A/N : I really want to go further with this, but everything depends on responses, of course! Hope you all had a nice (if a bit morally ambiguous) Thanksgivawhatsit, and I know I'm not the only one pulling for a snow day.... Scuttles off to chuck ice outside

Disclaimer: Don't quote me on this, but I'm pretty sure I DON'T OWN SQUAT.

I hope that clears up any confusion.

On with the fic!

Darkness swarmed about him as Jack made his way silently though the creepers. Age old roses and pacifying vines clung to the temple wall like a life line, clutching at the crevices and burrowing into the cracks. Jack stuck close to the cover they provided, drawing nearer to a barely visible back door.

He fit the old silver key in, turned it, and felt the click of the lock give way. Wouldn't Joceline be pleased, he thought.

His black Ops trained eyes skimmed the courtyard before him, taking in every detail of the perfectly tended shrubbery. Everything was just in its place, a perfect mirror image of the map he had studied back at the apartment. Hugging the stone, he walked foot over foot until he reached the dimly lit hall. Second door on the right.

No key was needed. He had already penetrated the real security hours before, the door outside was just a last ditch effort to throw off would be assailants.

"Who's there?"

Me.

"Hello? I'm calling security-"

You do that.

"Help-"

Jack dropped the knife beside the old king, his hands trembling with adrenaline. He stood alone in the middle of the dark room, firelight laughing across his face. Wouldn't Joceline be pleased.

He looked up to the doorway, and there she stood. She was dressed in a thin crimson night gown, much the same color as the blood that was now blossoming onto the carpet. She walked over to him and put an icy hand on his cheek. Her eyes searched his face. He didn't know what she might be looking for... Humanity? Disgust? He held her gaze for only a moment, then her eyes fell on the body lying ungracefully at his feet. They held no pity, no remorse. And no fear. That's your father, Jack thought desperately, that's your father lying there. I killed him. We killed him. Feel something.

"I think," she said softly, "you should go now."

Jack turned towards the door and ran. She was right. The royal guard would be here in moments, just in time to find Joceline dashing out of her room to find her father dead. He could hear footsteps and voices echoing down the hall.

He paused in surprise as he reached the door to the courtyard. Closed? Locked. He fit the silver key in and tried again. Nothing. He was trapped. The only way out led directly to the security office, and enough alerted guards to flay and army. This door is not supposed to be locked, he thought angrily. There is no way this door could be locked. The guards turned the corner at the end of the hall and spotted him. A few of them yelled, and Joceline came flying out of her room opposite, the perfect picture of panic and confusion. She looked across the hall into the open doorway of her father's rooms. Jack watched her expression change as she pretended to discover her father's body. Her eyes flicked over to him, and after just a moment's sorrowful recognition, she screamed to the guards.

"Him!" She yelled, "he murdered my father! Seize him!" She let out a wail of anguish, then flung herself out of sight, presumably to her father's side.

Jack stood in disbelief. It wasn't that he didn't understand what had just happened. That was all painfully clear. He just couldn't believe that she could do it. This is not part of the plan.This is not supposed to happen.

He had no weapon. The knife he had used on the King was still lying beside him, useless. He hadn't thought to bring another weapon. He wasn't supposed to need one. The plan had been flawless.

But the planner had not.

The guards pored down the hall, and time seemed to slow. Joceline's cries. The blood on his hands. The clanking of armor.

Then nothing.