"How could you do this to me?" Holding the cellphone to his ear, Weiss looked about furtively for escape routes and found none.

"I had no choice, Mr. Weiss," even through the crackling static of the connection, the calm and cool voice was easily recognizable and quite unapologetic. "This was the only way."

"I can't believe you." Weiss insisted, growing increasingly desperate. "How could you be so cold, Jack? So cruel?"

"Quite simply, Eric," his father-in-law to be was unruffled. "I've been Christmas shopping with my daughter and, as they say, better you than me."

*click*

"Hey Eric," Sydney's bright cheerful voice rang out across the store, "they do have the singing Santa doll after all!"

He turned to see her holding up a garish Santa which was swivelling its velvet-clad plastic hips as it belted out 'Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree' and smiling brightly. She looked as triumphant as if she'd just taken Sark out, brought down Sloane, and solved every Rambaldi mystery known to man. Speaking of...there was never an assassin or madman with a handy dandy doomsday device around when you needed one. Typical. See if he went chasing after Sark next time the little British bastard needed a night off from Lauren. If Weiss had to suffer? Sark had to suffer. It was only fair.

"Eric?"

"Coming honey!" He called back with a feigned cheerful smile. The things men did for love.

Jack was so paying for tricking him into this. So paying.

He and Sydney'd been talking kids and to Eric's Christmas'd out brain, "Grandpa Jack" had quite the distinctive ring to it. Yes, sir, indeed.

finis

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