DECEIVE PART TEN
A/N: So there I was, sitting at the beach, minding my own business when all of the sudden, Syd taps me on the shoulder. Ah, Syd-Julia, I should say. "Did you forget us?" And I'm all, "Dude, are you from England or something, because there's only one of y--" and that's when Sark stood in front of me menacingly. In swimming trunks. Shirtless. So yeah, I decided it would be best all around to suck it up and write. Whoo boy, what a hardship. …Mmm. Naked Sark. Tsk. The things I do for you guys.
12.13.04: Sorry, guys. Thought I had uploaded this already.
Jack stood silent for several moments to allow her statement to sink in. "I am curious, Irina, as to why you're not more concerned about Sydney's welfare."
Irina regarded him silently. "He is my best agent," she said simply, her shoulders moving unapologetically.
"And she is my daughter!" He yelled, losing his patience.
Jack saw the hand and had time to register it before it connected with his face. He stumbled back once from the force of it but would not give her the satisfaction of letting her know how much it had hurt.
"She is our daughter," Irina reminded him quietly, as if their joint outburst had never happened. "Of course I am worried about her. But they are safe and smart. Sark will notify me if that changes."
"How?" He ground out.
A faint smile played at her lips. "The same way he told me where they were in the first place, Jack."
Because she knew he would not be satisfied with her answer, she pulled out a piece of paper.
'Could Alexander have misinterpreted the project assessment? Not interested as of now.'
End Result: Campania.
He looked down at the now familiar handwriting of his wife and bit back an oath. "What could they possibly be doing there?"
Sydney closed her eyes and smiled contentedly.
Sark glared at her from his seat on the balcony ledge. "I don't know why you're so happy about this."
She shaded a hand over her eyes and grinned lazily. "I won the bet, Sark. Now you have to sit there for the next 15 minutes. And no pouting, either." He drew in his lower lip with a slurp. She laughed.
"Still," he let his leg drape over the side of the three-story house and swing restlessly. "It was a stupid bet to begin with."
"Then why'd you take it?"
"To shut you up," He mumbled, closing his eyes to lean his head back against the warm concrete.
Sydney lifted her head and sat up with her elbows supporting her. Sark was resting on the wide ledge of their balcony wearing nothing but his boxers. Even though he professed to be extremely put out, she saw the way he leaned almost bonelessly on the building, as if the stress had seeped out of him. He was breathing more slowly and she was willing to bet that if she left him alone for the next few minutes, he'd fall asleep.
"Why are you staring at me?"
She told herself that he'd only startled her because she'd thought he was sleeping. "I wasn't staring."
His eyebrow lifted.
She sat up. "I wasn't!"
"Tell you what, darling. How about you come up here," eyes still closed, he patted the space between his legs, "and then we'll have a nice long discussion about how exactly I knew that you were practically devouring me with your eyes."
Sydney let out an outraged yelp. "You are so full of yourself, it's not even funny."
Sark tipped his head back to the sun and let his face absorb the warmth. "Don't you have any better comebacks? You've been living with me for nearly a week and half now."
Perhaps it was the way the sun fell on her or maybe it was just a trick of the light, but if Sark had been watching, he would have seen the dark gleam in Sydney's eyes. As it was, he was still drinking in the sunlight and so he was unprepared when she suddenly stopped speaking.
"Sydney?" He called softly, mindful of the cameras inside. No answer. Frowning, he opened his eyes and leaned forward. "Sydney?"
Nothing.
Sark sighed heavily and resumed his earlier position, while mumbling, "Probably off plotting my doom."
"Hey, Sark."
Good. She was back. "What?"
splat
Something cold and wet had just flown at his bare chest. He jumped up and landed in a crouch. "Sydney!"
She leaned against the doorway, twirling her hair innocently. "Yes?"
Sark plucked the soaked washcloth from his body as if it were an offending object. "Why," he began calmly, "would you disturb my rest with a--sorry excuse for a water balloon?"
"You looked hot."
As soon as the words left her mouth, it was all she could do not to close her eyes in embarrassment. Sydney raised her eyes to see how her statement had settled with him, but now he was the one who'd disappeared. She let out a short sigh of relief.
"Is that so?"
Sark enjoyed the way she jumped several feet in the air. It made it easier for him to trap her in his arms. "Ah, Sydney. You should have known better than to mess with me."
She blinked twice. Then she burst out laughing.
He looked mildly affronted. "And what, may I ask, is so humorous?"
By this point, Sydney was laughing so hard that she couldn't even stand straight. He was holding her upright as she managed, "You… mess… with me…" A few more giggles leaked out before she composed herself enough to say, "Honestly, Sark, you've been living with me for nearly a week and a half now and that's the best you could do?"
Sark let go of her and folded his arms. "What is that supposed to mean?"
She let one side of her lip curl up. "Your comebacks. . ." Sydney leaned in close, whispering seductively in his ear, ". . .suck." Before he could react, she tore out of the room in a dead sprint.
Sark grabbed a shirt and ran after her.
Jack glared silently out the window.
Irina looked up from her papers. "If you stare any harder, the glass will melt."
"At least then the cabin would depressurize and we wouldn't be going to France." As an after thought he added, "I don't like the French. They have too many children who reek of. . . cheerfulness." If it were possible, she would have sworn he actually shuddered.
"Jack!"
He stopped brooding long enough to look at her.
Irina had perched her reading glasses on the end of her nose. She'd pulled her hair back earlier in a loose bun and had a black stripe on her cheek from where she'd gotten too close with her pen.
She looked amazing.
He imagined that if their life had been different, if he had been just Jack Bristow and she had been just Laura, his wife…
"I know what you're thinking."
His eyes found hers again. "Do you?"
Irina took off her glasses and capped the pen, setting it down gently. "Don't." She got up and took the seat next to him. "We wouldn't be here right now if things had turned out differently."
Jack let her take his hand and lace their fingers together. "I believe that is my point."
She studied at his profile quietly and made a decision. And suddenly, Jack Bristow had a lapful of Irina Derevko.
She smiled at him mysteriously. "Glad you're here now?"
He ran his fingers in her hair until the bun came loose. "I think," a small smile gathered at the corner of his lips, "I'll manage."
Irina laughed and felt his smile widen against her lips.
Simon was halfway through his lunch when he heard them. Well, it wasn't so much a them as an it, which echoed loudly in the hallways and shook the walls.
"Have got to stop waking before lunch," he mumbled, pushing back his chair to see what was going on.
He'd barely made it to the next room when a knife flew past his ear to embed in the wall behind him. "Hey!" Simon ducked as two more flew to join it. "What's the meaning of--" His eyes widened and he dropped while a ceramic urn shattered where he'd been standing.
"What is going on up there?!" He shouted, dodging more broken glass and antiques.
Julia danced down the stairs nimbly, dodging around him and the crushed glass that littered the floor. "He woke up cranky." She leaned up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
There was a silent pause throughout the villa, and then --
"I did not wake up 'cranky'!" Sark's irritated voice floated down the stairwell, sounding nearer with each word. "I suppose I was unaware that certain people like to force other people to parade about in their underwear for the duration of the morning," he exited the last of the steps and eyed Julia from where she stood behind Simon.
Simon turned his neck around far enough to see that sure enough, Julia was clad only in a tank top and what looked like boxer shorts. He'd never seen her in men's underwear before. "Good look on you, Babe."
She beamed at him. "Thanks. I bet Sark that his boxers would look better on me and he lost. He's still pouting about it."
Simon's gaze slid to Sark, who had, by this point, the presence of mind to make use of the clothing in their suite. Sark, however, was also in a pair of boxers and a blue oxford shirt, which he'd left carelessly unbuttoned.
"Is he, now?" He feigned extreme interest in examining both of them. "I don't know, Julia. That shirt really brings out the color in his--" Only a cold look from the man himself effectively ended that statement.
Julia pushed the hair away from her face and smiled, walking over to Sark. "All better, now, Pookie?"
His eyes flashed once in warning. She yelped and headed for the gardens. Sark shot Simon a final look before going after her.
Simon rubbed at his head distractedly, wondering what had just happened. Someone cleared their throat. It had to be one of the blokes on the team.
Javier stood with a glass of orange juice. "Uh, what was that? Aren't they supposed to be our prisoners?"
"Not prisoners, mate. More like… bargaining chips."
"Okay. Why are the 'bargaining chips' chasing each other around the place?" Despite himself, Javier winced at the loud shattering of something outside. "Destructively," he added.
"I don't know." He downed the last of his wine. "Sod it. 'going back to bed."
Sark caught up with Sydney in the bushes.
"This," he panted lightly, grabbing her arm, "has got to stop."
She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Why, sweet thing? We're engaged, remember? I've even got the ring to prove it." Her voice grew sharp.
He closed his eyes once at the reminder. When he opened them, Sydney was watching him steadily. "I'll explain everything about the ring if you'll only admit that we've more than displayed our "great love" for each other. Simon should be more than satisfied."
Sydney waved her hand. "Fine. Now explain this."
Sark reflexively glanced at the ring. It wasn't glowing, thank god. "Very well."
He took her hand and noticed when she stiffened. "Honestly, Sydney--"
"Don't even start," she warned, in the same quiet voice.
Sighing, he led her back inside and prepared to tell her everything he knew of the ring.
"Thank you so much!"
The fruit seller smiled toothily at the woman departing and waved. "Come again soon!"
Irina climbed back in the car, looking as if she'd swallowed something rotten.
Jack was hard pressed to keep a straight face. "What happened?"
"They haven't seen a sign of the 'tall blonde man' or his 'pretty companion' for at least four days." She tugged the kerchief off her head and finger-combed her hair with a grimace.
"You're the one who wanted to be the American tourists, Irina."
"I didn't say anything."
He gave into the urge to smile and tipped her face up with his free hand. "I know what you're thinking."
She tossed his hand away with a snarl. "Really? What do you suppose I'm thinking now?"
Jack chuckled to himself and parked the car on the quiet side street. He walked over to where she was working on the door and shielded her efforts by keeping his back to the street. With a click, the door opened and they stepped inside.
Irina immediately strode over to the large painting and shoved it aside. Jack raised a brow and took it as a sign to consider the room quietly.
The safe sprang open on the first try and she silently blessed Sark for not changing the combination in the past decade. He was a creature of habit and she was never more glad of that fact.
She carefully went through the safe and verified that the proper documents and monies were in place. It wasn't until she had finished sifting through the contents twice that she began to worry. She searched once more and braced herself for the results.
The ring was gone.
She turned to see Jack staring at her expectantly.
"Well?" He asked, glancing meaningfully at the safe.
"You can check it for yourself," she suggested, wanting to search the rest of the flat in hopes that Sark had hidden the ring somewhere else.
Jack went to the safe and looked things over while she tried to hide the fact that something had just gone terribly wrong. There. On the sideboard by the door was a set of keys. Sark never changed his keys while he was in France unless… "He'd gone to the manor."
"The safe checks out." He met her in the middle of the room. "What manor?"
Irina met her husband's eyes squarely and made a decision. "You have reliable contacts in the area?"
"Yes. What do you need?"
"Looks fine to me." Sydney drew back from the microscope and tapped her foot impatiently. "Why don't you just tell me what I'm looking for, Sark?"
He scowled and forced her to look at the ring again. "Tell me what you see."
"Lots of shiny platinum and garnet."
"It's not garnet. It's a rare form of crimson tanzanite."
"I see."
"No, clearly, you don't."
She stepped away from the microscope again and glared, putting her ring back on agitatedly. Sydney took up a post by the window.
Simon, surprisingly enough, had an observatory in his villa. It was at the opposite end of the house and judging from the thin layer of dust that covered the surface of equipment, rarely used.
Sark sighed. "I had hoped to ease you into this."
Sydney rolled her eyes. "It's ring. Would you stop being such a drama queen and just tell me what I need to know?" His chin lifted at her brusque command and she threatened, "I'll call you Pookie again."
He held her hand up to the window until the light fell on the stone at a certain angle. "Look." She narrowed her eyes and glared at him instead. "Look," Sark insisted.
She looked at the ring until her eyes began to cross. "I just don't see it. Why don't you just tell me what it's supposed to be instead of wasting our time and--" she stopped, seeing something in the ring.
Sydney frowned and shifted her hand experimentally. "Did you know there's a flaw in the stone?"
"It's not a flaw," he said quietly.
"On both sides. Almost like a--" her eyes widened and she frowned, walking slowly back to the microscope. Silently, she took the ring off and viewed it under the high-powered lens.
With her features carefully schooled into blankness, she held the ring in the palm of her hand. "I think you should tell me what's going on. I deserve to know why the stone is cut in the Eye of Rambaldi."