Author: gabby silang
Rating: PG-13 for language, later chapters rated individually.
Feedback: I worship the gods of feedback. Don't you want to be worshipped?
Disclaimer: JJ& Co. owns all, I can only borrow, play, and put them back where I found them.
Distribution: Free to any who want it, just tell me first.
A/N: Title stolen from an incredible x-files fic by darkstar. Because it's too catchy to only be used once, and because I love that fic so much I could cry.
A Prologue from After.
I won't lie. That's what I promise now. I won't pretend I didn't recognize him, know who he was, know what he'd done, know what I was doing, the lines I was crossing, the everything I was risking. I won't say I couldn't have known better. I won't say I won't do it again.
He was easy. Doubtlessly he'll tell himself that he put up an admirable fight, but that won't last long. He's utterly transparent. I could see from the way he walked, the way his strides were long and his hand went through his hair- anyone could tell he was a slut. And I could tell, from the way he watched my hands, the way he balked at my accent, could tell right away that he wanted me before the thought ever crossed my mind. And from the tension in his forehead I knew it had been a while. He was gagging for it. He was as easy as they come.
Part the First: Sark.
We had her, had him, had the whole Agency. We had them wrapped around our little finger and begging for mercy. It was easier than even I'd suspected. A bit of surveillance, a couple forceful interviews, and one taped conversation from a large, dreary warehouse and we had the means. All we had to do was ask.
I was given the honor of conducting the whole affair personally. And authorized to show as much a sense of humor as I deemed fit. So I told her handler first.
Rang him myself.
"Sounding rather tense. Are you very busy this evening?"
".Who is this?"
"Mr. Vaughn, you wound me! I know you've heard my voice before. Of course, those shitty CIA a/v transmitters likely didn't do me justice. However, I would hope you'd at least have the courtesy to remember the strapping young lad you handcuffed, and then left high and dry. Ms. Bristow is right-you are such a tease."
Silence on the other end. Poor bastard.
"Go on, say it already."
"Where is Sydney?"
"Tucked safe in bed at home. Would you care to know what she's wearing? A rather complementing little number, I must admit-"
"What do you want?"
Down to business only happens when I say it happens.
"Well, I'd say I wanted you to at least call, but you left before I even gave you my number."
"Oh, now, don't get so familiar. That's Mr. Sark to you. And you will be meeting me later this evening in that industrial-end, sad excuse for a rendezvous point that you and Ms. Bristow are so fond of. 10:00. Don't keep me waiting, Agent Vaughn. I get nasty when made to wait."
"I'll be there."
"And Mr. Vaughn? I wouldn't wake Ms. Bristow if I were you. Dear thing needs her beauty sleep."
It was unbelievable how little he argued. I'd seen the formidable anger in the man surface before, but on the phone then he'd sounded tired, almost ready and expecting this. That wouldn't do at all. The situation required complication. The mouse is never allowed to become bored before the cat. And I had all the time in the world to make this more interesting.