Author: Lila
Title: "Against the Wall"
Rating: R
Spoiler: None. This fic is a bit AU
'Ship: Sarkney
Disclaimer: Characters belong to ABC and JJ
Author's Note:
Please let me know what you think of this one. It's truly an experiment for me, something I've been trying to write for months, and I'm not sure what I think of the result. I'd really appreciate feedback because this story has been a struggle. That said, I hope you enjoy!
~ * ~
"It's better to have loved and lost than never loved at all." - Anonymous
~ * ~
The first time we made love she cried, tears glistening on her cheeks like diamonds in the night. I could feel her in my blood, pulsing through me with the beat of Carnival and children's laughter and a smoky night breeze. I pressed her against the rough wood of a Rio warehouse, the course grains scraping against my knuckles as the silk of her hair soothed the wound. She buried her face in my neck, a silent scream cresting against my throat while her nails grooved into my shoulders. And afterwards, as she slid down every agonizing inch of me, she never once opened her eyes.
I laced my fingers in her tangled curls and drew her face to reach mine, wetness shimmering on her cheeks in the moonlight. I pressed a soft kiss to her eyelids, her cheeks, the curve of her jaw, licking away the tears. Then I kissed her trembling mouth, tasting the salt on my tongue as it traced the arc of her lips. And those eyes finally opened.
They still shimmered with moisture, two deep pools of liquid brown locked with my own. She stepped back and put her hands on my shoulders, palm side down, hiding the tiny crescents she'd burned in my skin. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't ever do that again."
I ignored her, felt the fire dance inside as I brushed her mouth with mine again. "No."
A single tear slid down one cheek and I caught gracefully. Those eyes slid shut again. "Michael," she breathed. "God, Michael do you know what this does to me? If anything happened to you. . ." she trailed off, ran her hands over her eyes. When she opened them they were a clear, solid, warm brown. She's in agent mode again: calm, cool, rational. "Michael, you can do whatever you want to me. You can kiss every inch of my body. But my mouth. . .I can't get too attached, not until this is all settled. Do you understand? I love you too much to let you in."
"Syd--," I started, but she slid a hand down my side, her fingers tracing a pattern over my abdomen. "Sydney," I groaned, burying my fingers in her hair.
"Please, Michael," she whispered. "Please do this. . .for me?" It felt so good hearing her say my real name, so unbelievably good. I hoped she never called me Vaughn again. She crushed her breasts against my chest, her tongue slipping across the chords of my throat. "Michael," she whispered. "God, Michael, I love you so much."
I felt the wall against my knuckles again, groaned as her mouth caressed my torn skin. Groaned louder when she reached between our bodies and cupped me in one hand. "My God, Syd," I moaned against her breasts. "I love you too."
We made love twice more that night and each time she cried. And never once did she kiss me.
~ * ~
Later, I talked about it with Weiss in Mission Control. We were watching her and Sark pose as two newlyweds at a Prague nightclub. Between lines of cocaine they were supposed to lift a computer disk, but they were too busy playing man and wife to notice.
"So, how was it?" Weiss asks, his face eager for details.
I smile, grateful he'd stopped commenting on Sydney's sinfully tight dress. God, the things I wanted to do to her once I got her out of that dress. I clear my throat to bring myself back to reality. And then Weiss punches me and I remember I have a question to answer. "How do you think it was?" I say as I adjust my headset. "It was Sydney. It could have been the worst sex of my life and it still would have been unbelievable."
Weiss shakes his head sadly. "I wish I had someone to jump my bones on a post-mission high. Does she have any friends?"
"No," I say and frown as Sydney goes on radio-silence. I hate when she does that. If anything happens I have no idea and I have to hope and pray she has it together enough to get out of there.
"Fine," Weiss grumbles. "Be like that. See if I ever give you courtside Laker's tickets again."
"You don't have courtside seats." I fiddle with the headset and count the seconds as they tick by. Only 180 more and Sydney will be back on comm.
"Well, if I did I wouldn't give them to you!" And then he sticks his tongue out like the child he is.
And I can't help but laugh. And then an image of Sydney dressed as a Laker's girl pops into my head and I'm reminded of the dress she's wearing and how little of her body it covers. And then I remember Rio and the night that changed my life. "Hey, Weiss," I say. "I got a question for you."
"Yeah?" He doesn't look up from the files Sydney's transferring. "What's up?"
It takes me a moment to answer. "Do you think it's weird that Sydney won't kiss me?"
Now he looks up. "She won't kiss you? What do you mean?"
"I mean she won't let me kiss her."
"At all?"
"Just her mouth. She says it's too intimate, it matters too much. She doesn't want to get attached when so much is at stake."
Weiss shrugs his shoulders and transfers the file to headquarters. "Makes sense."
"You don't think it's at all weird?"
He closes the computer screen and turns. "Look, you know Syd. She's a little kooky sometimes, but that makes sense considering the amount of pressure she's under. Yes, it's weird that she won't kiss you, but she has a point. You could be killed just for looking at her the wrong way. We're so close to nailing SD-6 and destroying the Alliance for good. If everything goes our way and she still won't kiss you then you have a problem. But for now I say let it rest. She'll come around when she's ready."
"You think?"
"Yes, I think she'll kiss you as soon as the Alliance is no more. Now, can we talk about me for a while? I'm in desperate need of a date."
But then Sydney comes on the radio and tells me she has the disk secured. "I rigged the dummy disk and gave it to Sark," she says. "He's getting our coats now. We should be back in Los Angeles by midnight."
I glance up in surprise. "You're traveling together?"
I see her grimacing. "Gotta look young and in love, right?" I hear a rustle of fabric and watch her slip something in her cleavage. I think it's the disk; lucky bastard. "We're leaving together, but going home separately." She sighs heavily and shakes her hair over one shoulder. Sark's on his way back. I gotta go. See ya in LA."
"Good luck, Syd. See ya soon."
And then she's gone.
~ * ~
I take my time clearing up from the mission, winding chords and turning off computers. Everyone else is long gone, but I take a little comfort in closing down. It makes me still feel connected to Sydney, like I'm still helping her even though she's capable of doing it on her own. Finally, everything is done. The headsets are packed away, the computers shut down, the files carefully stored. All I have to do is turn off the TV monitors and I'm done for the night.
And then I hear it, the click of high heels against pavement and a woman's heavy breathing. I glance up and see Sydney on one of the monitors, running at full speed down a cobblestone street. She must have forgotten to remove her progress camera because I watch in horror with each bump and shake of the camera. For a moment my breath catches in my chest and my heart races, but then I hear her laughter and I sigh in relief. She's fine, she's okay, it's just a false alarm. I brace one hand against the table as my breathing slows and hear more laughter, male laughter. And then I remember Sydney is supposed to be on a plane over that Atlantic Ccean not running through Prague. She's also supposed to be alone. I slowly raise my head and look at the monitor. She's definitely not alone.
I knew I should have turned the monitor off, knew I shouldn't have watched, but I couldn't look away. It was like an accident on the highway; you know it's wrong to stare, but you do it anyway. But this. . .this is worse than any twenty-car pile up. This time it isn't nameless strangers on the freeway. This time it's my life, my woman, my heart.
I watch as Sark brushes her hair off her face, runs his knuckles down her cheek with gentle tenderness. I watch as he kisses a path down her neck, across her shoulders. I watch him catch the straps of her dress in his teeth and slide them down her body. I watch her head fall back in surrender, watch her hands explore the contours of his body, hear her moan as her dress pools at her feet. I watch his arms slide around her body, watch him back her against a wall, watch her legs wrap around his hips and her hands fumble with his zipper. . .and then I can't watch anymore.
~ * ~
It's good there are empty trash cans in the Ops Center or Kendall might have kicked my ass the next day. When I finally pull my head out of the basket, my face covered in a film of sweat, I peak another glance at the monitor and wish I hadn't.
Sydney's still caught between Sark and the wall, her dress tangled around her hips. Her head rests against the cool stones and his face is buried in her neck. Neither of them speak and for that I'm grateful. The last thing I need to hear is how good it was. When she finally lifts her head, her cheeks are smooth in the moonlight and devoid of tears. Her mouth is bruised, the lipstick smeared, and there's a light in her eyes I don't recognize.
"Alex," she whispers and Sark raises his head. "That was beautiful." He smiles and moves his hips. I watch her eyes widen a bit and hear her breath hiss through her teeth. "You're going to kill me, you know that?"
He repeats the maneuver. "Isn't that the plan?"
And then something breaks inside her; I can see it in her face. And a single tear slips down her cheek. "Don't say that, Alex. I'm so scared, so fucking scared. If anything were to happen to you. . .promise me you'll be safe. Promise me you won't leave me."
He cups her face in his hands. "Nothing is going to happen to me, Sydney. You know that."
She grips his wrists, looks up at him with anguished eyes. "Promise me, Alex. Please? I love you too much to lose you."
I never hear his response because the sound of my heart slamming against my ribs blocks it out. I don't hear anything again for a long time because the next thing I see is Sark's mouth slanting over Sydney's again and again, his tongue dancing with hers. Her eyes are closed, her hands tangled in his hair, her mouth pressed firmly against his. And for the first time all night I feel the prick of tears against the back of my eyes. I'm grateful for the chair behind me because my legs suddenly can't support my weight.
I watch as Sydney pulls away and rests her forehead against his. "Do you know the last time I was kissed?" He shakes his head no. "The night Danny died. I haven't let another man kiss me since. I never could because I was too afraid of letting someone in--until you came along. But you get me, you know me." She reaches down and grasps his gun, traces the line of his jaw with the cold trigger, slides a finger down the length of the barrel. "We're alike, you and I. We're not good people, Alex. Not like Vaughn, or my father, or the whole damn CIA. You know my pain, the darkness in my heart. You're the only man I trust enough to let inside." And then he's kissing her again and I finally work up the nerve to turn off the monitor.
~ * ~
I don't know how long I sat in that chair in the darkness of the Ops Center. I don't know how long it took me to realize all my dreams came crashing down in a Prague alleyway. All I know is Sydney Bristow isn't who I thought she was. I don't understand the woman she is, the guilt and pain she carries; I probably never will. But Sark does, he understands every nook and crevice of her tortured mind. Sark, our enemy, agent of Sloane--and the love of Sydney's life. Who knows if she's taken his side, schemed against the CIA in the spy games we play. I know I should report her to Kendall, or even better, let her father talk some sense into her. Or at the least investigate her on my own, rat her out for the traitor she might be. Mock her similarities to her mother, laugh as she paces in a glass cage. . .smirk in satisfaction when Sark swings. But I can't.
I jerk out of the chair and rub my hands across my face. This situation sucks, it hurts so much I can feel it burning through me like a fire spreading through my chest. I know I should turn her it, but I still can't, even if I want to, because every time I plot my revenge I think back to Rio and an abandoned warehouse and her breathless words, "I love you, Michael. God, Michael, I love you so much." And I can't turn her in, because I love her so much too.
I step backwards and feel the hard plaster of the wall against my back. It's so ironic I laugh harshly, the noise echoing through the empty building, because that's what I am, stuck with my back against the wall. My head says I should make Sydney pay for her betrayal, but my heart won't let anything happen to her. I hate what she's done, but I can't hate her because I know she loves me too. Maybe not in the same way she loves Sark, but love is love. I couldn't turn her in if my life depended on it. But I also can't be in the Ops Center any longer either.
I drive home with my windows down and the cool night breeze whipping across my face. Tomorrow I'll have to face Sydney, pretend nothing happened, that I didn't see her kiss Sark in a Czech alley. I wish things could be different, but I know myself. They're not going to change. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place and it hurts, stings like no pain I've ever felt before, but it's better than not being stuck at all.
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!
Title: "Against the Wall"
Rating: R
Spoiler: None. This fic is a bit AU
'Ship: Sarkney
Disclaimer: Characters belong to ABC and JJ
Author's Note:
Please let me know what you think of this one. It's truly an experiment for me, something I've been trying to write for months, and I'm not sure what I think of the result. I'd really appreciate feedback because this story has been a struggle. That said, I hope you enjoy!
~ * ~
"It's better to have loved and lost than never loved at all." - Anonymous
~ * ~
The first time we made love she cried, tears glistening on her cheeks like diamonds in the night. I could feel her in my blood, pulsing through me with the beat of Carnival and children's laughter and a smoky night breeze. I pressed her against the rough wood of a Rio warehouse, the course grains scraping against my knuckles as the silk of her hair soothed the wound. She buried her face in my neck, a silent scream cresting against my throat while her nails grooved into my shoulders. And afterwards, as she slid down every agonizing inch of me, she never once opened her eyes.
I laced my fingers in her tangled curls and drew her face to reach mine, wetness shimmering on her cheeks in the moonlight. I pressed a soft kiss to her eyelids, her cheeks, the curve of her jaw, licking away the tears. Then I kissed her trembling mouth, tasting the salt on my tongue as it traced the arc of her lips. And those eyes finally opened.
They still shimmered with moisture, two deep pools of liquid brown locked with my own. She stepped back and put her hands on my shoulders, palm side down, hiding the tiny crescents she'd burned in my skin. "Don't," she whispered. "Don't ever do that again."
I ignored her, felt the fire dance inside as I brushed her mouth with mine again. "No."
A single tear slid down one cheek and I caught gracefully. Those eyes slid shut again. "Michael," she breathed. "God, Michael do you know what this does to me? If anything happened to you. . ." she trailed off, ran her hands over her eyes. When she opened them they were a clear, solid, warm brown. She's in agent mode again: calm, cool, rational. "Michael, you can do whatever you want to me. You can kiss every inch of my body. But my mouth. . .I can't get too attached, not until this is all settled. Do you understand? I love you too much to let you in."
"Syd--," I started, but she slid a hand down my side, her fingers tracing a pattern over my abdomen. "Sydney," I groaned, burying my fingers in her hair.
"Please, Michael," she whispered. "Please do this. . .for me?" It felt so good hearing her say my real name, so unbelievably good. I hoped she never called me Vaughn again. She crushed her breasts against my chest, her tongue slipping across the chords of my throat. "Michael," she whispered. "God, Michael, I love you so much."
I felt the wall against my knuckles again, groaned as her mouth caressed my torn skin. Groaned louder when she reached between our bodies and cupped me in one hand. "My God, Syd," I moaned against her breasts. "I love you too."
We made love twice more that night and each time she cried. And never once did she kiss me.
~ * ~
Later, I talked about it with Weiss in Mission Control. We were watching her and Sark pose as two newlyweds at a Prague nightclub. Between lines of cocaine they were supposed to lift a computer disk, but they were too busy playing man and wife to notice.
"So, how was it?" Weiss asks, his face eager for details.
I smile, grateful he'd stopped commenting on Sydney's sinfully tight dress. God, the things I wanted to do to her once I got her out of that dress. I clear my throat to bring myself back to reality. And then Weiss punches me and I remember I have a question to answer. "How do you think it was?" I say as I adjust my headset. "It was Sydney. It could have been the worst sex of my life and it still would have been unbelievable."
Weiss shakes his head sadly. "I wish I had someone to jump my bones on a post-mission high. Does she have any friends?"
"No," I say and frown as Sydney goes on radio-silence. I hate when she does that. If anything happens I have no idea and I have to hope and pray she has it together enough to get out of there.
"Fine," Weiss grumbles. "Be like that. See if I ever give you courtside Laker's tickets again."
"You don't have courtside seats." I fiddle with the headset and count the seconds as they tick by. Only 180 more and Sydney will be back on comm.
"Well, if I did I wouldn't give them to you!" And then he sticks his tongue out like the child he is.
And I can't help but laugh. And then an image of Sydney dressed as a Laker's girl pops into my head and I'm reminded of the dress she's wearing and how little of her body it covers. And then I remember Rio and the night that changed my life. "Hey, Weiss," I say. "I got a question for you."
"Yeah?" He doesn't look up from the files Sydney's transferring. "What's up?"
It takes me a moment to answer. "Do you think it's weird that Sydney won't kiss me?"
Now he looks up. "She won't kiss you? What do you mean?"
"I mean she won't let me kiss her."
"At all?"
"Just her mouth. She says it's too intimate, it matters too much. She doesn't want to get attached when so much is at stake."
Weiss shrugs his shoulders and transfers the file to headquarters. "Makes sense."
"You don't think it's at all weird?"
He closes the computer screen and turns. "Look, you know Syd. She's a little kooky sometimes, but that makes sense considering the amount of pressure she's under. Yes, it's weird that she won't kiss you, but she has a point. You could be killed just for looking at her the wrong way. We're so close to nailing SD-6 and destroying the Alliance for good. If everything goes our way and she still won't kiss you then you have a problem. But for now I say let it rest. She'll come around when she's ready."
"You think?"
"Yes, I think she'll kiss you as soon as the Alliance is no more. Now, can we talk about me for a while? I'm in desperate need of a date."
But then Sydney comes on the radio and tells me she has the disk secured. "I rigged the dummy disk and gave it to Sark," she says. "He's getting our coats now. We should be back in Los Angeles by midnight."
I glance up in surprise. "You're traveling together?"
I see her grimacing. "Gotta look young and in love, right?" I hear a rustle of fabric and watch her slip something in her cleavage. I think it's the disk; lucky bastard. "We're leaving together, but going home separately." She sighs heavily and shakes her hair over one shoulder. Sark's on his way back. I gotta go. See ya in LA."
"Good luck, Syd. See ya soon."
And then she's gone.
~ * ~
I take my time clearing up from the mission, winding chords and turning off computers. Everyone else is long gone, but I take a little comfort in closing down. It makes me still feel connected to Sydney, like I'm still helping her even though she's capable of doing it on her own. Finally, everything is done. The headsets are packed away, the computers shut down, the files carefully stored. All I have to do is turn off the TV monitors and I'm done for the night.
And then I hear it, the click of high heels against pavement and a woman's heavy breathing. I glance up and see Sydney on one of the monitors, running at full speed down a cobblestone street. She must have forgotten to remove her progress camera because I watch in horror with each bump and shake of the camera. For a moment my breath catches in my chest and my heart races, but then I hear her laughter and I sigh in relief. She's fine, she's okay, it's just a false alarm. I brace one hand against the table as my breathing slows and hear more laughter, male laughter. And then I remember Sydney is supposed to be on a plane over that Atlantic Ccean not running through Prague. She's also supposed to be alone. I slowly raise my head and look at the monitor. She's definitely not alone.
I knew I should have turned the monitor off, knew I shouldn't have watched, but I couldn't look away. It was like an accident on the highway; you know it's wrong to stare, but you do it anyway. But this. . .this is worse than any twenty-car pile up. This time it isn't nameless strangers on the freeway. This time it's my life, my woman, my heart.
I watch as Sark brushes her hair off her face, runs his knuckles down her cheek with gentle tenderness. I watch as he kisses a path down her neck, across her shoulders. I watch him catch the straps of her dress in his teeth and slide them down her body. I watch her head fall back in surrender, watch her hands explore the contours of his body, hear her moan as her dress pools at her feet. I watch his arms slide around her body, watch him back her against a wall, watch her legs wrap around his hips and her hands fumble with his zipper. . .and then I can't watch anymore.
~ * ~
It's good there are empty trash cans in the Ops Center or Kendall might have kicked my ass the next day. When I finally pull my head out of the basket, my face covered in a film of sweat, I peak another glance at the monitor and wish I hadn't.
Sydney's still caught between Sark and the wall, her dress tangled around her hips. Her head rests against the cool stones and his face is buried in her neck. Neither of them speak and for that I'm grateful. The last thing I need to hear is how good it was. When she finally lifts her head, her cheeks are smooth in the moonlight and devoid of tears. Her mouth is bruised, the lipstick smeared, and there's a light in her eyes I don't recognize.
"Alex," she whispers and Sark raises his head. "That was beautiful." He smiles and moves his hips. I watch her eyes widen a bit and hear her breath hiss through her teeth. "You're going to kill me, you know that?"
He repeats the maneuver. "Isn't that the plan?"
And then something breaks inside her; I can see it in her face. And a single tear slips down her cheek. "Don't say that, Alex. I'm so scared, so fucking scared. If anything were to happen to you. . .promise me you'll be safe. Promise me you won't leave me."
He cups her face in his hands. "Nothing is going to happen to me, Sydney. You know that."
She grips his wrists, looks up at him with anguished eyes. "Promise me, Alex. Please? I love you too much to lose you."
I never hear his response because the sound of my heart slamming against my ribs blocks it out. I don't hear anything again for a long time because the next thing I see is Sark's mouth slanting over Sydney's again and again, his tongue dancing with hers. Her eyes are closed, her hands tangled in his hair, her mouth pressed firmly against his. And for the first time all night I feel the prick of tears against the back of my eyes. I'm grateful for the chair behind me because my legs suddenly can't support my weight.
I watch as Sydney pulls away and rests her forehead against his. "Do you know the last time I was kissed?" He shakes his head no. "The night Danny died. I haven't let another man kiss me since. I never could because I was too afraid of letting someone in--until you came along. But you get me, you know me." She reaches down and grasps his gun, traces the line of his jaw with the cold trigger, slides a finger down the length of the barrel. "We're alike, you and I. We're not good people, Alex. Not like Vaughn, or my father, or the whole damn CIA. You know my pain, the darkness in my heart. You're the only man I trust enough to let inside." And then he's kissing her again and I finally work up the nerve to turn off the monitor.
~ * ~
I don't know how long I sat in that chair in the darkness of the Ops Center. I don't know how long it took me to realize all my dreams came crashing down in a Prague alleyway. All I know is Sydney Bristow isn't who I thought she was. I don't understand the woman she is, the guilt and pain she carries; I probably never will. But Sark does, he understands every nook and crevice of her tortured mind. Sark, our enemy, agent of Sloane--and the love of Sydney's life. Who knows if she's taken his side, schemed against the CIA in the spy games we play. I know I should report her to Kendall, or even better, let her father talk some sense into her. Or at the least investigate her on my own, rat her out for the traitor she might be. Mock her similarities to her mother, laugh as she paces in a glass cage. . .smirk in satisfaction when Sark swings. But I can't.
I jerk out of the chair and rub my hands across my face. This situation sucks, it hurts so much I can feel it burning through me like a fire spreading through my chest. I know I should turn her it, but I still can't, even if I want to, because every time I plot my revenge I think back to Rio and an abandoned warehouse and her breathless words, "I love you, Michael. God, Michael, I love you so much." And I can't turn her in, because I love her so much too.
I step backwards and feel the hard plaster of the wall against my back. It's so ironic I laugh harshly, the noise echoing through the empty building, because that's what I am, stuck with my back against the wall. My head says I should make Sydney pay for her betrayal, but my heart won't let anything happen to her. I hate what she's done, but I can't hate her because I know she loves me too. Maybe not in the same way she loves Sark, but love is love. I couldn't turn her in if my life depended on it. But I also can't be in the Ops Center any longer either.
I drive home with my windows down and the cool night breeze whipping across my face. Tomorrow I'll have to face Sydney, pretend nothing happened, that I didn't see her kiss Sark in a Czech alley. I wish things could be different, but I know myself. They're not going to change. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place and it hurts, stings like no pain I've ever felt before, but it's better than not being stuck at all.
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!