DECEIVE | PART THREE
* * *
When she didn't answer, he casually slung an arm around her shoulder and leaned back into the couch. She stiffened in protest and he squeezed her shoulder teasingly. "Now, Sydney. If we're going to be engaged, you can't act like someone's stuck a pole up your--"
"--Engaged?" She repeated, her voice shrill.
He gave her a serious look. "Yes. I am the happiest man alive, and have been ever since you accepted me."
"When did this happen? Where was I?"
"Oh you were most assuredly there." A sly grin curved his lips. "And believe me, you were very happy to reciprocate my feelings of joy." He nudged her in the side. "If you know what I mean."
She edged away and glared at him. "I think even a 12-year old could have understood that, Sark. And take your hands off me."
He stilled her movements with a leveling look and pulled her back against him, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "If you want this to work," he spoke quietly into her ear, "you are going to have to learn to take orders from me. And to trust me. I got your precious bag of wrinkles out of there alive, didn't I?" He mentally sent Simon thanks for nicknaming Vaughn so appropriately.
"Yes. And the rest of the world is stunned that you would do such a thing."
Sark exhaled slowly, moving the hair behind her ear and tickling her skin. "Why is it," his lips hovered over her neck, "that people can't just receive a gift and say thank you? Everyone questions your motives," he planted a string of kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, "these days."
By the time he'd finished, she was absolutely still and completely incapable of moving. It could be the effect he had on her, but Sydney liked to believe it was the gun poking her side.
"That's one way to kill the mood," she dryly remarked, moving her head until she could see the gun for herself.
Sark rolled his eyes. "I just can't win with you. One minute you're all against my declaring my love and the next you wish I would do nothing but. Perhaps this is why it took us so long to get with it." He tossed the gun in the air and caught it with his free hand. "We both know you'd have to do something very bad for me to even *consider* using it, but a gun is always very useful to have in times such as these. Now. Back to the original question: Have you given any more thought to our relationship?"
If she was bothered by his tossing of the weapon she didn't show it. In fact, she was almost brash in telling him she'd spent most of her time at the hospital. With Vaughn.
There was a mixture of annoyance, hurt and something else she couldn't identify in his eyes when he asked, "You're still in love with him then?"
How odd to be discussing another man when this one had his arm tucked around her, playing with the hem of her shirt while letting his fingers occasionally brush against her bare skin. "Of course I--" She stopped, and he was left to wonder if she was going to confirm or debate the statement. "It doesn't matter. Part of me will always love him, but he's not the same man I fell in love with. Maybe we both aren't. Besides. He's married."
"That's irrelevant," Sark waved his hand holding the gun, dismissing the matter. "You could get around that easily. In fact," he turned to her, so close their noses almost collided, "I've seen that woman, and there is no contest. She should be thankful when she climbs into bed at night that he's still there."
Her body sagged against his; in relief or emotion, he didn't know, but it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation. "I just don't know what to do."
"Well don't come crying to me about it. I saved him once. That was your freebie. The next one's going to be more costly."
She swallowed the insult that had been on the tip of her tongue and tried not to hate Vaughn for getting involved in this whole mess. If it hadn't been for him, she probably could have edged her way out of it, but now that Sark had spared him, she owed him. And he fully intended to collect.
"What, exactly, did you have in mind?" She locked eyes with him, forcing herself to keep that bright blue firmly fixed in her sights.
He set the gun on the coffee table and took her hands in his. "I thought you'd never ask."
* * *
(Several nights ago. . .)
The crunching of leaves and gravel sounded sharply after the first transport left and Simon glanced at Sark.
"You have remote entry now? Does that car do bloody everything for you?"
"Just about," Sark smirked, twirling the key ring on his finger. "It should, I paid enough for it."
Simon shook his head despairingly and grinned ruefully. "I'll never understand your obsession with that car, mate. I don't even try to."
Sark lifted a hand and headed off, knowing they'd rendezvous later to exchange the goods.
The other man watched him walk away, wondering just what it was that had Julia so far gone on him.
Moments later, Sark came walking back into the line of sight. "I don't suppose you'd want to give me a lift?"
Simon's brow arched. "Where's your 'pretty boy' car?"
"Julia took it." Sark quietly muttered, "She might still be mad about that kiss."
"I don't know. She looked pretty happy to me," he remarked, leading the way over to the remaining jeep, unable to keep the grin off his face.
Sark threw one leg over the side and hauled himself in, settling in the hard seat uncomfortably. "And it is not a pretty boy car."
"Sure it isn't," Simon drove a bit slower than Sark preferred, but reminded himself that it wasn't a sports car and if they drove the way he did, they'd probably be dead. "And Julia wasn't ready to have you right there in the doorway."
Mildly surprised, Sark glanced at him briefly. "What makes you say that?"
"No, I don't think I'll tell you just yet. You can figure that one out on yourself. But there is something I would like to know."
"Go for it."
"How did you two meet? Julia's never struck me as the type to just casually plant one on a random bloke--" obviously he didn't know *Julia* as well as he thought he did, "--and it seems to me you have somewhat of a history."
Sark ignored the stiff plastic seats as he leaned back smugly. "It's actually quite ironic, really." Especially considering what had really happened. "Would you believe we met in an ice cave?"
"No. Honest?" Simon had taken his eyes off the road to glance at him for such a long period of time, they were perilously close to crashing off the side of the cliff. It was all Sark could to do restrain himself and not say anything. Thankfully, though, at the last minute, he jerked the wheel sharply and got them back on track. Literally.
"So, ice cave. Do tell."
You have to make this good, he thought. But telling a complete lie isn't going to work. Inspiration suddenly stuck. "The cave, of course, was going to collapse. She had no way out. So I offered her a spot on my submersible, except it only sat four. And we were full up."
"Don't tell me you left her there to die. Because, otherwise, I could see why she'd be pissed with you."
"Leave? Julia?" Sark chuckled under his breath. "Those two words don't even belong in the same sentence. No, she came back with us on the submersible. On my lap."
A full silence entered the car for a long time. Simon opened his mouth and shut it several times, as if wanting to say something, but not knowing what. It was just as well, he wound up looking like a fish, and Sark thought it was entertaining.
"On your lap? And it took off from there--now you're in love? Just like that?"
His brow rose. "Yes. I'd say it was more so love at first ice pick, but who am I to pinpoint something so remarkable as love?"
Simon shook his head slowly in disbelief. "I just can't believe it. So she's been with you, all along?"
"We've had some ups and downs--there was a mix up with some sort of virus before, but we settled it nicely with her removing all her clothes."
"Nice way to work things out," Simon commented appreciatively out of the corner of his mouth, slightly envious.
"I've always thought so."
They drove on in silence, and Sark was content to let the man stew on his long history with Sydney. So he'd taken some of the details and messed with them. At least he was partially speaking the truth, which was always the best way to lie.
"So where are you now? Just picking up where you left off?"
"Julia tells me I'm not the most demonstrative man when it comes to being in a relationship such as ours, but she was the one who refused to wear her engagement ring."
"R--ring?" He stuttered, now truly worried for his welfare, being that he and Julia had done a few more. questionable things that seemed much worse now that he'd found out she'd been engaged at the time.
"Well, yes. That was what our big fight was about, ultimately leading to my capture and her disappearance, which is when you found her. I'd wanted her to wear the ring, and she was afraid it would detract from her missions. She stormed out, I went after her. . .the CIA went after me. The rest, as they say, is history." He turned mysterious eyes on the other man. "Anything else you'd like to know about Julia?"
"Just this. If she claims to love you so very much, why didn't she mention the engagement? I might have stopped our relationship from progressing further had I known."
They both knew that was ridiculous.
And Sark imagined that Sydney had never mentioned anything like that to Simon because he'd only just found out about it less than thirty seconds ago. He would have to do some fast-talking to get out of this one. That, and pray like hell that Julia was like Sydney. Otherwise, he'd have some serious explaining to do.
* * *
"I can't believe you told him we were engaged. You're Sark. You don't just get engaged. You're one of the highest paid mercenaries in the world. Do you even know what type of price would be on your fiancée's head if that ever got out?"
Sark eyed her carefully. "That's why I told Simon we kept it to ourselves-- in hindsight, another excellent reason why you refused to wear your ring."
"The ring that, just like the details of this story, does not exist."
"Oh no, Sydney." He spoke with an unnerving seriousness that worried her. "It most certainly exists. You'll have to come away with me to see it."
"Yes, because the CIA will go for that."
Tired of arguing with her, or perhaps just tired of examining the viewpoint from all perspective's for so long, Sark stood and retrieved his gun, placing it in his front jacket pocket.
"Sydney, get some rest. All this stress is making you cranky."
Before she could protest, he'd left. She was sitting in the middle of her living room, on what used to be her favorite new piece of furniture, wondering if he had ever really been there at all.
And why, out of all the plausible scenarios, he'd made them engaged.
* * *
"Hi. I hope I'm not interrupting."
Lauren looked up from the novel she was reading and offered a brief smile. "Not at all. I had a feeling you'd want to see him, so I tried to stay awake. How are things?"
It was quite strange to have your ex-boyfriend's wife ask you how your day went.
"They're. . .well, things. Is he awake?"
"No, he's been sleeping all afternoon. I kept hoping he would wake up, but so far he hasn't. The doctors aren't worried, though I am."
Tears filled her eyes and Sydney rested a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Why don't you go home and take a shower. I'll stay here and look after him. I won't let anything happen, okay?"
Lauren sniffled. "Okay." She gathered her things, gave her husband one last look, and headed out the door.
Sydney breathed a huge sigh of relief and sat at his bedside. "C'mon Vaughn. I need you awake."
As if hearing her plea, the slumbering man slowly showed signs of life. He snorted once in his sleep and then awoke just as suddenly.
"Sydney? Where's Lauren?"
She reminded herself that it wasn't exactly her place to feel crushed at his questioning his wife's whereabouts. "She went home. She was really a mess."
"I tried to tell her she was just wearing herself out, but she wouldn't listen." Vaughn watched Sydney attempt a smile. "Hey. You okay?" Even doped up on painkillers, he still knew when something was off.
Sydney's gaze wandered around the room, as if the answer was imprinted on his heart monitor or maybe the florescent lights. He gave reached for her hand and watched as everything came out in a rush.
"Have you ever been in a position where you wanted something so badly, it just seems to fall into your lap by sheer force of will? And then--there's such a huge list of things that could go wrong, the consequences alone make you shudder, and the people you know you'd hurt. What do you do? Do you take that leap? And risk their emotions? How selfish is that?"
She wasn't telling him everything. But she needed his opinion. Still. After everything. And she needed it badly. "Syd. . .for as long as I've known you- -and as *well* as I've known you. . .you are not a selfish person. Your life has been turned upside down. And if there's a way to make it right, to get the answers you need so much. then screw 'em. Just do it. You can afford to be selfish for once."
"Thank you." She squeezed his hand briefly before letting go and rose from her chair.
"You're welcome." He moved to sit up. "Why do I get this crazy feeling this is goodbye?"
Sydney waited until she was almost out the door to quietly reply, "Because you've always had good instincts."
* * *
It wasn't as if she needed Vaughn's permission to do what she was about to do. It was her personal choice, but who could blame her for wanting a second opinion. She'd have to find some way to keep in touch with her dad-- she couldn't bear leaving him in the dark again if it was avoidable--and obviously a few ground rules would have to be laid down. But it was simply easier to do it this way.
"Now how do I get a hold of him," she muttered, wishing there was some sort of 1-800-Sark hotline she could call. Never around when you wanted him. Always there when you didn't.
Her eyes fell on a slip of white paper wedge in between two bottles of wine. She reached for it.
~ Very poor vintage. That will need to be remedied as soon as possible. Can't have my fiancé drinking bad wine.
Should you ever need to reach me, you can use the number below.
--Well if you don't know who this is by now, we have some serious problems. And I'm not talking about the wine. ~
Sydney couldn't help but smile, just a little, as she reached for the phone and dialed the number. It rang once.
"Yes?"
"I'm leaving the CIA."
There was a long pause. "Fabulous."
* * *
Well? It's 6 1/2 pages, so I hope that makes up for how long it took me to update. Please please PLEASE review. I skipped an essay so I could work on this. It needs your reviews to keep it alive.
* * *
When she didn't answer, he casually slung an arm around her shoulder and leaned back into the couch. She stiffened in protest and he squeezed her shoulder teasingly. "Now, Sydney. If we're going to be engaged, you can't act like someone's stuck a pole up your--"
"--Engaged?" She repeated, her voice shrill.
He gave her a serious look. "Yes. I am the happiest man alive, and have been ever since you accepted me."
"When did this happen? Where was I?"
"Oh you were most assuredly there." A sly grin curved his lips. "And believe me, you were very happy to reciprocate my feelings of joy." He nudged her in the side. "If you know what I mean."
She edged away and glared at him. "I think even a 12-year old could have understood that, Sark. And take your hands off me."
He stilled her movements with a leveling look and pulled her back against him, propping his feet up on the coffee table. "If you want this to work," he spoke quietly into her ear, "you are going to have to learn to take orders from me. And to trust me. I got your precious bag of wrinkles out of there alive, didn't I?" He mentally sent Simon thanks for nicknaming Vaughn so appropriately.
"Yes. And the rest of the world is stunned that you would do such a thing."
Sark exhaled slowly, moving the hair behind her ear and tickling her skin. "Why is it," his lips hovered over her neck, "that people can't just receive a gift and say thank you? Everyone questions your motives," he planted a string of kisses down her neck, along her shoulder, "these days."
By the time he'd finished, she was absolutely still and completely incapable of moving. It could be the effect he had on her, but Sydney liked to believe it was the gun poking her side.
"That's one way to kill the mood," she dryly remarked, moving her head until she could see the gun for herself.
Sark rolled his eyes. "I just can't win with you. One minute you're all against my declaring my love and the next you wish I would do nothing but. Perhaps this is why it took us so long to get with it." He tossed the gun in the air and caught it with his free hand. "We both know you'd have to do something very bad for me to even *consider* using it, but a gun is always very useful to have in times such as these. Now. Back to the original question: Have you given any more thought to our relationship?"
If she was bothered by his tossing of the weapon she didn't show it. In fact, she was almost brash in telling him she'd spent most of her time at the hospital. With Vaughn.
There was a mixture of annoyance, hurt and something else she couldn't identify in his eyes when he asked, "You're still in love with him then?"
How odd to be discussing another man when this one had his arm tucked around her, playing with the hem of her shirt while letting his fingers occasionally brush against her bare skin. "Of course I--" She stopped, and he was left to wonder if she was going to confirm or debate the statement. "It doesn't matter. Part of me will always love him, but he's not the same man I fell in love with. Maybe we both aren't. Besides. He's married."
"That's irrelevant," Sark waved his hand holding the gun, dismissing the matter. "You could get around that easily. In fact," he turned to her, so close their noses almost collided, "I've seen that woman, and there is no contest. She should be thankful when she climbs into bed at night that he's still there."
Her body sagged against his; in relief or emotion, he didn't know, but it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation. "I just don't know what to do."
"Well don't come crying to me about it. I saved him once. That was your freebie. The next one's going to be more costly."
She swallowed the insult that had been on the tip of her tongue and tried not to hate Vaughn for getting involved in this whole mess. If it hadn't been for him, she probably could have edged her way out of it, but now that Sark had spared him, she owed him. And he fully intended to collect.
"What, exactly, did you have in mind?" She locked eyes with him, forcing herself to keep that bright blue firmly fixed in her sights.
He set the gun on the coffee table and took her hands in his. "I thought you'd never ask."
* * *
(Several nights ago. . .)
The crunching of leaves and gravel sounded sharply after the first transport left and Simon glanced at Sark.
"You have remote entry now? Does that car do bloody everything for you?"
"Just about," Sark smirked, twirling the key ring on his finger. "It should, I paid enough for it."
Simon shook his head despairingly and grinned ruefully. "I'll never understand your obsession with that car, mate. I don't even try to."
Sark lifted a hand and headed off, knowing they'd rendezvous later to exchange the goods.
The other man watched him walk away, wondering just what it was that had Julia so far gone on him.
Moments later, Sark came walking back into the line of sight. "I don't suppose you'd want to give me a lift?"
Simon's brow arched. "Where's your 'pretty boy' car?"
"Julia took it." Sark quietly muttered, "She might still be mad about that kiss."
"I don't know. She looked pretty happy to me," he remarked, leading the way over to the remaining jeep, unable to keep the grin off his face.
Sark threw one leg over the side and hauled himself in, settling in the hard seat uncomfortably. "And it is not a pretty boy car."
"Sure it isn't," Simon drove a bit slower than Sark preferred, but reminded himself that it wasn't a sports car and if they drove the way he did, they'd probably be dead. "And Julia wasn't ready to have you right there in the doorway."
Mildly surprised, Sark glanced at him briefly. "What makes you say that?"
"No, I don't think I'll tell you just yet. You can figure that one out on yourself. But there is something I would like to know."
"Go for it."
"How did you two meet? Julia's never struck me as the type to just casually plant one on a random bloke--" obviously he didn't know *Julia* as well as he thought he did, "--and it seems to me you have somewhat of a history."
Sark ignored the stiff plastic seats as he leaned back smugly. "It's actually quite ironic, really." Especially considering what had really happened. "Would you believe we met in an ice cave?"
"No. Honest?" Simon had taken his eyes off the road to glance at him for such a long period of time, they were perilously close to crashing off the side of the cliff. It was all Sark could to do restrain himself and not say anything. Thankfully, though, at the last minute, he jerked the wheel sharply and got them back on track. Literally.
"So, ice cave. Do tell."
You have to make this good, he thought. But telling a complete lie isn't going to work. Inspiration suddenly stuck. "The cave, of course, was going to collapse. She had no way out. So I offered her a spot on my submersible, except it only sat four. And we were full up."
"Don't tell me you left her there to die. Because, otherwise, I could see why she'd be pissed with you."
"Leave? Julia?" Sark chuckled under his breath. "Those two words don't even belong in the same sentence. No, she came back with us on the submersible. On my lap."
A full silence entered the car for a long time. Simon opened his mouth and shut it several times, as if wanting to say something, but not knowing what. It was just as well, he wound up looking like a fish, and Sark thought it was entertaining.
"On your lap? And it took off from there--now you're in love? Just like that?"
His brow rose. "Yes. I'd say it was more so love at first ice pick, but who am I to pinpoint something so remarkable as love?"
Simon shook his head slowly in disbelief. "I just can't believe it. So she's been with you, all along?"
"We've had some ups and downs--there was a mix up with some sort of virus before, but we settled it nicely with her removing all her clothes."
"Nice way to work things out," Simon commented appreciatively out of the corner of his mouth, slightly envious.
"I've always thought so."
They drove on in silence, and Sark was content to let the man stew on his long history with Sydney. So he'd taken some of the details and messed with them. At least he was partially speaking the truth, which was always the best way to lie.
"So where are you now? Just picking up where you left off?"
"Julia tells me I'm not the most demonstrative man when it comes to being in a relationship such as ours, but she was the one who refused to wear her engagement ring."
"R--ring?" He stuttered, now truly worried for his welfare, being that he and Julia had done a few more. questionable things that seemed much worse now that he'd found out she'd been engaged at the time.
"Well, yes. That was what our big fight was about, ultimately leading to my capture and her disappearance, which is when you found her. I'd wanted her to wear the ring, and she was afraid it would detract from her missions. She stormed out, I went after her. . .the CIA went after me. The rest, as they say, is history." He turned mysterious eyes on the other man. "Anything else you'd like to know about Julia?"
"Just this. If she claims to love you so very much, why didn't she mention the engagement? I might have stopped our relationship from progressing further had I known."
They both knew that was ridiculous.
And Sark imagined that Sydney had never mentioned anything like that to Simon because he'd only just found out about it less than thirty seconds ago. He would have to do some fast-talking to get out of this one. That, and pray like hell that Julia was like Sydney. Otherwise, he'd have some serious explaining to do.
* * *
"I can't believe you told him we were engaged. You're Sark. You don't just get engaged. You're one of the highest paid mercenaries in the world. Do you even know what type of price would be on your fiancée's head if that ever got out?"
Sark eyed her carefully. "That's why I told Simon we kept it to ourselves-- in hindsight, another excellent reason why you refused to wear your ring."
"The ring that, just like the details of this story, does not exist."
"Oh no, Sydney." He spoke with an unnerving seriousness that worried her. "It most certainly exists. You'll have to come away with me to see it."
"Yes, because the CIA will go for that."
Tired of arguing with her, or perhaps just tired of examining the viewpoint from all perspective's for so long, Sark stood and retrieved his gun, placing it in his front jacket pocket.
"Sydney, get some rest. All this stress is making you cranky."
Before she could protest, he'd left. She was sitting in the middle of her living room, on what used to be her favorite new piece of furniture, wondering if he had ever really been there at all.
And why, out of all the plausible scenarios, he'd made them engaged.
* * *
"Hi. I hope I'm not interrupting."
Lauren looked up from the novel she was reading and offered a brief smile. "Not at all. I had a feeling you'd want to see him, so I tried to stay awake. How are things?"
It was quite strange to have your ex-boyfriend's wife ask you how your day went.
"They're. . .well, things. Is he awake?"
"No, he's been sleeping all afternoon. I kept hoping he would wake up, but so far he hasn't. The doctors aren't worried, though I am."
Tears filled her eyes and Sydney rested a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Why don't you go home and take a shower. I'll stay here and look after him. I won't let anything happen, okay?"
Lauren sniffled. "Okay." She gathered her things, gave her husband one last look, and headed out the door.
Sydney breathed a huge sigh of relief and sat at his bedside. "C'mon Vaughn. I need you awake."
As if hearing her plea, the slumbering man slowly showed signs of life. He snorted once in his sleep and then awoke just as suddenly.
"Sydney? Where's Lauren?"
She reminded herself that it wasn't exactly her place to feel crushed at his questioning his wife's whereabouts. "She went home. She was really a mess."
"I tried to tell her she was just wearing herself out, but she wouldn't listen." Vaughn watched Sydney attempt a smile. "Hey. You okay?" Even doped up on painkillers, he still knew when something was off.
Sydney's gaze wandered around the room, as if the answer was imprinted on his heart monitor or maybe the florescent lights. He gave reached for her hand and watched as everything came out in a rush.
"Have you ever been in a position where you wanted something so badly, it just seems to fall into your lap by sheer force of will? And then--there's such a huge list of things that could go wrong, the consequences alone make you shudder, and the people you know you'd hurt. What do you do? Do you take that leap? And risk their emotions? How selfish is that?"
She wasn't telling him everything. But she needed his opinion. Still. After everything. And she needed it badly. "Syd. . .for as long as I've known you- -and as *well* as I've known you. . .you are not a selfish person. Your life has been turned upside down. And if there's a way to make it right, to get the answers you need so much. then screw 'em. Just do it. You can afford to be selfish for once."
"Thank you." She squeezed his hand briefly before letting go and rose from her chair.
"You're welcome." He moved to sit up. "Why do I get this crazy feeling this is goodbye?"
Sydney waited until she was almost out the door to quietly reply, "Because you've always had good instincts."
* * *
It wasn't as if she needed Vaughn's permission to do what she was about to do. It was her personal choice, but who could blame her for wanting a second opinion. She'd have to find some way to keep in touch with her dad-- she couldn't bear leaving him in the dark again if it was avoidable--and obviously a few ground rules would have to be laid down. But it was simply easier to do it this way.
"Now how do I get a hold of him," she muttered, wishing there was some sort of 1-800-Sark hotline she could call. Never around when you wanted him. Always there when you didn't.
Her eyes fell on a slip of white paper wedge in between two bottles of wine. She reached for it.
~ Very poor vintage. That will need to be remedied as soon as possible. Can't have my fiancé drinking bad wine.
Should you ever need to reach me, you can use the number below.
--Well if you don't know who this is by now, we have some serious problems. And I'm not talking about the wine. ~
Sydney couldn't help but smile, just a little, as she reached for the phone and dialed the number. It rang once.
"Yes?"
"I'm leaving the CIA."
There was a long pause. "Fabulous."
* * *
Well? It's 6 1/2 pages, so I hope that makes up for how long it took me to update. Please please PLEASE review. I skipped an essay so I could work on this. It needs your reviews to keep it alive.