A/N: Warning—anti Sydrian drabble.

This one accompanies my fics 'Letting Go' and 'The Mask I Wear' , both of which will have Adrian ending up with Viktoria Belikova after engaging in a brief, stormy relationship with Sydney Sage.

W/C: 1,575

Unproofed/Unedited


After all the business transactions that had passed between us over the years, the fact Sydney Sage thought I was so ignorant and unobservant was downright insulting. The fact she came to me for help instead of going through her organization was the first indication there was more to the tale she was dishing out than met the eye; the second problem was the story itself. For an intelligent woman, Ms. Sage hadn't put enough thought into planning out the fabrication she was trying to pass off as fact—there were holes in it, ones that were big enough to drive a truck through. I pretended to play along, strictly for entertainments sake—not to mention, I'd always enjoyed having her come to me for favors; the pained expression that crossed her face whenever I reminded her of the debts she owed me was something I found quite amusing—the pious Alchemist, forced to stoop so low that she was willing to making deals with the Devil. However, when she sat across from me, pulling out a folder that I assumed was supposed to hold all the pertinent information—then set about laying out the facts in a cold, detached way, I found my good mood fading. Her attitude was hard to stomach, though I hid my personal distaste away.

Her voice was almost… clinical as she discussed the subject in question—a dhampir infant, the product of an illicit affair between a Royal Moroi and a human girl that he had—supposedly—seduced. The first flicker of emotion crossed her face as she described how the child had been born prematurely, with health problems due to complications its mother had experienced while it was in utero; the look was fast and fleeting—one of guilt, though at the time I couldn't quite grasp onto what she could possibly have to feel guilty about. Soon enough I'd understand what it stemmed from, but at that moment I was focused on what she was saying, trying to hold my tongue, though I was dying to sarcastically point out several facts she seemed to have forgotten. Humans have no knowledge of the Alchemists existence—so one would wonder exactly how she'd become aware of the problem at hand. Any woman seeking assistance would be more likely to contact the Court—after all, if a Royal had engaged in a forbidden affair with her, she was bound to know who and what he was and have some way to reach him.

As she continued speaking, her face was an expressionless mask—and I'm sure mine was it's mirror image. The reason she needed my help was clearly laid out in no uncertain terms—the mother wanted to be free of the infant, unable to deal with the fact it wasn't human; I noticed there was a small photograph paper clipped to the inside of her folder and I immediately reached over, snagging it, not waiting for her permission. The child staring up at the camera was heartrendingly small and frail looking, but even so he was still absolutely beautiful. As I studied the small picture, I felt the first stirrings of anger burning inside my gut. The sparse patch of hair covering his tiny head was a lovely shade of blonde—but it was the eyes that captured my attention—a brilliant shade of emerald green—as well as his nose and chin. I'd seen them all before, many times, in the face of his father—and I could see his mother reflected in his lips and the very shape of his tiny face. Her deception—and past transgression—were evident in that snapshot, as was the fact she'd successfully managed to pull the wool over my eyes in the past, something that I wasn't pleased with in the slightest, for more than the obvious reasons.

Slipping the photo into my coat pocket, I stared at her across the table, all the admiration I'd ever felt for her gone. A woman who would throw away her own child didn't deserve respect—in fact as far as I was concerned, her very existence was a waste of air. I coldly demanded she hand the child over, drumming my fingers in irritation as I waited for her to return, replaying past events in my head. I thought about the frantic phone call I'd received from her—claiming a young, pregnant dhampir had run away from the keepers and needed access to a Moroi doctor; at the time I'd been so wrapped up in Court politics that I'd dispatched someone without questioning her further, trusting what she'd claimed was true—which was obviously a colossal mistake. Even more pressing I wondered how in the hell she'd managed to hide her condition from the other Alchemists and keep the child's existence a secret—had they known about the boy they would have acted without thought, locking them both away in the depths of one of their re-education centers and throwing away the key. I had questions… so many of them; they were buzzing around in my head like a swarm of angry bees… and I would find the answers, one way or another—just as soon as I took the infant to the place where he belonged.

Her return with a tiny bundle—she promptly shoved it in my arms, as if she couldn't bear to touch it for a single moment longer than she had to—pulled me out of my musings, giving me something to focus on other than my irritation… but the respite was brief. It grew into an all-out rage when I tore my gaze away from the sweet, smiling expression on the child's face to glance up at its mother; there was no hint of emotion on there—no sorrow or loss, only a look of relief that made me want to lash out and strike her. The urge was honestly so strong that I had to ball my fists in the infants blanket to keep from giving in to my anger. I whispered softly to the baby—nonsensical words in my native tongue that made it coo and giggle, ignoring the Alchemist as she returned to her folder; she pulled out a sealed envelope, setting in front of me, her voice as calm and professional as ever as she outlined what it contained. She had seen to all the necessary legal documents, signing away her child with a few flicks of her pen—though she did ask me to store the envelope away and not to open it—fearful, I suppose, of having her identity confirmed and all her sins laid bare before me. Unfortunately for her, I was much more intelligent man than she gave me credit for—and a thousand times more dangerous when angered. That was something she shouldn't have forgotten—but I would be sure to remind her.

I stood, eager to be away from her before I did something that I would regret—but I took a moment to look her in the eye, allowing my voice to fill with all of the revulsion and loathing I felt for her. "I hope this day you've learned one thing, Miss Sage—you look down on Moroi and dhampir, calling us evil and unnatural—but we're not the ones who couldn't love a child just because he was different. And remember this—if you ever change your mind and attempt to contact the child that you threw away in the future or make your abominable existence known to him in any way, shape or form… I'll slit your throat myself—without a second thought—and walk away whistling a happy tune."

I left her with that warning and didn't bother to look back; from the moment I realized the child was Adrian's I'd known what had to be done. Sydney Sage didn't deserve to experience the love of the precious bundle I held in my arms—Adrian Ivashkov did. He would accept the child and love it with every fiber of his being, no matter who or what it's mother might be. I knew he would because if I could turn back time and be given a chance to raise my daughter that's exactly what I would do. I would fall on my knees and praise the Most High for giving me another chance to be the best father I could be, vowing that she would never feel unloved for one single moment of her existence. She would be raised like a princess, never leaving my side—and I would shower her with all the love and adoration that I'd kept locked away in the deepest, darkest corner of myself for such a long, long time. You see, I know first-hand how painful it is to be kept away from your child—and I was going to make damned sure Adrian never had to experience the same aching sense of loss that I'd lived with for eighteen years. He would hear his child's first word and watch it take those first tottering steps—and the boy would grow up to be a good, kind man, raised by a father that adored him.

He deserved his child's love—the same way I had. The only difference is… he would actually get to experience all the important things that I'd been forced to miss—and I envied him that more than he would ever know.