a/n: Thanks to sallene throughout this series and with this chapter for all her help!
The Week of Insanity in All Its Forms
The bruising on his face raised some questions and eyebrows, but Sark managed to lie convincingly to his family and especially to Sydney. He wasn't about to share with her the confrontation he and her dad had. The only thing that Sark had to admit after that painful encounter was that Jack Bristow could still pack a punch.
He smirked. He'll be an intimidating threat even when he's 98 years old.
"Julian! Please!! Pay attention!" Ilene let out a very unladylike groan. Sark quickly smiled and nodded to what she was saying.
Speeches. He wasn't sure why she was so worried about giving one, but she stood before Sark on the fireplace mantel, with an imaginary glass raised as she practiced some lines.
"Ilene, aren't the speeches for the best man and maid-of-honor?"Sark asked. He held back a bored sigh.
Ilene froze. "You're right." She seemed defeated for a moment, and Sark had to smirk at that. Suddenly she brightened up. "What about your speech? You should say this . . ."
Sark groaned and listened to his sister's giddiness.
He wished the wedding was over with already.
Suddenly Sark noticed that Ilene's talking ceased. He looked up at her, and followed her gaze to the doorway.
Sydney watched the two with an amused grin.
"Could I steal Sark for a bit?" Sydney asked. Sark's relief must have been obvious, because Ilene glared at him. He merely smirked at his sister and confidently got to his feet.
"If you'll excuse me, Ilene," he said politely. It just made her shriek with frustration.
Sydney laughed when they were out of earshot.
"Thanks, Syd," Sark said, flashing her what he hoped was a charming smile. She smiled back.
"Well, it's not just a rescue," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I actually wanted to tell you something."
She walked on, leading him outside to the privacy of the back yard.
"What is it?" Sark asked. He felt tension run through his body. Sydney faced him, a secretive grin on her face.
"You have an interview at the high school in an hour," she said. Sark felt his stomach drop.
"Excuse me?"
"They are interested in meeting with a teacher who can potentially teach German, Russian, Japanese, Mandarin and Portuguese," Sydney said. Her eyes were light, while his were dark with . . . apprehension. He was dumbfounded.
Sure, they'd joked about teaching, but he wasn't serious. Was I? He thought it'd be neat, but he hadn't thought about it at all since they spoke of it.
"Sydney, there are requirements, certifications . . . I don't—"
Suddenly she held up a manila envelope. Where did that come from? Sark wondered.
"They're all here, forged under the name Julian Patricks."
Sark raised an eyebrow at that. The last name was the same as his previous alias, but yet she chose to keep his first name.
"You're from London, but have relocated here because of family," Sydney said, citing off his cover story. "'Sark' is a nick-name, one that no one will call you except for me. And maybe Alan." She had a full-teethed grin now. Sark started to smile.
You can do this.
"I better change then," he said, glancing down at his jeans. Sydney nodded.
And an hour later, he found himself a few miles away, sitting in front of four high school administrators. Sark gulped.
If they asked him to shoot someone, he would feel better, but somehow he doubted that. Instead, they asked questions—about him.
"Mr. Patricks," a tall man started, "what made you come to Drayton?" The other three stared at him intently.
Sark swallowed briefly and quickly swiped his hands over his suit pants.
"Family," he said stiffly. It's not a lie! And if it were, you're a professional! "They moved here not long ago, and London just isn't the same without them." His sudden charm must have made the statement believable.
"How sweet," one administrator said. It was an older woman, probably in her forties. Sark smiled at her.
The tall one coughed. "So you teach . . ." He waved his hand in loops, as if prompting Sark. It annoyed him immensely.
"I'm fluent in German, Russian, Mandarin, Portuguese and Japanese, among other languages," Sark filled in.
"How did you learn so many languages?"
Sark smiled. "I've traveled extensively," he said simply.
"What did you do before coming to Alberta?"
Stole, murdered, ran for my life. . . . "Various things," he answered vaguely. Time for a lie. "I've found that I just love languages, and pick them up very easily."
The tall one intercepted again with a cough. "But can you teach them?"
Ah, the question of ability, Sark thought with a smirk.
"Well, I prefer not to teach them all during one semester," Sark said. "I find that when I teach more than three languages at a time, the students really don't receive my full attention and efforts." The administrators, except for the tall one, looked at him in awe.
I didn't answer the question, but they've forgotten that already.
Perfect deflection.
"I can teach French as well," Sark said, "but I imagine you already have a teacher for that." The tall one finally nodded.
"We do," he said, trying to be authoritative. Suddenly the older woman spoke up.
"But we'd love to have you on board as our other language teacher," she said.
Sark nodded. "I appreciate that."
He left the interview with a schedule for the upcoming school year, and with the promise of returning in a week with tentative teaching schedules planned for German, Mandarin and Russian.
He breathed in deeply as he got to his car.
And then he just laughed.
----------
Wedding bells, wedding bells. Sydney always imagined that they'd sound more . . . happy. Instead they sounded like doom, but that didn't lessen the smiles on Ilene's or Alan's faces. They were positively beaming.
They walked down red carpet like celebrities at an award show. Ilene waved to everyone as if they were a crowd of a thousand people, instead of just two families and one photographer.
The ceremony was simple yet elegant. Ilene cried, and even Alan looked misty. His family smiled and his mom was teary, as was Ilene's. Even Calvin looked sentimental.
But Sark was not. He showed his little reserved smile, as if he was being polite at a bad joke. Sydney frowned at him. What's wrong with him?
The families made their way to the reception hall, where waiters and waitresses were ready with far more food than all of them could eat together. Sydney's jaw dropped at the decorations. It was simply beautiful, with pastel green and peach adorning the reception hall, and matching flowers on the tables. Soft music played in the background, just above the noise of a bubbling fountain. The families started to mingle as they waited for the couple to arrive.
Sydney watched with amusement as Alan's mother approached Sark. Sydney slyly moved closer to hear the conversation.
"Alan tells me your family moved from Ireland," Mrs. Yielding asked. "What made you leave?"
Sydney almost snickered.
"Work," Sark said quickly.
"Oh really?" Mrs. Yielding continued. "What do you do, Julian?"
Sydney stole a look at him, and he actually looked pleased as he answered that question.
"I teach languages," he said. "Or I will. My girlfriend actually arranged for the job."
Girlfriend. It was accurate. But hearing Sark say that was just . . . odd. Sydney shrugged it off. Sark seemed delighted when the teaching job came through. School wouldn't start for another month, but in the past few days, Sydney often found Sark busy planning out lessons and schedules in his room.
A part of her was proud of him. Despite what she used to think of him, he could actually give up the spy life. He could actually be happy doing something else. She couldn't help but smile as she watched him.
Alan and Ilene arrived, amidst cheers from their families and the reception hall staff. Sydney watched as Sark went up to his sister and whispered something in her ear. She beamed and hugged her brother. Then Sark turned to Alan, and offered a hand.
Sydney laughed when Alan pulled Sark into a hug. She went up to the newly-weds to offer her own congratulations.
"Sydney!" Ilene exclaimed. She hugged her tight, and Sydney couldn't help but think of her as being closer than just a friend. More like a sister.
"I'm so happy for you two," Sydney said. "When do you all leave for your honeymoon?"
Ilene turned to Alan. "He hasn't told me yet!" She punched her husband playfully.
Alan just nodded to Sark.
"Actually, Julian insisted on taking care of it," Alan said. Sydney raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sark.
He looked very suave in his black tuxedo, his bowtie just slightly too loose, and his blonde hair darker than usual from all the dye he'd used lately. He showed a crooked, mischievous grin, with his blue eyes shining with amusement.
"Remember how I owed you your Christmas present?" Sark said. Ilene nodded eagerly. "Well, I intended for you and me to take a trip, and just show you some of the better things I discovered while I was gone." He glanced at Alan. "However, I thought you might enjoy it more now with your husband."
Her eyes widened.
"So," Alan took over, "Julian is flying us on a private jet to Australia, New Zealand and Fiji, and we'll be staying at each place for a week in 6-star hotels and luxurious bungalows."
Ilene squealed. Sydney couldn't believe Sark was doing all of it. He basically gave them their honeymoon.
Not that he couldn't afford it, but still, she was impressed.
And Ilene was obviously touched. She grabbed her brother and hugged him tight again while a chorus of awe ran through the room.
"Wow," Sydney heard behind her, "Ilene's brother must be rich!"
She held back a laugh.
Things just dissolved and passed by after that. Sydney chatted with Alan's family, cheered up Calvin, and consoled a sobbing mother "losing" her only daughter. After awhile, Sydney found it was late and that she was more than ready to leave.
"Hey," she heard next to her. Sydney looked away from her drink to see Sark. He smiled and took a seat by her. Sydney's heart almost sighed in relief. Someone I can just relax around.
"Tired?" he asked. She nodded.
"But I've been playing nice," she said. "You?"
He smiled. "I've been very good. I haven't shot anyone yet."
"Well, the night is young," Sydney added. The two shared a warm look, until Sydney looked away at Alan and Ilene. They swayed to whatever music played over the speakers.
"I'm sorry my dad couldn't make it," Sydney said. "He said the CIA had something come up." There was a note of disbelief in her tone, she knew. She really wanted to see him, here with Sark's family. In her mind, maybe it was some form of acceptance of what she was doing with her life.
"He told me he wasn't coming," Sark said all of a sudden. Sydney's head whipped around to face him.
"What?" How could Dad have told him, when he told—
"When I gave him the invitation, in L.A.," Sark explained. "I don't blame him, really." He looked off at his sister as he spoke. "It was more to do with me than anything."
"What do you mean?" she asked. Sydney leaned closer to him, quickly swiping at her hair.
"Remember that bruise I came back with?" Sark had a gleam in his eyes. Sydney gasped.
"You said you got hit by some overhead luggage!"
Sark started to laugh and that just about made her mad.
"No, it was your dad," he admitted. "But in his defense, I did deserve it."
He was speaking in riddles as far as she was concerned, and it was starting to annoy Sydney that she couldn't get what he was saying.
"Why?"
"Well, you know, because I was being a jerk to you and running away and all," he said casually. Then he ran a hand through his hair, and damn! He looks so good! That bowtie on the tux was undone now, and the way it just nonchalantly hung around his neck was starting to distract Sydney.
She blinked hard.
"Oh, that," she said to fill the silence her awkward staring created.
"Yes, and also because I asked your dad if he'd mind if I married you someday," he said. "Of course, he just hit me again after I said that, but if our situations were reversed, I might have done the same thing."
"Oh—wait, what?" Did he just say . . . "Can you repeat that?" Sydney asked. Sark just smiled.
"Well, I asked Jack what he thought of me being his son-in-law one day," Sark said coyly. His lips started to smirk or smile; Sydney couldn't tell which. "After he finished swearing and punching me, I think he actually warmed up to the idea. What do you think?"
Sydney was . . . She couldn't believe . . . He was being so laid-back about this! Half of her mind questioned if he was even serious.
Suddenly Sark leaned forward and caught her hands in his. The smirk disappeared and the most solemn expression took its place.
"Sydney." He stopped, just watching her blink profusely. "I'm not saying right now, or any sooner than you're ready. But I really would greatly appreciate it if you considered me as your future husband."
Her mouth dropped and her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.
"You! Would you just stop being robo-tron here and just tell me straight out what you're saying!" Sydney's breathing and heart rate sky-rocketed beyond their already agitated states. Sark squeezed her hands and scooted closer to her.
"Sydney, I'm asking you to marry me," he said softly. His blue eyes were suddenly doubtful, fearful. Sydney stared into them, and as she did, her heart all of a sudden just stopped.
And then she knew.
----------
Calvin almost choked on his drink as Sydney practically leapt at Julian and started devouring his lips. Once he regained his ability to swallow and breathe separately, he snickered.
They're making out!!
He almost choked again on his drink.
Well, at least they're happy, he thought. Everyone knew they were in some sort of fight, but based on what Calvin saw now, that must have been resolved.
He sighed as he looked around the reception hall. Ilene was changing into something more comfortable, and then she and Alan were going to leave. His parents and Alan's parents were chatting in one corner by the half-eaten wedding cake. Alan's siblings talked amongst themselves. And his only other sibling was still making out with Sydney.
He sighed again. Calvin hated to admit it, but he was lonely. It wouldn't be long before he was alone. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do in life, or who he wanted to be with.
He didn't really have a lot of choices there either. And that certainly didn't help him feel better.
Dude, you should just be happy that everyone else is happy.
Yeah, but what about me?
He sighed and downed the rest of his drink. He set the glass down on a table and as he looked up, he froze.
Who is that!
She had blonde hair that was cut just below her jaw line, and it swished as she moved. She must have been a waitress, because she was gathering dishes and was dressed in black and white.
Her eyes. They were perfect, beautifully dark yet vibrant. Calvin stared at her as she made her way to the table he just left his glass on.
His heart beat up faster and faster, until she grabbed the glass and put it on a tray she carried.
"Hi," she said politely. Calvin almost died right there. Her voice might as well have been a honey-coated bell, singing to him, bringing him closer to her.
"Um, hi," he said, trying to shake himself out of his trance. He let his eyes wander over her face. It was flawless to him, yet occasionally peppered with light freckles that just complimented her fair skin. "Gosh, you're beautiful."
He instantly looked to the floor, as if it would voice to him how stupid and lame that sounded. Calvin turned away, ready to hide in the parking lot.
"Wait," he heard over his shoulder. Cal slowly turned back to face the waitress.
"What's your name?" she asked with a smile. Slowly, Calvin allowed himself to breathe.
"Calvin," he said. "And yours?"
"Amber."
Amber. Like fossilized honey, Calvin thought. He didn't glance anywhere else in the room, not at his newly-wed sister, not at his brother or his spy-girlfriend, not anywhere that could compete with the goddess in front of him.
A twinge of happiness started to fill him with each word he and Amber started to share.
I think I'm in love.
The End
A/N: Wow. I had no idea when I started "Choice" that I would expand that story to follow so many characters and develop it all into two sequels. But I've loved this. Thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and encouraging me as I wrote these!
DFerveiro