Note to reader: Entry 19 is intimate, though hopefully in a tasteful, non-explicit way (there's a slightly more involved version I might post later under M rating, but this present version should be squarely under "T").

If you don't like reading scenes like these, you can go to the bolded text "That's when it hits me". There, you will find the meat of this scene. It's an important moment in the Syd/Weiss relationship for this story and I couldn't imagine it happening in any other context. I hope you will enjoy the stillness of this particular moment in time.

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Entry 19

I'm never going to get over this. The "kissing her."

We've been making out for half-an-hour. She must be getting tired of it by now.

Me? Nope. Very happy with the kissing, thanks.

I like many things in making love. But first and foremost, I'm a kissing man. I love to just close my eyes and let my lips, my mouth, my tongue do the exploring.

Of course, I love the taste of her. The feel of her skin under the caress of my tongue. Velvety like heavy cream. Flavorful. I love to let my lips hover along every inch of her...

Making love with Sydney is like attending the banquet of a lifetime and meandering from one delicious dish to the other. It's delicate appetizers, wholesome, eclectic entrées, unexpected and exquisite desserts, and then back for seconds. It's an unending feast that leaves me completely satisfied, yet yearning to start all over again.

There are smells involved too. I love the natural fragrance of her skin. If that pheromone theory is true, then Sydney's are my perfect match. For me, inhaling her scent is like breathing in light and happiness.

She cries her release. Her body is covered with a fine sheen of sweat and bows down to lay on mine, like a flower heavy with dew.

Me? Nothing this time around. It's inconsequential. At this very moment, all I want is for her to be entirely happy. My senses lost in the sea of signals her body is sending me, I know I've succeeded.

She undulates, out of breath, smiling, sparkling like a jewel. The petals that are her lips barely touch my skin, but it tingles all the same, and I'm aware of every tiny tremor, every word that passes them. I tense with every one of her breaths as they crash against me.

That's when it hits me. I feel how her breath bounces back off of my skin. I sense the solid resistance I offer, and I'm reminded that I am inadequate. The wrong man for the task. I'm not handsome enough, not athletic, not heroic, nowhere near what should resemble the man that is to make Sydney Bristow a fulfilled woman.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

She's worried that she's done something to upset me, I realize. Another glaring example that I am not good enough for her. She's worried because of something I did, or more exactly, did not do. I hate that I caused her to look so vulnerable and made her doubt herself when she should be glowing like she was a second ago.

I raise my hands and caress her cheeks, her hair; I do it again, and again. She closes her eyes for a moment, and I'm glad I can soothe her in this way. Whenever I cannot use my lips to explore her body, I love to touch. Normally, that means pleasure. At this moment however, the contact gives me just enough courage to go on with what I have to say.

"Syd, you're so beautiful... You're like a bright star. You look so close I can almost reach out and touch you..." I lift my hand to her face again, but stop short of stroking it. "... but I don't think I'll ever... I'm not... I don't look the part."

She's staring at me. She has that stubborn frown, the pouty lip.

When we make love, I'm unseeing. I close my eyes so I won't betray my fears. If I'm really honest with myself, I also close them so I won't see her expression and who she might be thinking about. Right now, I close them because I don't think I can deal with the definitive judgment she's about to pass on me.

But she frames my face with her hands. She forces me to look at her.

And I see her. I REALLY see her.

"You already have... I'm in love with you…" The tone sounds sincere, unwavering.

I stare back at Sydney Bristow, stunned.

The second of silence that follows her words stretches infinitely. It's like time has suspended for one perfect instant…

The next second finally comes, setting Sydney in motion, pushing her love to the foreground.

This time, I don't close my eyes.

A moment later, I see her watch me as I catch my breath, overwhelmed… Overwhelmed…

Everything blurs. But I can still distinguish her bright eyes and her hands that reach out to wipe my tears away.

When I crumble, she's there to catch me and hold me close to her heart.

My eyelids gently slip close. I don't need to look at her anymore. I've just understood everything I ever needed to.

I can finally allow myself to feel.

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Logged January 21, 2005

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Entry 24

"Status?" I ask urgently.

"Still a no-show. Incommunicado as well. Comms are down. Video is gone. Infrared is inconclusive."

"Inconclusive?"

Marshall stares up at me, not sure how to phrase what he knows, like he thinks he's not supposed to say it out loud.

Dixon won't have it, though. "What is it, Marshall?"

Marshall swivels around, his eyes bigger than flying saucers, with that "caught with his hand in the cookie jar" expression. Then he looks back at me, apologetic. "There seems to be two signals."

"What? An intruder?" I ask, ready to shake him silly.

"Uh, no… More like together. In fact, one signal is kind of… inside the other." Marshall cringes, as if he expects me to beat him up for what he just said.

I look at him, not getting it.

Not gettin'-

Oh my God...

Oh…!

"A baby…" Dixon voices for all of us.

Marshall smiles, relieved that the news is not getting him fired or beaten, or both. "Yes. A little lad… Or… a girl, 'cause that's possible too. You can't tell from the infrared…"

I find my voice again. "How is she doing? Can you tell that?"

Marshall's smile fades. "Well, that's the thing. Infrared only gives a limited amount of precise information. The main thing it records is body temperature. And Sydney's seems to be unnaturally high."

I don't even look at Dixon. "Extraction team, this is Base camp. Emergency evacuation. Move in on Mountaineer and flush to the nearest hospital."

"Copy that, Base. We're on the move. Stand by."

Minutes tick away, occasionally interrupted by the progress report from the extraction team. Progression is not easy. After all, this is Triumvirate territory and Sydney has fallen behind the line.

"Base camp, this is Saint-Bernard. We have Mountaineer. Evacuating now."

"Copy that, Saint-Bernard. Report ASAP on Mountaineer's condition."

"Check."

More minutes tick away. Enough time for me to think this through. When did it happen? Did Syd know about it before going? I'm guessing she knew and she still went in. It was clear this op might yield vital information. Being Sydney, she made one last dash. One last try at destroying the evils of the world before calling it quits.

And now, she may be laying dead, and with her, our unborn baby.

Our baby.

I can't even quite grasp that. It sounds odd. Foreign. Yet, after saying it a few times, I have a feeling it would sound very right. That's if my wife wasn't fighting for her life, for both their lives, at this very moment.

Suddenly, I can't breathe. I loosen my tie, take a seat. In a few minutes, a few seconds, I might very well lose everything I love in the world.

I'm about to panic when I feel Dixon's hand calmly squeezing my shoulder. "It's going to be ok, Eric. Sydney is a fighter. And she's got two good reasons to want to stay alive…"

I stare up, my panicky brain unable to connect the dots.

"Her baby," Dixon explains, "and you."

I look at him, thankful for this bit of rationality. We both jump a little when the comm comes alive again.

"Base camp, this is Zhivago. Mountaineer has been stabilized. Gunshot wound to the shoulder. Bullet is clear out. Some blood loss, but nothing life-threatening. We're handing her to the medics right now. She'll be sewn back together and good to go in no time. Retriever?"

I answer in a daze, feeling jerked around by so many emotions in so little time. "Yeah?"

"Congratulations."

The words take a second to reach me. I finally smile. "Thanks." I swallow hard, emotion suddenly making me sound like a crow. "I owe you one, Mark."

"And I'm gonna hold you to that, believe me. Season pass. Box seating."

I laugh, relieved to release the tension. "No problem. Mortgaging my house as we speak. I might throw in some champagne."

"And a cigar. It's a deal. We'll be in touch once Mountaineer is out of surgery. ETA to Base: tomorrow evening."

"Negative, Zhivago. I'll be the one flying out. You just make sure everyone is alright by the time I get there."

"Check… She's gonna kill me, you know."

"Better you than me. Base camp out." I chuckle.

"Out."

Not even an hour has passed since I got to the command room. In that timeframe, I almost lost everything I ever loved, only to get it back with interest. I love this job.

I hate this job.

In a few months, someone is going to call me Daddy, and it won't be for an undercover operation.

Time to reevaluate life, the universe.

Everything.

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Logged January 4, 2006