We thought your fate was sealed, it's not what we expected.

[certainproclivity]

justprompts : The question should be, is it worth trying to do, not can it be done. -Allard Lowenstein

The minute he was out of Venice, he had to start placing calls to people who probably wouldn't talk to him, especially now that he didn't have Irina's comfortable shadow to hide in. Of course, he could always try to contact the remnants of the Covenant but they were neither his friends nor anyone he would sell his soul to for a favor- San'ko was included in that and now look where he was, and from the standpoint of anyone might have been paying attention, San'ko dying and him breaking bread with his murderer not an hour later didn't reflect well on him as either an asset or an ally (but anyone who would expect anything more than that from him clearly didn't know him well at all).

And of course, the CIA would have frozen his accounts and God only knows what The Covenant did with his inheritance, if the CIA, itself, hadn't claimed that too. Thankfully, he had a private stash somewhere in case of an emergency that would tide him over until he could find his feet again, but it wouldn't last very long and definitely wouldn't accommodate the lifestyle he had gotten used to before his imprisonment- at this point, however, anything was better than prison and he'd simply just have to make do.

There was a tiny, yet elegant, little inn in Marseilles that knew him by name (or a name, anyway) and knew not to ask too many questions, which was where he spirited himself away to as soon as he collected his savings. He paid for a week in advance with a promise to the woman behind the desk that she could keep the excess for herself if he had to make a hasty exit before the week was up, so long as no one was made aware that he was here. Chances are, she'd get herself fired if she tried to ferret the cash away if he did have to leave, but the offer, coupled with a bit of coy flirtation, would be enough to keep her quiet. Not that he honestly expected the CIA to come after him, but after San'ko, he wouldn't be surprised if a few of the dregs of The Covenant came for his head- really, he was paranoid enough to think they might have it in for him and arrogant enough to think that they really thought about him to that degree.

The first three nights were an uneventful parade of meals taken in his room and a lot of pacing and making calls that amounted to nothing. Somehow in the period between his last incarceration and now, he'd become a pariah in the very underground he'd once been something of a big-name in... But he wasn't really, was he? People only knew him because he was someone else's servant, not because he was anyone who stood on his own.

It was a distressing notion when he actually got down to it- finally out of CIA custody for a second time and suddenly struck with the realization that all of his masters were gone, and while he would love to say that he was glad to be rid of them, it wouldn't change the fact that he's never really been his own person- he was always someone's asset, someone's weapon, someone's obedient, little dog. Masters were par for the course, after all, but with Irina presumed dead (or confirmed dead- but with her, it was always hard to say, and there were rumors) and the Covenant imploded and not worth his time anyway, he had very little to him other than a few old contacts, most of whom did as expected and hung up on him the minute they heard his voice. By the time he found one that was willing to talk to him, he wasn't sure what he wanted. He needed to lay low, regroup, and, God forbid, the only way to do that without the CIA dragging him back as soon as he so much as poked his head into the underworld was to go legit. Considering that it meant a few months (or, God forbid, years) of what would probably be a desk job that would have him dead of ennui before he could ever find work that was more to his liking, he wished to God there was another option. He doubted he could even last a month without the thrill, the risk, and the power, especially after another year's worth of incarceration. It was part of him, possibly programmed into him, but whether it was or not didn't change the fact that he absolutely adored it and missed it. At this point, he'd do almost anything to have that back, but clearly that way wasn't going to lead to his continued survival.

I've become a trustworthy man.

He doubted the truth in that statement as much as Sydney and Vaughn had. Of course he would tell pretty lies to get them to trust him and then have to actually live up to it. Well, he was well on his way after leaving Anna to Sydney's tender mercies back there, but that was less being trustworthy and more because between Sydney and Anna, he would have to go with Sydney. A thank you for that kiss, perhaps. It really was spectacular enough to warrant betraying the woman who got me out of your hands in the first place.

He ran through the options in his head, trying to find something else, anything else, and his contact on the other end of the line started to get impatient at his silence and he realized that he really was going to have to do the unthinkable and he gritted his teeth through a request for a legit business venture that would be suitable to both his lifestyle and his skills.

His contact laughed, "Mr. Sark, there's no such thing."

He resisted the urge to hang up on him in that moment, because the last thing he needed to be reminded of was what little function he had in normal society- it was right up there with the realization that he needed someone to give him orders to really get anything done. Even when he was in control of all of Irina's holdings, he was following her strictly laid plans. He was, fundamentally, a bird out of the nest for the first time- all the more reason to find a legit business to stick himself in it until he knew what to do with himself, because attempting to follow in Irina's footsteps would only be met with scorn and he had little to protect him right now. Either the wolves would tear him apart or they'd let the CIA have him back- see how he liked being ratted out to the enemy. (That was what Irina was always good for beyond other things- keeping the wolves at bay whenever he let his survivalist's nature get the better of him. He could betray every single person in her inner circle, and she'd find some way to turn it into a strategic advantage and not fault him for it.)

"Just find something." He had to fight to keep the edge out of his voice- amazing how he could get away with that when he was younger but couldn't now that he was older. Then again, he wasn't on his own then, didn't have the back-up that could support that kind of talk. Even The Covenant had dealt with condescending nature because they needed his money, but half the time, he was convinced that the only reason they kept him alive was because McKenas Cole wished it so, which was an unsettling concept on its own.

On the other end of the phone came another chuckle, "Whatever you say."

Sark had a feeling he wasn't going to like what the man was going to come up with, but his contact hung up the phone before he could say anything more to that regard.

Not that he really had much of a choice either way.

Muse: Julian Sark
Word Count: 1348