Sark leaned against the trunk of the car, his hands shoved in his pockets. It was chilly without a jacket, and he shivered a little in the light breeze. Sydney's words were still running through his head: Destiny implies something good at the end, predetermination just implies a lack of choices.

So, what now, he thought. What good is supposed to come of this…

Just then, Irina's door opened and she came around to the rear of the car where he was standing. He stood at attention, no longer leaning on the car, but hands still in his pockets. Her stubborn refusal to deny his assessment of his worth to her only as a commodity in trade confirmed his suspicions beyond a shadow of a doubt, and an unexpected, indefinable sense of disappointment was blossoming slowly through him.

Irina peered at him for a long minute before speaking. "Julian," she said, "I don't want to leave things… on bad terms with you."

"Don't," he replied, his voice low, "Don't try to butter me up."

"You could've come to me for help, you didn't need Sydney to help you with this," Irina continued as if he hadn't spoken at all, "I still don't understand why you had to bring her into this."

"Consider us even, then," he shot back. He hesitated, feeling momentarily impertinent, and finally settled on saying, "Truth takes time, doesn't it."

Irina's lips twisted into a slow smile before she turned and walked slowly away from him, the heels of her shoes making a light clicking sound against the pavement. He stood, motionless, until she turned a corner and was out of sight.

She felt the car door open and heard Sark slide back into the driver's seat. She kept her eyes closed as started the engine, but opened them a crack when she heard him turn around to address her.

"Well?" was all he said.

"Well, what?" she snapped in return.

"I recall promising you a stay in a rather nice establishment to make up for our accommodations here in lovely Bucharest," he offered, but he sounded unsure. Very un-Sarklike of him.

"Oh," she said, "Right."

They rode in silence for awhile before she said, "I've never been to Chicago."

"Chicago?" she could hear the sneer in his voice. "As in Chicago in the middle western United States, Chicago?"

"Is there another?"

"I don't want to go to the Midwest," he sighed, "Pick somewhere else."

She propped herself up on one elbow and stared at the back of his blonde head. "Who said anything about you coming?"

There was a short silence before he ignored her comment and asked, "So what is there in Chicago?"

"Um… It's on Lake Michigan—that's one of the Great Lakes," she said.

"Oh, how could I forget," his voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I must've slept through that year in geography class at boarding school."

She ignored his snobbery and forged on, "It's second largest city in the US, and they have the tallest building in the world there."

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror before contradicting her, "No, I'm afraid those towers they built in Kuala Lumpur have surpassed even the Midwest's beloved Sears Tower. What else?"

"It's… They have…" she was grasping at straws to defend her spur-of-the-moment choice. "That painting, An American Gothic, is in their art museum. And there's a river?"

"If you've never been there, how do you know that painting is in their collection?"

She shrugged, sitting up all the way. "Random trivia fact."

"Chicago is beautiful in autumn, actually," he agreed with a shrug. "I suppose I could live with it if that's really where you think want to go."

"Oh, so you've been there," she said. "Why didn't you just say that?"

"It's more fun to make you angry."

She reached up and flicked the top of his ear with her fingernail. He flinched and they swerved a little when her finger connected with the flesh and cartilage.

"Ow!" he protested, but not too much. "You must be feeling better, since you're being stroppy again."

She glowered in the back seat, feeling slightly insulted. "Wherever we wind up, we need to get something to eat first before I eat my arm."

"Yes, your highness, I know."

She reached up and flicked his ear again for good measure, but this time he didn't respond.