(Alias/Angel/American Idol)
By wordwolf
Disclaimers in part 1.
Chapter 5.
Sark didn't deign to look at any of the contestants as he made his dignified way through the chaos of the lobby. Noise and chatter and snatches of song everywhere, all from fools who were every one of them convinced of being the one among millions. It was amusing.
Fortunately it wasn't long before they called him – by the name of the boy in the trunk of the Taurus, of course. Sark took his time, ambling slowly. Never let them think you needed them, or even cared. When he made it into the audition room, Sark turned slowly toward the judges, looking down his aristocratic nose as if THEY were auditioning for HIM. Only the two men were sitting in judgment. Just as well; that Paula was an annoying featherbrain all through the first two seasons anyway.
Simon Cowell looked from his list to Sark, then at the list again, with a distinctly bewildered expression. "Ahem... D'antayShawn Washington?"
"Yes," replied Sark primly.
"Are you absolutely sure?" Sark only looked at him narrowly, and Cowell shrugged and went on. "Very well. Why are you here, D'antayShawn?"
Sark knew very well what they expected. Everyone said the same thing: "To be the next American Idol." Stupid. Sark decided to have a little fun – and tell the truth. "For my own purposes."
"What the – ?" Randy Jackson was just as puzzled as his colleague. They exchanged glances, both shrugged again, and apparently decided to just accept it. "So go ahead."
Sark drew a deep breath. Time to show these fools something they'd never forget...
"I remember all my life
Raining down as cold as ice
Shadows of a man,
A face through a window cryin' in the night,
The night goes into
Morning just another day
Happy people pass my way
Looking in their eyes,
I see a memory – I never realized
How happy you made me..."
"D'antayShawn..."
"Oh Mandy, well, you came and you gave without taking
But I sent you away
Oh Mandy, well, you kissed me and stopped my from shaking,
And I need you today – "
"Yo! D'ANTAYSHAWN!"
Jackson's voice suddenly cut into Sark's attention, and the singing stopped. There were two sighs of relief in answer.
"Yo, dog, who on earth ever told you you could sing?"
"I don't know what you are trying to prove, but your singing is utterly ghastly!"
Sark's jaw dropped. What was the matter with these clowns? Weren't they supposed to be experts? "Well," he sniffed, "that's YOUR opinion. Good day." Drawing himself up and putting his nose in the air, he took his dignified time on the way out, just as he had on the way in.
That effervescent jackass Seacrest was at the exit. Oh, hell. "So, how do you feel now that – "
"Oh, stuff a sock in it, Seacrest." Sark pushed on by. It was time to collect the stupid Rambaldi device, get out of here, and the hell with the whole thing. Maybe the Covenant could get the damn show cancelled, or something.
Back in the audition room, Jackson shook his head. "Man, that guy SUCKED."
And Cowell nodded in full agreement. "I don't expect we could possibly hear anyone worse." With that, he turned his attention to the opening door. In came an uncertain-looking boy with a patterned blue shirt, a high pale forehead, and a beaver's teeth. Cowell glanced at the list. "Hmm... your name is William Hung?"
XX
"How'd it go, Weiss?"
From where he waited, Weiss turned to Sydney's voice and smiled. "I didn't suck. And you got it?"
She patted the handbag. "Let's get back. It's going to be some debriefing..."
At the other end of the atrium, Spike saw Angel coming and ran to intercept, leaping and pumping air the highest and hardest yet. "Angel, I did it! I BLOODY DID IT! I'm going to 'ollywood!"
"No, you're not."
Spike crashed back to earth. "What? Why the bloody hell not?"
"Well, when they take all the finalists out into our famous LA sunshine for publicity shots, some dust could damage the cameras, for starters."
"Oh. That." But Spike brightened. "We'll think of something by then."
Angel sighed. More of this crap he was going to have to deal with. "Spike, let's just get to the garage and back to the office, okay?"
"YOU can go do the nine-to-five shuffle all you want, mate, but I'm going to find me a drink and an open mike!"
Angel sighed again. "Spike, it's only one in the afternoon."
"Oh." The blond vampire shrugged. "Tonight, then. But I'm still not going back to that office. Not yet, anyway." He grinned toothily. "Maybe I can get me more face time with Ryan!"
"Whatever. I'll see you." Angel headed for the exit stairs down toward the garage. On the way, he reflected on the eventful morning. The CIA chick had given him a serious workout; he smiled at the thought. Maybe the firm might even get a nice government contract out of the encounter. Even better, he now got to drive the Viper back without Spike's dubious company.
It took a little wandering around before he saw the car, but soon enough he caught sight of it across the way. What a beautiful machine. Maybe he'd indulge himself in a little extra travel before going back, just to clear his head. He stepped past an empty Dumpster to cut across the garage to the company car.
That was when he felt the gun barrel behind his ear. "Very good," said a smooth, mocking voice as he halted in his tracks. "Now we can make this simple. Give me Il Silencio, and I might let you walk out of here alive."
Sark set his trigger with a small cold click to make the point. This was easy, and bringing back the Rambaldi device would certainly help make up for those two oafish pop-music drones who thought they could humiliate him...
The man he held at gunpoint flopped his head back and sighed in annoyance. "I don't have time for this crap." Sark was puzzled for a moment – until the other whirled, clamping hands like steel onto his shoulders. Sark felt himself rise into the flourescent light close to the garage ceiling, then come plunging down into darkness. Through the pain of impact throbbing in every muscle, he heard the crash of the Dumpster lid falling into place and shutting out all the light.
He lay aching as he heard a muscle engine roar to life and pull away. The Covenant wasn't going to like this. Not one little bit.
EPILOGUE
"I do not believe this. No, really, I cannot BELIEVE this!" McKenas Cole was glowering from his considerable height. The frankly strange shape of his face added to the intimidation factor.
But Sark refused to be intimidated. "You are free to make of it what you will."
"It's not enough to audition for American Idol when the whole damn intelligence community knows you've got the voice of a '66 Ford Fairlane with a perforated muffler and engine knock! No, you've got to sing 'Mandy'! Christ!"
The Covenant agent pursed his lips, making no secret of his disdain for his superior officer. "It speaks to me."
"Yeah, I'll just bet it speaks to you. And it says, 'Here's a way you can get even LAMER!' I mean, get some goddamn PERSPECTIVE, Sark. This is the Covenant. We're a ruthless international conspiracy. We've got an IMAGE to uphold. It won't help if word gets out that our top field operative has a hard-on for the most terminally PATHETIC music of all time."
"I understand." Sark sounded as if it hurt to say.
"Good. I'll send over some Sonic Youth CDs in the morning. You can go home now."
Sark wasted no time in doing that. He would feel much better once he could relax in pleasant surroundings and put on This One's for You. It certainly hadn't been his day.
END
