Fic: Watch Out For That Bunny 2/?
Just so everyone knows, there will be no Penguin Sex, straight or gay, in this story.
I know you're all relieved.
Yesterday's part here.
Watch Out for That Bunny, He's Got a Gun
An Alias/dS Bad Wigs crossover aka a Bad Thing
Part the Second, Fluffy-Tailed Secret Agents
Sark took one look at Victor Covarrubias and knew Sloane was going to die. Slowly and in great agony, at Jack Bristow's hands, probably while wearing a bunny suit. It was a comforting thought, second only to knowing Irina would never see or hear about this mission.
Unless Sydney told her.
Sark grimaced.
Irina would find out. She would never let him live it down, either.
There was no good reason SD-6 couldn't have sent in a breach and burgle team and retrieved the damned disks without raising any sort of fuss at all. But if it had to be a mission, they could have done it without the damned bunny suits.
Jack could have waltzed in without any problem at all, just by pretending to be Covarrubias.
Because Victor Covarrubias was a dead ringer for Jack with a Snidely Whiplash mustache, black shoe polish hair and a Ricardo Montalbon accent.
Sloane had to have known.
Jack was a real professional however and calmly shook Covarrubias' hand with his paw.
Sark kept his cool. It wasn't hard. Jack Bristow radiated chill on the plane, in the van and all the way into Covarubias' compound. Still, he was almost glad for the rabbit head he was wearing, because every time he looked at Jack, the corner of his lip started to curl into a smile - a grin - that would just wreck his reputation. Or get him killed. The muscles in his cheeks were starting to hurt from repressing it.
Jack was doing something, 'entertaining' the kids - they'd glomped onto his pink self like flies to honey - while Sark searched the compound for the entrance to Covarubias' private offices under cover of hiding Easter eggs. The poor brats would probably need therapy in another ten years to get over the trauma.
Sark knew he needed it just from having seen Jack in the pink bunny suit.
He'd considered immortalizing the moment for blackmail purposes, but only for a moment. Blackmailing Jack Bristow would probably be as suicidal as trying to strong arm Irina.
Sark wasn't suicidal.
Not really, except for the sleeping with Sydney thing. That arguably might be a sign of a death wish, but still, it was an adrenaline ride. Sydney was absolutely everything he liked in a woman. Except for that annoying do-gooder complex and the weepy thing. Sark could have done without the weepy thing, but thought that if he just kept her away from Yawn a little longer she'd get over it.
She certainly hadn't been weepy at the briefing, he reflected darkly. Unless it was weepy from laughter.
He tucked a foil covered chocolate egg between the cushions of a leather couch, continuing his spiteful pattern of hiding the damn things wherever they might make a mess if they weren't found promptly. Then he straightened up and wiped one of his floppy ears out of his eyes.
Then he checked the sensor hidden inside the giant Easter basket he was carrying. Perfect. The electronics said the safe was in the next room. He murmured into the headset mic built into the bunny head, "Target located. Acquisition in progress."
Then his head whipped around and he stared with narrowed eyes at the two figures climbing through a window. One of them had a ruffled cockscomb of blond hair and a slinky body in grubby jeans and T-shirt. The other one wore a stoplight red serge uniform that Sark identified as belonging to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
What in hell's name was a Mountie doing breaking into an arms dealer's private offices?
"So, Fraser, how were you going to get in here if I hadn't come along to pick the locks?"
"I'm sure I would have found some way inside, Ray. But I was confident you would accompany me."
"Sure. You realize this amounts to felony breaking and entering? I should arrest myself." The faintly nasal words were replaced with a groan. "Oh, no. It's reached my brain. Being around you has completely screwed my sense of self preservation."
"You couldn't arrest yourself, Ray. We're out of your jurisdiction. Well, unless you made a citizen's arrest, except of course you aren't a Canadian citizen, so - "
Sark reached into his Easter basket, pulled out his favorite Glock and pointed at the Mountie.
The slinky blond caught sight of him, widened his light blue eyes, and said, "Watch out for that bunny, Fraser, he's got a gun."
And tomorrow night (cross your fingers): Part the Third, Don't Call Me Shirley
I know you're all relieved.
Yesterday's part here.
Watch Out for That Bunny, He's Got a Gun
An Alias/dS Bad Wigs crossover aka a Bad Thing
Part the Second, Fluffy-Tailed Secret Agents
Sark took one look at Victor Covarrubias and knew Sloane was going to die. Slowly and in great agony, at Jack Bristow's hands, probably while wearing a bunny suit. It was a comforting thought, second only to knowing Irina would never see or hear about this mission.
Unless Sydney told her.
Sark grimaced.
Irina would find out. She would never let him live it down, either.
There was no good reason SD-6 couldn't have sent in a breach and burgle team and retrieved the damned disks without raising any sort of fuss at all. But if it had to be a mission, they could have done it without the damned bunny suits.
Jack could have waltzed in without any problem at all, just by pretending to be Covarrubias.
Because Victor Covarrubias was a dead ringer for Jack with a Snidely Whiplash mustache, black shoe polish hair and a Ricardo Montalbon accent.
Sloane had to have known.
Jack was a real professional however and calmly shook Covarrubias' hand with his paw.
Sark kept his cool. It wasn't hard. Jack Bristow radiated chill on the plane, in the van and all the way into Covarubias' compound. Still, he was almost glad for the rabbit head he was wearing, because every time he looked at Jack, the corner of his lip started to curl into a smile - a grin - that would just wreck his reputation. Or get him killed. The muscles in his cheeks were starting to hurt from repressing it.
Jack was doing something, 'entertaining' the kids - they'd glomped onto his pink self like flies to honey - while Sark searched the compound for the entrance to Covarubias' private offices under cover of hiding Easter eggs. The poor brats would probably need therapy in another ten years to get over the trauma.
Sark knew he needed it just from having seen Jack in the pink bunny suit.
He'd considered immortalizing the moment for blackmail purposes, but only for a moment. Blackmailing Jack Bristow would probably be as suicidal as trying to strong arm Irina.
Sark wasn't suicidal.
Not really, except for the sleeping with Sydney thing. That arguably might be a sign of a death wish, but still, it was an adrenaline ride. Sydney was absolutely everything he liked in a woman. Except for that annoying do-gooder complex and the weepy thing. Sark could have done without the weepy thing, but thought that if he just kept her away from Yawn a little longer she'd get over it.
She certainly hadn't been weepy at the briefing, he reflected darkly. Unless it was weepy from laughter.
He tucked a foil covered chocolate egg between the cushions of a leather couch, continuing his spiteful pattern of hiding the damn things wherever they might make a mess if they weren't found promptly. Then he straightened up and wiped one of his floppy ears out of his eyes.
Then he checked the sensor hidden inside the giant Easter basket he was carrying. Perfect. The electronics said the safe was in the next room. He murmured into the headset mic built into the bunny head, "Target located. Acquisition in progress."
Then his head whipped around and he stared with narrowed eyes at the two figures climbing through a window. One of them had a ruffled cockscomb of blond hair and a slinky body in grubby jeans and T-shirt. The other one wore a stoplight red serge uniform that Sark identified as belonging to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
What in hell's name was a Mountie doing breaking into an arms dealer's private offices?
"So, Fraser, how were you going to get in here if I hadn't come along to pick the locks?"
"I'm sure I would have found some way inside, Ray. But I was confident you would accompany me."
"Sure. You realize this amounts to felony breaking and entering? I should arrest myself." The faintly nasal words were replaced with a groan. "Oh, no. It's reached my brain. Being around you has completely screwed my sense of self preservation."
"You couldn't arrest yourself, Ray. We're out of your jurisdiction. Well, unless you made a citizen's arrest, except of course you aren't a Canadian citizen, so - "
Sark reached into his Easter basket, pulled out his favorite Glock and pointed at the Mountie.
The slinky blond caught sight of him, widened his light blue eyes, and said, "Watch out for that bunny, Fraser, he's got a gun."
And tomorrow night (cross your fingers): Part the Third, Don't Call Me Shirley