TITLE: The Future's Above
AUTHOR: Lillian
RATING: G
SUMMARY: June Fan Fiction Entry at SD-1.com
SPOILERS: Not a thing - I guess this'd be AU if you feel a need to classify it
DISCLAIMER: The characters all belong to JJ, in whom I grudgingly trust until September. If I owned them, I wouldn't be working a 2nd job.
A/N: I'm fascinated with Sark. I can't help it. (
The television cast an eerie blue light on the figure sitting in the leather armchair. The fingers of his hands were interlaced and were settled lightly on his stomach as he slouched down, his feet lazily stretched out in front of him in a decidedly masculine way. His chin rested on his chest and by all accounts, he appeared to be sleeping. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes seeming impossibly long as they lay on his cheeks. He looked like a statue, a Grecian ode to male perfection.
He stirred at the sound of the doorbell and, rubbing his eyes, rose from the chair, all fluid grace and ease of motion. He flicked off the television and walked to the entryway of his home. Opening the heavy front door with one hand, he picked up the money from the nearby table with the other and greeted the deliveryman. He paid for his food and set it on the marble foyer floor in order to close and re-lock the door. He picked the food up and carried it into the kitchen. He had a formal dining room but he was alone tonight and he abhorred eating in the large room by himself.
He set the bags of food on the granite counter and grabbed a bottle of ale from the refrigerator. Using the limberness that had saved his life so many times, he pulled himself onto one of the bar stools and took the food from the bags. His nostrils flared as the smells of rice and smoked duck rose from the boxes of food. He picked up the plastic fork and ate directly from the white cardboard containers. There wasn't any point in taking the extra step of placing the Chinese food onto dishes. It wasn't that he cared about cleaning them up; he had a maid to do that. He simply didn't want to waste the time it would have taken to get the plate and silverware.
As he ate his dinner, his thoughts ran to where he was going tomorrow. A dull ache inside his heart was the only thing he felt. He didn't really want to go but knew that he needed to or he would never be free. There were so many things he had yet to do in his life and she would have only served to complicate matters. However, even as his mind accepted that reality, his heart was fighting it until he felt bloodied and battered inside.
He placed the empty food containers into the trash and wiped away the few stray pieces of rice that had managed to escape his fork. He left the kitchen and walked to the stairs that rose to the 2nd floor from the foyer of his home.
He didn't bother to turn on any of the lights as he went about readying himself for bed. His night vision was excellent and he preferred the shadows. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he changed into a pair of black silk pajama bottoms. His chest was bare and seemed to glow in the moonlight that poured through his bedroom window. Lying on his bedroom floor, he began the crunches that had resulted in his sculpted torso, his abdominal muscles contracting and releasing as he exercised. As usual, he pushed himself until muscles were screaming in protest. Finished with his nightly ritual, he rose and drank some mineral water that he kept in the mini-refrigerator by his bed. His mind raced and he knew he would be unable to sleep yet. Using the remote control that was stored in a stylish holder on his nightstand, he turned on the television and sat down on the bed. He leaned against the minimalist headboard and flicked through the channels, trying to find something to occupy his mind. He raised the cold bottle to his forehead and rolled it across his forehead. Droplets of water mingled with perspiration and darkened his blonde curls. His blue eyes seemed devoid of emotion as he settled on a movie. He'd seen this show years ago and had enjoyed it then. Of course, he had been a different person then. He hadn't felt so ancient inside, he'd still thought he wanted a normal life. A life that would include a loving wife and lots of children. He gave a short, derisive laugh as he remembered how he'd envied the main character of the movie his ability to love, his devotion to being with the girl of his dreams.
Sark fell asleep just as the movie ended. The images from the screen flashed across his face as his breathing slowed and he made himself more comfortable.
Sark woke the next morning and grunted to himself as he turned off the television. Sunlight streamed in through the window, letting him know the day had dawned bright and cheery. He grumbled to himself as he arose and made his way into his bathroom. The chrome gleamed at him and the glass blocks of the shower stall seemed to reflect rainbows. His eyebrows furrowed and his irritation grew as he stepped into the shower. The water streamed down on his naked body, turning his skin red from the heat. He rubbed a sponge over his arms, down the long muscles of his legs, and to things in between. Once he was clean, he stood letting the hot spray course over his body, his foul mood washing down the drain with the water.
He left his pajama bottoms on the tile floor of the bathroom, knowing his maid would be in to clean later. The Egyptian cotton towel he used to dry off soon joined the pajamas.
He strode to the walk-in closet and chose a black Armani suit with an ice blue handmade shirt. He pulled the pants on over black silk boxers and looped an Italian leather belt through the belt loops. Sapphire cufflinks closed the sleeves at his wrists and he shrugged into the suit jacket. Custom-made leather shoes and his ever present Rolex watch completed the outfit. He surveyed himself in the full length mirror at the back of the closet and decided he was ready.
He had no time for breakfast as the ceremony was going to start in half an hour. He set the alarm and left the house, determinedly walking down the stone steps. He put on his sunglasses and drove off in his Mercedes.
He pulled up to the park and was glad there were plenty of trees whose shadows he could use to hide his presence. He hadn't been invited to the wedding, of course. However, that didn't mean he couldn't be a guest.
He leaned against the trunk of a large oak tree and watched the last of the guests settle into the white folding chairs. Flowers were draped everywhere, with an expanse of white roses covering an archway at the front of the rows of seats. He remembered she liked roses as thoughts of lost opportunities fluttered at the back of his mind.
A string quartet began to play the wedding march and he watched as the wedding party walked down the aisle. He didn't bother looking at the groom; he wasn't there to see him.
Sark's breath caught when she began her way down the aisle. Her father proudly holding her arm as her feet moved across the satin runner. She was so beautiful; it made his chest contract with something that might have resembled pain if he would have allowed it. He grimaced as her father sat down and she turned to show a glowing face to her husband to be. Agent Sydney Bristow was marrying today and would be lost to Sark forever. He had never admitted his feelings to anyone. They had betrayed him on more than one occasion in the flirting banter he couldn't help, the compassion he'd shown in not killing the man she loved, despite the many opportunities he'd had to do so.
He stayed, leaning against his tree, and forced himself to endure the entire ceremony. He needed to; needed to put an end to the feelings he'd held inside for so long. He lingered until the last guest had left, until the last car had driven away. He wandered over to the rose archway and inhaled deeply of the scent he had come to associate with Sydney. He turned to leave and saw a pen carelessly left behind on the ground between the seats. He chuckled to himself as he remembered a line from the movie he had watched the night before. "She's gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen." Surprisingly, he felt lighter than he had in months. He left the pen, left the roses, and began walking to his car. The sun was shining, the sky a gorgeous azure blue. There was a great deal he had yet to do and he decided that now was the time to do it.
once divided...nothing left to subtract...
some words when spoken...can't be taken back...
walks on his own...with thoughts he can't help thinking...
future's above...but in the past he's slow and sinking...
caught a bolt 'a lightnin'...cursed the day he let it go...
- Nothingman by Pearl Jam
AUTHOR: Lillian
RATING: G
SUMMARY: June Fan Fiction Entry at SD-1.com
SPOILERS: Not a thing - I guess this'd be AU if you feel a need to classify it
DISCLAIMER: The characters all belong to JJ, in whom I grudgingly trust until September. If I owned them, I wouldn't be working a 2nd job.
A/N: I'm fascinated with Sark. I can't help it. (
The television cast an eerie blue light on the figure sitting in the leather armchair. The fingers of his hands were interlaced and were settled lightly on his stomach as he slouched down, his feet lazily stretched out in front of him in a decidedly masculine way. His chin rested on his chest and by all accounts, he appeared to be sleeping. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes seeming impossibly long as they lay on his cheeks. He looked like a statue, a Grecian ode to male perfection.
He stirred at the sound of the doorbell and, rubbing his eyes, rose from the chair, all fluid grace and ease of motion. He flicked off the television and walked to the entryway of his home. Opening the heavy front door with one hand, he picked up the money from the nearby table with the other and greeted the deliveryman. He paid for his food and set it on the marble foyer floor in order to close and re-lock the door. He picked the food up and carried it into the kitchen. He had a formal dining room but he was alone tonight and he abhorred eating in the large room by himself.
He set the bags of food on the granite counter and grabbed a bottle of ale from the refrigerator. Using the limberness that had saved his life so many times, he pulled himself onto one of the bar stools and took the food from the bags. His nostrils flared as the smells of rice and smoked duck rose from the boxes of food. He picked up the plastic fork and ate directly from the white cardboard containers. There wasn't any point in taking the extra step of placing the Chinese food onto dishes. It wasn't that he cared about cleaning them up; he had a maid to do that. He simply didn't want to waste the time it would have taken to get the plate and silverware.
As he ate his dinner, his thoughts ran to where he was going tomorrow. A dull ache inside his heart was the only thing he felt. He didn't really want to go but knew that he needed to or he would never be free. There were so many things he had yet to do in his life and she would have only served to complicate matters. However, even as his mind accepted that reality, his heart was fighting it until he felt bloodied and battered inside.
He placed the empty food containers into the trash and wiped away the few stray pieces of rice that had managed to escape his fork. He left the kitchen and walked to the stairs that rose to the 2nd floor from the foyer of his home.
He didn't bother to turn on any of the lights as he went about readying himself for bed. His night vision was excellent and he preferred the shadows. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, he changed into a pair of black silk pajama bottoms. His chest was bare and seemed to glow in the moonlight that poured through his bedroom window. Lying on his bedroom floor, he began the crunches that had resulted in his sculpted torso, his abdominal muscles contracting and releasing as he exercised. As usual, he pushed himself until muscles were screaming in protest. Finished with his nightly ritual, he rose and drank some mineral water that he kept in the mini-refrigerator by his bed. His mind raced and he knew he would be unable to sleep yet. Using the remote control that was stored in a stylish holder on his nightstand, he turned on the television and sat down on the bed. He leaned against the minimalist headboard and flicked through the channels, trying to find something to occupy his mind. He raised the cold bottle to his forehead and rolled it across his forehead. Droplets of water mingled with perspiration and darkened his blonde curls. His blue eyes seemed devoid of emotion as he settled on a movie. He'd seen this show years ago and had enjoyed it then. Of course, he had been a different person then. He hadn't felt so ancient inside, he'd still thought he wanted a normal life. A life that would include a loving wife and lots of children. He gave a short, derisive laugh as he remembered how he'd envied the main character of the movie his ability to love, his devotion to being with the girl of his dreams.
Sark fell asleep just as the movie ended. The images from the screen flashed across his face as his breathing slowed and he made himself more comfortable.
Sark woke the next morning and grunted to himself as he turned off the television. Sunlight streamed in through the window, letting him know the day had dawned bright and cheery. He grumbled to himself as he arose and made his way into his bathroom. The chrome gleamed at him and the glass blocks of the shower stall seemed to reflect rainbows. His eyebrows furrowed and his irritation grew as he stepped into the shower. The water streamed down on his naked body, turning his skin red from the heat. He rubbed a sponge over his arms, down the long muscles of his legs, and to things in between. Once he was clean, he stood letting the hot spray course over his body, his foul mood washing down the drain with the water.
He left his pajama bottoms on the tile floor of the bathroom, knowing his maid would be in to clean later. The Egyptian cotton towel he used to dry off soon joined the pajamas.
He strode to the walk-in closet and chose a black Armani suit with an ice blue handmade shirt. He pulled the pants on over black silk boxers and looped an Italian leather belt through the belt loops. Sapphire cufflinks closed the sleeves at his wrists and he shrugged into the suit jacket. Custom-made leather shoes and his ever present Rolex watch completed the outfit. He surveyed himself in the full length mirror at the back of the closet and decided he was ready.
He had no time for breakfast as the ceremony was going to start in half an hour. He set the alarm and left the house, determinedly walking down the stone steps. He put on his sunglasses and drove off in his Mercedes.
He pulled up to the park and was glad there were plenty of trees whose shadows he could use to hide his presence. He hadn't been invited to the wedding, of course. However, that didn't mean he couldn't be a guest.
He leaned against the trunk of a large oak tree and watched the last of the guests settle into the white folding chairs. Flowers were draped everywhere, with an expanse of white roses covering an archway at the front of the rows of seats. He remembered she liked roses as thoughts of lost opportunities fluttered at the back of his mind.
A string quartet began to play the wedding march and he watched as the wedding party walked down the aisle. He didn't bother looking at the groom; he wasn't there to see him.
Sark's breath caught when she began her way down the aisle. Her father proudly holding her arm as her feet moved across the satin runner. She was so beautiful; it made his chest contract with something that might have resembled pain if he would have allowed it. He grimaced as her father sat down and she turned to show a glowing face to her husband to be. Agent Sydney Bristow was marrying today and would be lost to Sark forever. He had never admitted his feelings to anyone. They had betrayed him on more than one occasion in the flirting banter he couldn't help, the compassion he'd shown in not killing the man she loved, despite the many opportunities he'd had to do so.
He stayed, leaning against his tree, and forced himself to endure the entire ceremony. He needed to; needed to put an end to the feelings he'd held inside for so long. He lingered until the last guest had left, until the last car had driven away. He wandered over to the rose archway and inhaled deeply of the scent he had come to associate with Sydney. He turned to leave and saw a pen carelessly left behind on the ground between the seats. He chuckled to himself as he remembered a line from the movie he had watched the night before. "She's gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen." Surprisingly, he felt lighter than he had in months. He left the pen, left the roses, and began walking to his car. The sun was shining, the sky a gorgeous azure blue. There was a great deal he had yet to do and he decided that now was the time to do it.
once divided...nothing left to subtract...
some words when spoken...can't be taken back...
walks on his own...with thoughts he can't help thinking...
future's above...but in the past he's slow and sinking...
caught a bolt 'a lightnin'...cursed the day he let it go...
- Nothingman by Pearl Jam