The next morning they dragged themselves out of their jet-lagged stupor to the office, where they answered the same curious questions from everyone who hadn't seen them in 10 days. Their honeymoon destination had been a secret, out of necessity, partly for safety and partly for privacy. Not that it had stopped Sark, of all people, from showing up there. Many of their coworkers commented on how noticeable Sydney's freckles had become, and she received the numerous admonishments about the dangers of skin cancer with a thin smile.
Before they'd left the house, Sydney had retrieved Sark's book from her carryon and stashed it safely in the bottom of her work bag, deciding to say it was her lunch reading if anyone asked. For most of the morning, she sorted through the mountain of emails waiting for her, wondering at the number of them that began, "I know you're out of the office and won't see this for awhile, but…"
Shortly before 11, her father stopped by her desk. She stood, embracing him briefly before asking if there'd been any change in Nadia's condition.
"No," Jack replied bluntly, "I'm afraid not. Sloane keeps insisting that he knows where he can find her cure, but you know there's no chance of them letting him out of custody to do that."
She crossed her arms and nodded curtly. "I know."
"Sydney, they're doing everything they can," her father said softly. "How was your trip?"
"Oh, you know," she smiled shyly, "It was a honeymoon."
A knowing smile quirked the corner of Jack's mouth as he awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets. "I do at that. I take it you weren't… interrupted?"
She glanced to the side for a second, considering whether to tell him what had happened. What good would that do, except make Jack suspicious? On the other hand, she owed Sark nothing. He was a wanted fugitive.
"Let's go in the briefing room for a minute," she suggested.
Jack followed behind her, his hand on the small of her back. She sank into one of the minimalist armchairs that she found minimally comfortable and waited as he seated himself across from her, at the head of the conference table. Jack drew a fountain pen from his suitcoat pocket and twisted the cap counterclockwise.
"It's a Marshall special," he grinned wryly. "We have two minutes."
"Dad," she breathed, "Sark was there—at the resort."
"Sark," Jack repeated, leaning forwards, the back of his tongue hovering near his soft palette from forming the 'k' at the end of the word. "In Mexico?"
"Yes," she hissed urgently. "I kept feeling like someone was following me, and then there he was. He said he was on vacation."
Her father didn't react immediately, choosing instead to fold his fingers neatly in front of him on the glass table. "Did you… interact with him?" His tone was making her uneasy. What did he mean, interact?
"What—no! He was alone, I think, and as far as I could tell, he was just… relaxing," she shrugged. That was the truth… more or less.
"This concerns me," Jack raised one eyebrow. "Anything Sark does is unlikely to be coincidence. He must've wanted to make contact with you for some reason."
Her insides twisted in a way that she didn't feel was very healthy. Not this soon after their return to the office. Usually it was at least 6 hours before she started feeling tense.
"What concerns me more is that he knew where to find you," Jack continued, his brow now furrowing into a deep crease. "I thought your arrangements were more than squeaky clean—you did take all the necessary precautions, didn't you?"
"Dad, of course!" she exclaimed, exasperated at his line of questioning—as if they had done something to make Sark appear out of thin air. "We were more than careful."
"Does Vaughn know?" Jack's lips were set in a thin line.
"Vaughn, no…." she trailed off. How could she explain this without it sounding… suspicious? "Sark only made contact with me," she said. And I only with him, she thought.
Jack fairly glowered before saying, "Let's keep it that way, then."
She nodded without meeting his eyes, simultaneously irritated at his predilection for keeping Vaughn out of the loop and relieved that her secret was officially paternally sanctioned. Just then, his pen emitted a tiny electronic beep and Jack looked at her with a tight-lipped smile.
"You can show me all the pictures later," he announced loudly for anyone who might've been eavesdropping. "It sounds like you had a great time."
Knowing that her father was suspicious of Sark's sudden appearance made her insatiably curious about the book. Despite the nearly overwhelming temptation to steal away to the bathroom and finish decoding the message, she forced herself to sit at her desk and continue sorting emails and memos.
After another half hour had passed, Vaughn stopped by her desk; leaning over her from behind, he kissed her temple and whispered, "We have a lot of nosy coworkers."
She smiled and shook her head without raising her eyes from the briefing report she was skimming. "Imagine that—curious CIA employees."
"Yeah, yeah," Vaughn replied. "So, would you want to look at a place on the way home from work? Eric knows someone who's trying to get rid of a condo."
"Ahhh," Sydney breathed, hesitating to commit, "Where is it?"
"I dunno, I didn't ask for the address."
"Why don't you? That way maybe we could set up a couple places in the same area to compare," she suggested.
Vaughn nodded, and straightened up. "You really want to start on the thank you's that bad, huh?"
"We have to do them sometime."
"I know." He squeezed her shoulder quickly, a gruffly affectionate gesture that reminded of her father. "I'll ask later."
"Ok."
