Chapter 2: The Con

Varna, Bulgaria

It had taken almost a week between crash-course training and establishing their cover ID's in such hostile territory before they felt ready to make contact.

Dressed in polo shirt and sweatpants (what Hardison called "do-gooder chic"), Parker entered the bar that, according to Vance's research, was heavily connected to the Russian mob.

And Sherlock Holmes would be here tonight.

She sidled up to the bar, signaling for a drink. Taking a sip, she let her eyes wander over the patrons until they lit upon a mop of black curls over piercing eyes. Unlike the photo, his face had gotten scruffier with several days' worth of beard. She let her smile widen with delight as she burst across the room toward him. She hugged him while going full-tilt, slamming him against the table, rattling empty glasses. In a rush, she breathed in his ear, "I'm Alice White, I'm with Doctors Without Borders, and you're my occasional lover." She drew back long enough to chastely kiss his lips, but with the appearance and passion of a full French. He returned the kiss, lifted her off her feet in an embrace, evoking catcalls from his five companions.

"I never imagined I'd see you here tonight," she said louder, staring at him adoringly. "It's been too long."

"I agree, Ali," he replied, his English heavily accented. Keeping an arm securely around her, he turned to introduce her to the table. "Alice White, meet my friends. Ali is with Medecins Sans Frontieres."

"Just a Physician's Assistant, but we work just as hard as the doctors." Parker turned to him again, she asked, "Will you say your name for me again? I always feel like I mispronounce it when we're together."

His smile was indulgent, as if he was aware she was going to learn his undercover alias. "William Sigerov," he enunciated slowly, the accent making his given name sound like "Vill-yum".

She mouthed the pronunciation, putting emphasis on the second syllable—yum—making his companions snicker at their display of lust.

"Where do you stay tonight, vozlyublennaya?" he asked.

"Practically a suite this time, love," she purred. "And the rooms have very thick walls."

"Ah, William, go already," one of the men laughed. "Much more of this, you'll give Illya a cavity in his last good tooth." He gestured to another, whose grin contained almost all false teeth.

She widened her eyes in shock. "Oh no, can't have that. It was a pleasure meeting you gentlemen." With that, she dragged Sherlock out by the hand. More catcalls followed them out the door.

-L-

Within minutes, they were at the hotel, Sherlock acting very horny, to the point that Parker hoped he was acting. The moment they were inside the suite, she halted his hands and held a finger to her lips. In the massive en suite bathroom, she turned on the shower and pulled him in, locking the door behind them. "It's safe to talk now."

"Didn't think you brought me here for love-making, vozlyublennaya," he said, still using the accent, with a smirk. "And if you are assistant doctor, I am overgrown rooster."

Parker tilted her head slightly, expecting him to continue.

"You have too much strength to not have done gymnastics." He gently took hold of her hand again, lifting it to eye level. "Hands are too rough to have handled medical instruments, but strong enough to hang on to ledges, and even with gloves, fingers have calluses of cat burglar. When you were, how you say, 'casing' the bar, you look too long at jewelry and pockets where wallets are. And when you kiss me, even for show, you imagined me as someone else. So, you are professional thief, in committed relationship, and want me for something. So, you are what? CIA? MI-6?"

She gave him a small grin. "No, I'm not part of the alphanumeric soup, and my name isn't 'Alice', but I am one of the good guys, William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

He froze as all four names escaped her, almost collapsing on the closed toilet seat, his eyes filling with tears and pain. "I never thought I'd hear my real name again," he rasped out, his accent reverting to British.

She panicked ever so slightly at his reaction, but rallied, trying to do what Sophie would have done. She took one of his hands and just held it. "You're not alone anymore."

Curling his fingers around hers, he covered his eyes with the other, shuddering, as if fighting to get himself under control. After a minute and another deep breath, he looked up at her. "Still, best you still call me Villyum until is safe," he said calmly, Russian accent back in place.

"And 'Alice' is the only name you'll get until we're both safe," she agreed.

-L-

After thoroughly sweeping the rooms for listening devices, they moved their conversation into the bedroom.

"Do you have plan for safety?" Sherlock asked. "Yours?"

"There is a plan. Right now, just keep doing what you're going. Is your mission complete?"

"Almost. Have lot of information about organization, from top down. Just have to get it out."

Parker pulled what looked like an iPod from a pocket. "I think I can help with that. Do you have it on you?"

Sherlock reached into his own pocket, producing a flash drive disguised as a Swiss army knife. "All here. Must be sent to secure server."

"And it will be." She plugged the drive into her "iPod" and tapped a quick note to Hardison, sending the contents to him. "It should reach your handlers in a few minutes. Should we have bothered with local cops?"

"Nyet. Half of police are bribed, other half barely care. We wouldn't know who to trust. Only big boss knows which are in the pocket."

She frowned a moment before making the connection. "You mean 'in his pocket'?"

"Ah, da, in his pocket." He let out a breath, falling back on the bed. "Bozhe moi, I'm so tired," he groaned, pressing his palms to his eyes.

"You should rest," Parker said gently. "It's as safe as it's gonna get for a while."

"More, though, want to know about my friends. Ivan and his Marya, and their little one. Want to know if she will have her mama's looks and brains."

She sat beside him, surprised to find that she hurt for him, for all the pain and loneliness he'd been through for the last five months. "Will you be able to go home, when you're done?"

"Oh, want to, but no, not possible. Even if this doesn't kill me, might as well be dead." He lifted one hand, his unusually-colored eye looking at her with so much sadness it was painful, the colors seeming to shift with his emotional state. "Can never go home."

"Yeah, heard about the circumstances, the facts behind the story. From what I can tell, he wasn't just bad; he was evil. You took the only option you had to stop him. Hell, there've been times I wanted to kill someone for threatening or hurting someone I care about." She carefully put a hand to Sherlock's head. "He threatened people you care for, and you stopped him. That makes you a good man, as far as I'm concerned. And just because you can't go home now, doesn't mean it can't happen." She smiled as she remembered something Hardison once said. "Never say 'never ever'."

Despite his mental and emotional exhaustion, he managed to dredge up a small, sincere smile. "Spesibo, Alice. Your man is very lucky."

"You're welcome, William. And yes, we both are."

Hardison, listening on comms, grinned. "Damn straight, babe," he said softly.

All three jumped at the pounding on the suite door. "William! Open up, now!"

Parker and Sherlock recognized the voice, but only he had a name to go with it. "Quick, put on robe." He stripped to his shorts in record time, messing up his hair, and trying to look sexually frustrated. He glanced through the peephole to confirm, then opened the door. "Sergei, what? You said I could go. Is there problem?"

"You could say so," the man called Sergei replied. "Call Alice out here, yes?" His craggy face was so serious, Sherlock dared not refuse.

"William, what's going on?" Parker asked, coming out in a hotel robe, as Sherlock had instructed. She closed the folds over her bare chest as she "noticed" Sergei in the doorway. "Oh, hello," she said uncertainly. "You're one of William's friends."

"But you are not, suka," Sergei growled, pulling a gun from the small of his back. "Get dressed. You're coming with me."

(Uh-oh! This is bad!)

Author's note: Those inside Doctors Without Borders prefer the French name for the organization.

Russian translations:

vozlyublennaya: sweetheart

da/nyet: yes/no

Bozhe moi: oh my God

Ivan/Marya: Russian equivalents of John and Mary

Spesibo: thank you

suka: bitch