat back. His eyes followed their conversation, but his mind did not.

Love. It doesn't really matter.

Not in the world he lived in. Not in any world he would ever be part of.

He nodded to himself and glanced away from his thoughts and any revelation of them.