Disclaimer: I own nothing, jack, nada, zip, sweet F.A. You get the point, I suck, J.J. Abrams is a very clever man and I am not fit to lick his shoes.
A/N: Okay this is a very short one shot that I found as I was clearing up my hard drive, It was originally a Sarkney implied piece about how she had reacted after realising Vaughn had moved on after her "death', but I found with the omission of a few details, (names mainly) it worked just as well (if not better) as an ambiguous piece from either Syd's or Lauren's P.O.V.
She felt tension almost instantly seep from weary muscles as she stepped beneath the spray of water, she watched briefly hypnotised by it swirling around the drain. If only all her troubles were so easily sluiced away, her various sins cleansed by the comforting heat of the high-pressure stream that eased her aching muscles and soothed her tired mind.
The mission had been no more difficult than she was used to but the aftermath had left her tired, not just the physical tiredness that came with exertion, but the cold mental fatigue of questioning your every choice.
She shouldn't question her choices lately. They were wrong, indefensible decisions that brought her ever closer to the certain hell that was awaiting her when someone was finally good enough to put her out of her misery.
A secret little part of her psyche longing for Vaughn to be the one to put an end to her, a twisted little part of her longing for his hate if she couldn't have his love. Anything was better than the pity he now rained down on her and the guilt he felt that he could never hide from his always-expressive green eyes.
Maybe if she went to him now and told him that only hours ago Sark touched her naked body the way the water now did, that he had made her scream his name with desperate need that Vaughn had never managed to awaken within her, If she looked Michael in the eye and told him that Sark was a better lay than him would he save her the cowardice of suicide.
Her anger at Michael Vaughn had been the catalyst for her affair with Sark but the attraction had always been there. He was the push she needed, his pity so heart-wrenchingly distasteful that she had sought out the repugnantly smug assassin offering herself shamelessly to him.
She had all ready lost so much, why not Bask in her own destruction.
She'd enjoyed it, every second. The fear that had pounded in her head at the plain wrongness of letting him touch her, The hot feel of his needy hands on her equally flushed skin, the way he hoarsely called her name as he came; She even relished the self-disgust she felt as she told him she would see him again.
Mostly the smug knowledge that the whole thing would make Vaughn hurt; If he knew, if he ever found out.