A/N: So, err yeah, long time since I've written something and this hasn't
nearly come out as wanted, blame it on my tiredness, but I just decided now
that I am done with this fic, it has been occupying my mind for weeks,
tormenting me really and although I'm still far from being satisfied I'll
post it, because I feel that it will never come out right.
If you spot contradictions, blame it not on me, but on the fact that
feelings are very contradictory most of the time, which sort of explains
the messed-upness of this, well mess, really .
What else, ah yes, VERY alternative universe, as always, sticking to the
storyline is too damn difficult for a poor writer like me :)
If you haven't read my other attempts at fanfic, try them anyway, I really
think those are better than this.
On with the story then.
*******************************
He had never thought she would give in to his advances, but in the end she did just that. She gave in. Her spiteful, disgusted behaviour towards him changed into something else, tenderness, affection.love. He could not believe his luck then. And today .?
Today he wonders how he could have been as stupid as to believe in a thing like luck.
Fact is, it should have made him suspicious right from the start.
He blames it on her very convincing act, but deep down he does not believe this. He cannot lie to himself, it is not his style, but for once he wish he could. Because deep down he knows the reason why she was able to fool him and use him. He had let go of control, of better be safe than sorry. And now . well, now he is paying for it.
He deserves to sit in this cell again, he really does. Quite ironic that he agrees with the CIA on this fact, though they both have different reasons, that lead to the same conclusion.
They think criminal, he thinks fool. They think dangerous terrorist, he thinks blinded-by-love idiot. They think cold blooded murderer, he thinks about all the times he has made love to her.
He cannot get the image of her out of his head, cannot forget about how when she smiled, she seemed to smile only for him, how well they fit together, the silky feeling her hair left on his chest, when she would fall asleep curled up tightly next to him, cannot forget how she made him love her.
And he does not want to. He can pretend to compartmentalize just as well as before he met her. In the end though, he does not want to let go of these memories, he welcomes the pain; maybe to torture himself, to teach himself a lesson, maybe to have a proof that he is very human after all.
In all these months he has been in this cell again, she has not come to see him once. Whether that is a good sign or a bad one, or no sign at all, he does not know.
There is so much he does not know lately.
Did she really mean nothing of what she would tell him when they were lying in bed, spent and exhausted?
The way she looked at him, was it all a lie? The way she touched him, was it all an act?
Was it really just one big deception, or was their some part of her that had been honest?
He would rather believe the latter one, but he is fooling himself again. Well. probably, how can he be sure, if he has not seen her since she brought him in.
Sometimes he thinks that he has proof that their love was mutual. After all she did stay with him for half a year, a long time only to have him arrested. She could have sedated him after their first night together, instead of staying at his side for so long, playing his girlfriend.
Of course as always, there was another viewpoint. 6 months must have been pretty fruitful in terms of gathering compromising information on his business partners and himself.
Or that had just been a pretence for the CIA, because she actually enjoyed being with him.
His mind is running in circles and whenever he tortures himself like this, he realises that it is finally getting to him. The imprisonment, being left completely alone. Instead of plotting on how to get out of this glass cage, he ponders his past, analyzing every least bit if it, to see whether she ever felt something for him. Pathetic.
But what else should he do, when all the visits he gets are a guard bringing him his food. He is not questioned anymore having revealed all he knows in his first questionings. Not caring about anything at that time he had told them everything. He thinks he might still do the same thing now. Still not healed, not over the betrayal; his wounds, although not visible to the bare eye, still wide open.
That's when he hears it, the clicking heels, the confident stride only Sydney Bristow could pull off. He stays where he is, standing in a corner of his cell, forehead leaned against the wall. He likes to stand there, no camera capturing his face, the only way to have some privacy, the only place where his face can mirror how defeated he feels inside without anyone recording it for the after world. His posture probably betrays him though, but he couldn't care less. It is not as if they couldn't guess by themselves. He is falling apart.
"Julian?"
He ignores her, seriously, she deserves nothing else.
"Julian..."
Nothing. He nearly smirks, imagining that slightly upset frown slowly creeping up into her face, but. he really isn't a man who smirks anymore.
By now she should be openly annoyed, a woman like her not used to being ignored. He used to not ignore her, he used to give her all and every possible attention, but it had not been enough apparently. Oh yes, it is hard to please Ms Bristow, indeed.
"Julian, please."
Begging now, is she? He can remember her begging for a lot of things, under very different circumstances, but he can't remember her begging for the cruel truth, deliberate hurting that she most certainly expects.
He still can't answer her, after all he has some pride, and sounding defeated and pathetic, well, he certainly does not feel like giving her that triumph.
Steadying himself, breathing in deeply, letting go of the secure support of the wall he looks up at her. Tries hard to look disdainful and superior, fails miserably.
"What."
The question nearly dies on his lips and he is not really interested anyway, after all, what could she possibly tell him. Nothing that will come out of her mouth will be what he longs to hear. He does not want a full confession; it would be enough if she told him that not all was a lie. He wouldn't mind that, it would make him feel less stupid if he knew that he had not been entirely fooled by her. But does he really want that? Another thing to add to the growing list of things he does not know.
"I."
She is at loss of words, and he sees the uncertainty flash through her eyes. It's gone so fast that a casual observer wouldn't even have realised it. He, however, is anything but a casual observer.
Sark, he thinks, would have taken that moment of weakness and would have brought her to her knees with it. But he has been all but stripped of that persona, he is only Julian now. Julian is not interested in making her suffer and she knows it. It's why she called him by his first name, he's pretty sure of that now. The realisation doesn't make him angry, nothing does lately. He just can't make himself care anymore.
"Just go away." He hears himself say quietly. He says it before he realises that it is what he really wants and needs.
No tearful confession, no explanation, no nothing will satisfy him. He is quite surprised at the sudden realisation and at himself.
He observes her, her expression goes from startled, to surprised as well and finally to guilty and deeply sad. He can't give her forgiveness, she knows it just as well as he does. It is all he has left, the last shred of control he can have, imprisoned and isolated. Forgiveness would give her peace and him closure. Whether it is sheer cruelty or a survival instinct, he adds it to his list of things unknown to him(it is probably both though), but he is not about to give up hope or that tiny bit of satisfaction it gives to Sark to see them both like this, stumbling to not fall over the edge.
****************************
If you haven't read my A/N, do it now, it's my only chance of maybe getting some positive feedback, and who doesn't want his talent, or pseudo-talent caressed ;)
*******************************
He had never thought she would give in to his advances, but in the end she did just that. She gave in. Her spiteful, disgusted behaviour towards him changed into something else, tenderness, affection.love. He could not believe his luck then. And today .?
Today he wonders how he could have been as stupid as to believe in a thing like luck.
Fact is, it should have made him suspicious right from the start.
He blames it on her very convincing act, but deep down he does not believe this. He cannot lie to himself, it is not his style, but for once he wish he could. Because deep down he knows the reason why she was able to fool him and use him. He had let go of control, of better be safe than sorry. And now . well, now he is paying for it.
He deserves to sit in this cell again, he really does. Quite ironic that he agrees with the CIA on this fact, though they both have different reasons, that lead to the same conclusion.
They think criminal, he thinks fool. They think dangerous terrorist, he thinks blinded-by-love idiot. They think cold blooded murderer, he thinks about all the times he has made love to her.
He cannot get the image of her out of his head, cannot forget about how when she smiled, she seemed to smile only for him, how well they fit together, the silky feeling her hair left on his chest, when she would fall asleep curled up tightly next to him, cannot forget how she made him love her.
And he does not want to. He can pretend to compartmentalize just as well as before he met her. In the end though, he does not want to let go of these memories, he welcomes the pain; maybe to torture himself, to teach himself a lesson, maybe to have a proof that he is very human after all.
In all these months he has been in this cell again, she has not come to see him once. Whether that is a good sign or a bad one, or no sign at all, he does not know.
There is so much he does not know lately.
Did she really mean nothing of what she would tell him when they were lying in bed, spent and exhausted?
The way she looked at him, was it all a lie? The way she touched him, was it all an act?
Was it really just one big deception, or was their some part of her that had been honest?
He would rather believe the latter one, but he is fooling himself again. Well. probably, how can he be sure, if he has not seen her since she brought him in.
Sometimes he thinks that he has proof that their love was mutual. After all she did stay with him for half a year, a long time only to have him arrested. She could have sedated him after their first night together, instead of staying at his side for so long, playing his girlfriend.
Of course as always, there was another viewpoint. 6 months must have been pretty fruitful in terms of gathering compromising information on his business partners and himself.
Or that had just been a pretence for the CIA, because she actually enjoyed being with him.
His mind is running in circles and whenever he tortures himself like this, he realises that it is finally getting to him. The imprisonment, being left completely alone. Instead of plotting on how to get out of this glass cage, he ponders his past, analyzing every least bit if it, to see whether she ever felt something for him. Pathetic.
But what else should he do, when all the visits he gets are a guard bringing him his food. He is not questioned anymore having revealed all he knows in his first questionings. Not caring about anything at that time he had told them everything. He thinks he might still do the same thing now. Still not healed, not over the betrayal; his wounds, although not visible to the bare eye, still wide open.
That's when he hears it, the clicking heels, the confident stride only Sydney Bristow could pull off. He stays where he is, standing in a corner of his cell, forehead leaned against the wall. He likes to stand there, no camera capturing his face, the only way to have some privacy, the only place where his face can mirror how defeated he feels inside without anyone recording it for the after world. His posture probably betrays him though, but he couldn't care less. It is not as if they couldn't guess by themselves. He is falling apart.
"Julian?"
He ignores her, seriously, she deserves nothing else.
"Julian..."
Nothing. He nearly smirks, imagining that slightly upset frown slowly creeping up into her face, but. he really isn't a man who smirks anymore.
By now she should be openly annoyed, a woman like her not used to being ignored. He used to not ignore her, he used to give her all and every possible attention, but it had not been enough apparently. Oh yes, it is hard to please Ms Bristow, indeed.
"Julian, please."
Begging now, is she? He can remember her begging for a lot of things, under very different circumstances, but he can't remember her begging for the cruel truth, deliberate hurting that she most certainly expects.
He still can't answer her, after all he has some pride, and sounding defeated and pathetic, well, he certainly does not feel like giving her that triumph.
Steadying himself, breathing in deeply, letting go of the secure support of the wall he looks up at her. Tries hard to look disdainful and superior, fails miserably.
"What."
The question nearly dies on his lips and he is not really interested anyway, after all, what could she possibly tell him. Nothing that will come out of her mouth will be what he longs to hear. He does not want a full confession; it would be enough if she told him that not all was a lie. He wouldn't mind that, it would make him feel less stupid if he knew that he had not been entirely fooled by her. But does he really want that? Another thing to add to the growing list of things he does not know.
"I."
She is at loss of words, and he sees the uncertainty flash through her eyes. It's gone so fast that a casual observer wouldn't even have realised it. He, however, is anything but a casual observer.
Sark, he thinks, would have taken that moment of weakness and would have brought her to her knees with it. But he has been all but stripped of that persona, he is only Julian now. Julian is not interested in making her suffer and she knows it. It's why she called him by his first name, he's pretty sure of that now. The realisation doesn't make him angry, nothing does lately. He just can't make himself care anymore.
"Just go away." He hears himself say quietly. He says it before he realises that it is what he really wants and needs.
No tearful confession, no explanation, no nothing will satisfy him. He is quite surprised at the sudden realisation and at himself.
He observes her, her expression goes from startled, to surprised as well and finally to guilty and deeply sad. He can't give her forgiveness, she knows it just as well as he does. It is all he has left, the last shred of control he can have, imprisoned and isolated. Forgiveness would give her peace and him closure. Whether it is sheer cruelty or a survival instinct, he adds it to his list of things unknown to him(it is probably both though), but he is not about to give up hope or that tiny bit of satisfaction it gives to Sark to see them both like this, stumbling to not fall over the edge.
****************************
If you haven't read my A/N, do it now, it's my only chance of maybe getting some positive feedback, and who doesn't want his talent, or pseudo-talent caressed ;)