Oh, once you get involved, everyone will look this way - so you must maintain your charm…
While, back at the Kashtta, an offensive against Thane is being planned, Thane himself is just getting back into the unfinished construction site he's made his bitch headquarters. He ordinarily prefers not to leave his projects, but the atmosphere in there is getting... strange. Stranger than usual. And, besides, while he has no intention of
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In a lot of ways, this is probably one of the most idiotic things Sark has ever done, and he doesn't think the odds are even remotely in his favor, but at this point, they're not in anyone's favor and he's better suited than most for this endeavor. Dedicated focus, spy training, plus the whole invisibility thing, which is going to get him absolutely nowhere if he gets close enough where his biosigns might trip something off ( ... )
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April... Don't. Not that it's really going to do much good- the damage is done.
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"Stand down," he says, and his voice is cold - but his mind's not on killing Sark, any more. It's one knot of hate and anger without reason to moderate it. "Back off."
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She doesn't particularly want Sark hurt, mind you, but... she knows she can't try to control him. He does bad things, because he's pushed, because he's hurt. But Sark getting hurt she can deal with.
Sark getting killed? Not so much.
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As long as he doesn't kill Julian now, there's a chance. A chance he'll survive.
She steps back, head down, hugging herself. Obeying commands like a good dog.
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Thane drops the knife back into the pile of tools, pushing them back into the back but reserving the skewer, which he waves just beneath Sark's chin. "You have fourteen hours," he says - and that's generous of him. Overgenerous, he can't help but think, and leaving that long a lead on anything isn't exactly good form, but it was the first number that came to mind. "Come up with something better than your death, or I kill you. And odds are it won't be as clean as I offered you this time."
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He swings his focus back to Thane. Fourteen hours. Well, it's something anyway. Preferable to getting his throat slit before he can think of an actual plan. Hell, maybe in fourteen hours, he could possibly tempt April into getting him out of his cuffs while Thane's asleep... Or find a way out of them, himself. Which is a good way to get shot, but desperation calls.
"Understood," he says, more than a little disheartened. This entire affair has just left him completely miserable and he can't even pretend he's not anymore.
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He pauses for a moment, rolling the skewer between his fingers... then strikes forward, sliding it through the path he earlier described, just nicking the heart, jamming the tip against the scapula. He's good at his job and can do it by memory, without steadying the chest beforehand, letting the skewer rest just loose enough in his hand to compensate for the involuntary motions and contrictions from shock. He stands as soon as it's in, not waiting for further reaction.
"I wouldn't recommend you try to run away."
Then he turns, stalking back to the other room.
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And he was hoping for a blackout, but that didn't happen. He considers beating his head against the wall until he knocks himself out, because at this point, he's had his head smashed against things so often, he probably has a natural immunity to concussions and anything would be better than this. After a moment, he gives up on that idea and tries to focus on not moving, but breathing hurts just as much so screw not spending the next fourteen hours in horrific pain, and so much for escape attempts ( ... )
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She doesn't throw herself at Sark, of course, as he's in pain. But she comes up quickly, puts a hand on either side of his face. "Shhhh," she whispers, and tries her best to project calm, which doesn't work very well as neither she nor the other people in the room are feeling that. "It's okay. You're okay. Don't breathe hard, makes it worse."
She hesitates, then attempts what the Doctor did after she got shot, when she was curled against him. Tries to filter out the pain a bit. The only way she knows is to transfer where the pain-receptors are... receiving. She's not practiced, she doesn't know what she's doing, but maybe it's enough to help him.
It's her fault he's here. It's the least she can do.
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She scolds him even as she fights not to grimace at the bits of pain she's feeling herself. She wants to pull the skewer out, maybe just enough that it's not scraping his bone, but she doesn't dare.
But she can't deny it's good to see him.
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He's not exactly feeling optimistic about his changes of surviving this, all things considered, and it's not making the realization of how absolutely worthless he is in this world any better. Back home, it would have never gotten this bad unless he just really fucked up and even then there was some marginal chance that someone would extract him because he was too valuable an asset to lose or he'd find some trivial bit of intel that would give him leverage over his captors.
Clearly none of this applies here and he has fourteen hours to find something that does on top of the excrutiating pain ( ... )
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She can't answer that. Because she can't promise she'll be able to just sit back and watch him die.
But she won't argue.
"Love you, gege," she whispers.
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