A/N: Wow. I honestly do not have ANY idea where this came from. I'm not a Sophie/Silas shipper, and all I really know about the Da Vinci Code is what I saw at three in the morning on TNT about a week ago (oh, and the first half of the book! I have yet to finish it). Meaning yes, this is mostly based on the movie (with a small twist…Silas is alive. Though I'm sure you already figured that out). And yet, here it is. My little Sophie/Silas fic. Hm. TNT man, it makes us do crazy things. Well, anyway, here it is. Beware – fluff ahead, as well as some OOCness. Please r & r.

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Bilbao, Spain

April 14th

12:15 am

Silas walked through the streets of the Spanish city slowly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The city – usually bustling by day – was almost eerily quiet tonight. However, tonight the silence was welcome. Silas enjoyed the time alone here in the dark to think. He certainly had a lot to think about.

It had been over a year ago, after recovering from being shot by the English police, that he had gone to seek out Sophie. It was certainly not a happy reunion. She still hated him for what he had done to her grandfather; he was still frustrated from what she had kept from him. To say the meeting had gone badly would be an understatement – there were several times she threatened to kill Silas, and it had gotten to the point where she was looking up at him from the ground, livid, as he held her at gunpoint. Then suddenly the glass window behind him had shattered, and everything had gone black.

Apparently Sophie had a guardian angel. Silas could remember being somewhere dark and cold, for the most part unconscious. It had been an unpleasant time, and he had no idea how long his confinement lasted.

But suddenly, something had changed. Silas could only barely recall the argument Sophie and an unknown woman had had, the argument that changed her mind, and his life. It was something about a gift, about miracles. Even now Sophie would not tell him what had happened. Not that it was important. All that seemed to matter at the time to Silas was that he had been somewhere dark, cold, and miserable and suddenly he was warm, healthy, and cared for. He remembered the first time he opened his eyes – there was a bandage around his right arm (even now a long scar on his forearm remained) and directly above him was Sophie. For a moment he had thought she must have been an angel or some other divine creature far too perfect and beautiful for this world.

Silas was silent as ever for the first few days as she tended to him, as was she. Finally, he had asked her one question, and one question only. "Why are you helping me?"

Sophie seemed surprised by the question, although she must have expected it. "You are a murderer," she told him coolly, not looking him in the face. "But you have the potential to be an angel, Silas." How did she know his name? He could not remember ever having told her it. But what she went on to say surprised him even more. "Christ forgave those who sinned, those who wronged him, tortured him, spit upon him, crucified him." She looked at him angrily, but with a certain softness in her eyes Silas had never seen before – at least, not when someone was looking at him. "You have wronged me. You have tortured me, spit on me, all but killed me, when you hurt the people I love." The expression on her face now turned to what almost seemed like confusion. "But I have to forgive you." She said it like it was a question. "Not because anyone is forcing me to, or because I feel it is my obligation as a human being, but because…I…I don't know. It doesn't matter." She turned away immediately, refusing to say a word more on the subject. Silas didn't press her.

Now the albino smiled slightly. They had not been on the best of terms then, and they certainly didn't like each other, but he still recalled those early days with Sophie almost fondly. The days when all he had to do was think as she cared for him, watch her moving across his room, listen to her voice. It had all been almost…intoxicating, he decided. That was the word. As soon as he was able to get out of bed he returned to his daily punishment with the Discipline (rather to Sophie's dismay) and to wearing his cilice, all in an attempt to keep his own thoughts under control and to repent for any ungodly ones he may have had.

After he was healed, he and Sophie had remained together for seemingly no reason. He had told her he was going to Italy for a while (he decided to travel as he was still wanted by the English police, though they pursued him with less gusto and determination than they had before) and she simply informed him she would be coming. And slowly, during the months they spent in Florence, Venice, and then eventually in Marseille their strange relationship had grown into a sort of trust, then a friendship, and then something perhaps a bit more.

Now they were in Bilbao, Spain. They had only recently arrived, but in one short week had already seen much of the city. The streets Silas now walked seemed almost familiar, even under the shadow of night. He turned a corner and approached the small Inn they were staying at – el Caballo Rojo – noting the light of the small suite they were staying in was out. So she had decided not to wait up for him after all. Silas was somewhat disappointed, but he hadn't expected that she would. The day had started out fine, but suffice it to say she was not particularly happy with him.

Sophie had wanted to see one of the city's main attractions – the Guggenheim Museum Bilbao – almost since they had first set foot in Spain, and finally convinced Silas to go with her. She had woken early and they had spent the entire morning there. Silas did not have the same appreciation for art that Sophie did, but even he was somewhat impressed. He did not remember ever having been to a museum before – at least, not like this. Equally as interesting as the various sculptures and the twisted architecture of the building itself was gauging Sophie's reaction to it all. It brought a slight smile to Silas' lips to watch her wondering through the museum, her eyes wide with appreciation and awe. That afternoon Sophie had stopped by a small restaurant for lunch, and to her surprise Silas had joined her. They rarely ate together. She had enjoyed his company, but was rather put off when he told her he would not eat or drink.

"I'm fasting." It was a phrase Sophie heard often enough.

"You've fasted long enough, Silas. You should eat. It isn't healthy to deny yourself of basic human needs."

"I will eat, just not now."

"You haven't had anything to drink in more than two days. You're dehydrated. At least drink this." She held out her glass of water for him. "It's only water. It won't hurt you." She seemed angry.

"I will break my fast soon enough."

"Break it now," she demanded. Silas only sighed, and turned away. Even now he was still a man of few words, and even now it drove Sophie mad. She pushed her plate away. "Then I won't eat either." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and looking at him stubbornly.

"Eat, Sophie," he told her. "Please," he added when she didn't move. "My body is used to this. Yours is not."

"It's not going to kill me to skip a meal."

"Please," he repeated. It was so easy for Silas to discipline himself, deny himself of what many considered necessities, but he would never allow Sophie to go without, even if she wanted to. He didn't know why – shouldn't he be encouraging her to do what he was, thereby saving her soul? – but he still insisted she not deny herself of a single thing she wanted or needed. If he could he would have given the world to her. "Please. I promise I will eat tomorrow."

"And you will drink right now," she told him. "I don't care if you're used to it, you're still human. Food you can go without for a while, but you need water."

Silas didn't want to have this argument yet again. It seemed as if they were constantly fighting, and he both hated it and didn't see a way around it. That was just the kind of people they were, and he had the feeling that neither of them was going to change anytime soon. They saw everything differently, from books to cities to something as plain as a dish towel. And while Silas felt at times he could not bear to be near Sophie a moment longer, he also wondered if he would feel the same way about her if she was any different. "No, Sophie." He nodded toward her plate, feeling like a parent urging a stubborn child to eat. "Finish your meal. Then perhaps we could go see Teatro Arriaga-"

"No," she said, standing suddenly. She grabbed her purse hanging on the back of her chair. "I wish you-… Oh, never mind. If you didn't listen to me the first time you won't listen to me the hundredth." She turned around and stormed out of the restaurant, leaving Silas alone. He knew better than to follow her. They would only fight more, and that was something he wanted to avoid for the time being.

Silas had spent the remainder of the day and all of that evening in the Santiago Cathedral, praying and reading the teachings of Christ. Although it was difficult to focus when his most recent argument with Sophie was clouding his thoughts, the stinging pain from the metal cilice around his thigh helped him to remember why he was here. At midnight, the cathedral closed, and Silas stood to return back to Sophie.

He walked silently up the stairs to the third floor, listening as it began to rain outside. It had rained a lot while they had been in Spain, even for early spring. The sound of the drops pattering down on the pavement and roof was the only noise to be heard as Silas moved through the building, pale and quiet as a ghost.

He unlocked the door to their suite, taking extra care to be quiet. He did not want to wake her. He carefully shut the door behind him and walked to the small sitting area they had. His clothes were carefully folded in a suitcase on the little table in the center of the room – neither he nor Sophie ever fully unpacked. They both enjoyed the sense of safety that accompanied being fully prepared to leave at a moment's notice, though they really had no reason to. He carefully pulled his robe over her head and folded it. After a moment he knelt to remove his cilice as well. He would have kept it on, but he knew Sophie did not like it. He pulled on a pair of long flannel pants she had given him. Though he preferred his robe to any sort of modern clothing, he knew she enjoyed it when he used her gifts, and he decided to humor her. But as usual, he slept with no shirt tonight – the feel of the cool night air on his skin helped to sooth any discomfort he felt from the various wounds on his back.

Before turning to the bedroom, he sighed, and walked to the kitchen area, retrieving a tall glass from the cupboard. Normally he would wait for morning, but again he decided to humor Sophie. He filled it with water from the sink and drank down every drop, and then repeated the action. The water running down his parched throat was surprisingly good – he had not expected how wonderful it would feel to drink again. Putting the glass in the sink, Silas turned to walk to the bedroom.

Again he was silent as he entered. He could make out the outline of Sophie's small form in the darkness. She was lying on her side with her back to him, and he watched her silhouette slowly rise and fall as she breathed. Unthinkingly, he slid into the bed next to her, brushing his fingers lightly against her cheek as he moved her hair out of her face and tucked it behind his ear. She was so peaceful when she slept. So untroubled and at ease. Some would argue this made her more beautiful when she slept than when she was awake, but Silas would have to disagree. Whether she was asleep, had just woken up, or was angrily shouting at him she was always undeniably the most beautiful creature on the face of the planet. Perfect, really. There was never any comparison. He leaned down and briefly pressed his lips against the back of her right shoulder.

She would never fully understand what she meant to him. How he admired her, how she delighted him, how he loved her more each day. She was his greatest pleasure in life. His greatest joy, and his greatest sorrow. His greatest love, and his greatest sin.

Silas had always found it relatively easy to deny himself the usual desires of the flesh, as well as the desire for human connection. He had lived quite happily like that for years, more than willing to find everything he needed in the gospel. However, Sophie seemed to have broken that resolve. It almost unnerved him how much he enjoyed being with her, and how much he missed her when they were apart. Yes, she was infuriating, and intractable, and stubborn, and all too easy to argue with. But each of these things made her all the more unique, all the more interesting, all the more Sophie, the woman he loved. Suffice it to say that he had eventually succumbed, surprised at his own weakness. He would never be able to forgive himself for the vows he had broken, but nor could he quite bring himself to fully regret breaking them.

Sophie muttered something in her sleep. Propping himself up on his elbow, Silas sat up a bit to see her face. She looked worried about something. He reached out, stroked her cheek again. "Shhh…" he murmured softly. Sophie made another small noise, and shifted slightly. A moment later she rolled over to face him, looking up at him through the dark. "I didn't mean to wake you," Silas said, pulling his hand away. "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't you," she replied simply, looking down. She was quiet, but didn't fall back asleep. "Is everything alright?" Silas asked her.

"I had a nightmare," she said. "That's all."

"What was it about?"

Sophie paused. "Someone was screaming to me," she said simply. "And I couldn't turn to face them. So I ran. The faster and further I ran, the louder they became." She shrugged slightly. "It doesn't seem nearly as scary as a moment ago. But when I was asleep…it felt real."

"It was only a dream," Silas said, wrapping his arms around her small figure. She still wouldn't look at him. "Sophie," he said, reaching down to cup her chin and pull her face up so he could see it. He was surprised to see it was wet. She was crying. Sophie never cried. He ran his thumb under her eye, wiping away her tears. "Don't cry," he whispered. Sophie smiled bleakly and looked up at him.

"I'm not crying," she said. She moved closer to him as he cradled her. "Silas," she said slowly, "I…I don't want to fight with you. I don't want to argue about something…well, something pointless. It's your religion. I should respect your beliefs. Even if I don't agree with them." Silas was admittedly surprised. He was usually the one apologizing.

"Thank you," he said simply. "I'm sorry. I'm always sorry when we fight."

"Will you answer one question, then?"

Silas paused. He didn't want her question to escalate into yet another fight, as they often did. However, he saw no way to deny her. "Of course."

"What kind of God," she started, "would take a strong, healthy, beautiful man, a good man, a righteous and pious man, and then make him to this to himself?" Silas shuddered slightly, biting on his tongue. She had wrapped one arm around him to trace over the long scars and scabs on his back. She had only brushed against them lightly, but they still stung, almost unbearably. "How could anyone ever want that?"

"Sophie…" he said gently. He reached to move her arm away from his back and placed her palm instead on his chest. "What do you want me to say?"

"I just want you to tell me the truth," she lied.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do," she insisted angrily, her hand against his chest clenching into a fist.

So they were back to that again.

"We've had this conversation many times before," said Silas, "and I have no doubt we will go through it many times again."

"That doesn't mean we can't have it now."

Silas pushed her away – not roughly, but still with enough force that she couldn't fight back. His pale fingers wrapped around her thin wrists, he looked down at her sternly. Her expression mirrored his. "I don't want to," he told her. Nevertheless, he went on. "You know who I am. You know what I have been through, and where I found salvation in the darkest of times. You've heard the story. I am not a man who loves much in this world, Sophie, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't take one of the few precious love joys away from me." He released her then, and sat up in the bed, swinging his legs over the edge. "But if it makes you feel better, I will not disturb you." He stood and began walking toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Sophie asked, sitting up as well.

"It's late," he said simply. "I am going to bed."

Sophie bit her lip and watched his retreating figure – it was a sight she saw more than enough. But she was tired of seeing it. Yes, they fought, but that didn't mean she didn't…didn't what? Like him? Want him? Want to reconcile?

Love him?

"Wait," said Sophie. When he didn't turn around she raised her voice. "Wait, Silas." This time he did turn to face her, the expression on his face unfathomable. "Come back," she told him. He stood motionless in the center of the room. "I'm sorry," she offered. "I am – come back." Still no reaction. Sophie hesitated. "Please?" After a couple seconds that spanned a couple years he finally moved slowly back toward her, pausing to stand at the edge of the bed.

"Yes, Sophie?"

"I'm such a hypocrite. I tell you I don't want to fight, especially about your religion, and then pick a fight with you about it immediately afterward."

"Hm."

"I'm sorry. I mean what I said. I know it doesn't always seem like it, but…I'm sorry." She wasn't often the one doing the apologizing, and it was a strange experience for the both of them. Nevertheless, she went on. "I shouldn't…torment you."

"You're no torment," said Silas quietly.

Sophie usually responded to anything Silas said immediately, but it was so much easier when they were arguing. When she knew exactly what she wanted, and then was only focused on how to get it. Now she couldn't worry about tactics, communication, any of what she normally was concentrating on, because she had no idea what she was after. She simply didn't know what she wanted. So she was quiet for a moment, staring into the patch of air above Silas's left shoulder. Then suddenly she turned to look up at him. Hm. Perhaps she did know what she wanted after all.

Silas noticed her gazed and looked at her, puzzled, cocking his head to one side. His eyes were naturally wide, and his confused expression made him look sweet and innocent, almost like a child. Sophie moved to the edge of the bed where he was standing, kneeling and reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. Silas seemed surprised by her actions, naturally, but didn't immediately pull away either. Sophie leaned her forehead against hers, staring at his ruby eyes. Silas's mouth was slightly open, and she could feel his warm breath on her face. "S-Sophie?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. Why it was doing so, he didn't know, though he had a fairly good idea. He inhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. Sophie was always perfect in every aspect to him, but tonight something about her was strangely…irresistible. Not that he was putting up much resistance in the first place.

"Kiss me," Sophie ordered simply, and Silas was all too happy to obey.

He leaned down and pressed his lips gently against hers, savoring the moment. Perhaps he would regret it later, but for now the only emotion he could find in himself was joy. Sophie pulled him closer, and Silas found himself doing the same, his hands wrapping tightly around her waist. Kissing Sophie was one of the few things Silas thought he was not doing nearly enough of – any physical manifestation of their relationship was far from frequent. However, it seemed it was true that absence (or perhaps more specifically, abstinence) made the heart grow fonder, as Silas suddenly found himself unable to pull away, even if he had wanted to.

Sophie moaned slightly as her fingers brushed through his hair. Her tongue tracing Silas's lower lip sent a shiver down his spine and in response he only held her tighter. Sophie fell back then, but didn't break the kiss, pulling Silas down onto the bed on top of her. She pulled away for the briefest of moments, a smile coming to her lips. "Am I forgiven then?" she asked, almost playfully. Silas's mouth crashing once again against her own was answer enough.

It was a strange feeling for Silas, actually getting something he so desperately wanted. All his life he had been denied most of what he yearned for by other people, and the rest of what he wanted he denied himself. But moments like these seemed to make up for all of it. He loved being able to lose himself completely in something that made him so happy – her. Her touch, her kiss, the way she was saying his name. Silas's cool fingers on her shoulders resulted in goosebumps on her shoulders, and he suddenly wanted to learn Braille, to decipher what she was saying, what every action meant.

Sophie, however, was for once not thinking about deciphering any sort of code. No, her mind was suddenly only working in short bursts, giving her short tasks to do. Run her fingers through his hair. Press her lips to his. Murmur his name. Pull the tank top up over her head. Feel his skin against her own. Her heart was beating uncontrollably, and for once she didn't care. For this brief moment in time she didn't feel the need for absolute power and control of herself, she didn't want to think. She merely wanted to breathe and smile and feel, and that alone was more than enough.

Later that night as she lay on her side beside him, her head cradled on his shoulder and her fingers tracing random patterns on his chest, she began to think again. She looked up at him. His pale skin was the perfect contrast to the darkness. He was staring up at the ceiling, silent as ever, one arm gently holding her against him. Sophie frowned slightly, wondering. They were two entirely different people, from entirely different places, wanting entirely different futures, it seemed. But she couldn't imagine never seeing him again, being apart from him forever. She had become so comfortable with having him around she hardly knew what would happen after he was gone. Sophie closed her eyes for a moment, listening as he hummed quietly to himself. Then she opened them and pressed her lips gently against his shoulder for an instant. "Je vous aime, Silas," she said quietly. I love you. She had said it before, but wasn't sure if she meant it until now.

She seemed to catch him by surprise, and he looked down at her, his eyes wide and curious. "Je vous aime aussi," he responded quietly. Then he smiled at her. Sophie returned his grin and pulled herself a little closer.

"What were you humming?" she asked.

Silas's smile vanished. "It doesn't matter," he said.

"But I want to know." Through the darkness Sophie noticed the rare hint of color coming to his face.

"It's a lullaby," he said softly. "My…my mother would sing it."

"Can I hear it?" Sophie asked. No reply. "Please sing it to me," she pressed. She realized she had never heard Silas sing before. He hardly ever did, except for the occasional hymn, and then it was usually with a large group that drowned out his voice.

To her surprise, he actually complied. His voice was quiet and low, sweet and soft as he crooned the words.

"Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bien vite
Dodo, l'enfant do
L'enfant dormira bientôt.

Une poule blanche
Est là dans la grange.
Qui va faire un petit coco
Pour l'enfant qui va fair' dodo.

Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bien vite
Dodo, l'enfant do
L'enfant dormira bientôt.

Tout le monde est sage
Dans le voisinage
Il est l'heure d'aller dormir
Le sommeil va bientôt venir."

She could recognize the simple tune and lyrics, her grandfather had sung it to her on occasion when she had been very small. "Beautiful," she told him simply. She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "Tres beau. Thank you for singing it."

"I sang it for you," he said simply.

"Then it was perfect," she told him. "Except for one thing." He looked down at her. Sophie smiled. "I am not a child," she told him simply. She kissed him once more – but more gently, sweetly than their urgent embraces only a moment ago. When she pulled away they lay in silence for a moment more, Silas's fingers gently running up and down her arm.

"I need to tell you something," Sophie whispered suddenly.

"Que?"

"I…I need to go back to Paris. Just for a little while."

Silas nodded. "Accord. When?"

"Tomorrow. Early morning."

He nodded again. "Why?"

"There's someone I need to talk to."

"Who?"

"An old friend."

"Which old friend?"

"You don't know them."

"But who are they?"

"So many questions," she said. "Does it really matter?"

"We were in France barely over a week ago," he replied. "I want to know what happened between then and now that made you want to return; it would have been a more convenient trip earlier."

"I can't talk about that right now," she said almost coldly, pulling away to roll onto her other side, her back to him.

Slightly surprised by her sudden withdrawal but not making an effort to bring her closer, Silas frowned. "Will you tell me?"

"Later. Maybe."

He sighed. Maybe would have to be enough, he knew he wouldn't get more of an answer than that – at least, not tonight. "I'll wake up early to finish packing," he said. "We can leave by seven."

Sophie seemed to tense. "That's one other thing I need to talk to you about," she said. "You…I need to go alone." She was beginning to regret her decision to tell him now – why spoil a perfect moment? She should have waited – a month, a week, a day. But now that she had finally said it out loud, she had to go. It was quite the problem, but one that could only be expected. She hadn't meant to tell him now, she had been waiting. She didn't know what had possessed her to rush her return to Paris. No, that was a lie. She knew exactly why she was going, and she hated herself for it. "I'm such a coward," she muttered to herself. And she was – she was always running. Yes, she was going back to Paris after running away from what was there. But she was only returning because now she had something bigger to run from.

"Oh," said Silas softly. "Oh, I see." He was silent for a very long time. After what felt like eternity Sophie chanced a glance at him over her shoulder. He was staring at nothing in stony faced silence. She rolled over once more to face him. "Silas?" she asked gently.

"Yes?"

"I…are you angry?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"Yes."

"Please don't do this now," she said, turning his head so he would look at her. "I shouldn't have sprung it on you like this, and I am sorry about that, but please don't lock me out now, on our last night together. Please." He only stared at her. Sophie sighed. "I told you I loved you," she said softly. "And I mean it, I swear. But I have to go, and I have to go alone."

"I understand."

Sophie stiffened. "There's not future for us anyway, is there? There never was." Silas didn't reply; nor did he realize that it hurt her as much to say the words as it hurt him to hear them. She turned once more then, so her back was again to him, and the spent the rest of the night in silence, though neither of them could quite sleep.

Somehow, through everything he had to think and worry about, Silas still must have managed to sleep, as he suddenly found himself waking up. The light being thrown from the small window brightened the room substantially, and Silas realized how unnaturally late he had slept in. He immediately turned to his side and sat up upon remembering where he was, but the bed was empty. He exhaled the breath he realized he had been holding, and slowly climbed out of the bed. There was a note on the nightstand – a small piece of hotel stationary folded in half, with his name written on the outside. He opened it. There were only three lines.

"Je suis desole.

Je vous aime.

Ne pas me chercher."

I'm sorry. I love you. Don't look for me.

Silas sat on the side of the bed for a long time, the note lying crumpled on the floor as he held his head in his hands. It was surreal, unbelievable. Nearly a year with Sophie, a year in which he had come to know her, respect her, trust her, love her. And now? It was over. He doubted he would ever see her again.

She was gone.

A/N: Hm. That ending was weird. Not quite what I expected. But now I guess I have a good opportunity to continue the fic, should I so desire. I would apologize for the lame French but I have this vague idea that anyone who reads this won't catch any of my translation mistakes, so instead I'll just smile and nod accordingly.