Consequences



Sydney awoke to the sound of someone knocking on the door. She stretched a bit and flipped over to look at the clock on the bedside table.

A quarter til five.

she muttered. She leapt out of bed and flew to the door, then immediately regretted it because her head was suddenly spinning. With a palm on her forehead, she opened the door.

You're not ready, Sark observed.

I'm sorry, I forgot to set—nevermind—let me get dressed, she mumbled and closed the door softly.

Sark leaned against the wall, waiting for Sydney to emerge from the room. A couple of minutes later, she did, wearing tight jeans and an even tighter top as well as a coat that she kept unbuttoned. Her hair was tousled as she didn't bother brushing it.

You look like hell, Sark told her as they made their way to the elevator.

Gee, thanks, Sydney muttered, rolling her eyes.

I aim to please, Sark said dryly.

Sydney sighed as she stepped into the elevator. How was your night?

Sark narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. It was a tad dull, but otherwise fine—and you?

Sydney shrugged and avoided his gaze.

Sark commented. He crossed his arms over his chest—his suitcase sitting at his feet—and looked thoughtful. What did you do?

Besides a French guy? Oh, nothing. Just—chilled. She smiled at him and trying to ignore the churning in her stomach.

Sark murmured with a nod. Let's just cut to the chase, here, Ms. Bristow.

Sydney shivered. She was hoping their conversation the day before about names would have convinced him to use her first name. Well, if he wants to play that game... What are you talking about, Sark?

Likewise, Sark bristled, but he got over his annoyance quickly. I came by your room last night. He shrugged a bit. I figured you may have been—bored—and wanted to—perhaps—talk.

Uh huh, Sydney drawled, urging him to get to the point.

I overheard you just before I was about to knock, Sark said with a smirk.

Great, that's just great. He knows I fucked some guy. She stiffened. What's your point, Sark?

Well, for one, I— He paused. Should he tell her the reason why he came to her room? He decided it wasn't a good idea. She'd probably just accuse him of being a wimp for not telling her sooner. He shook his head. Nevermind, I just didn't think you were the type to—do something like that, that's all. He gazed at the elevator wall.

Sydney scoffed. What, you don't think women have needs now and then?

Sark looked into her eyes. No, I'm saying you just didn't strike me as that type of person.

Well, to be honest, I'm not.

Then why did you do it? Sark questioned.

Why do you even care? Sydney snapped.

I don't, Sark said quickly. It's just that if you say you're not that kind of person, then why would you go and do something of that nature?

Sydney sighed heavily and shook her head a bit. You want the truth?

If you're willing to tell me.

I had a little too much to drink. I ordered a bottle of champagne and drank the whole thing while watching the people out in the rain from my room. She looked down at her feet to avoid Sark's eyes. I needed something.



Sydney replied firmly, glancing back up to stare into Sark's eyes.

Sark raised an eyebrow at her and she immediately looked down. What then?

A tear stung Sydney's eye. Just—anything. I felt this—I don't know—pain inside me and I needed something to make it go away.

The elevator doors opened on the floor of the lobby.

And did it? Sark asked, already knowing the answer.




They said nothing when they checked out of the hotel, nothing on the cab ride to the airport, and nothing on the plane ride home. Sydney sat in a seat a few rows behind Sark and stared out the window, trying to figure out how she was going to fix what needed to be fixed. She wanted badly to fall into Sark's arms and tell him how much she loved him, needed him, wanted to be with him and that the one night stand only happened because she thought he didn't feel the same way. She would also tell him that she planned to say something before those at the front desk called to announce they were giving them a second room.

But she knew it wouldn't be that easy. Sark would say that she shouldn't have made such a brash decision even though she was feeling absolutely unwanted. Silent tears rained down on her cheeks and she didn't bother to wipe them away. She deserved them after what she had done.

Sark sat in his seat staring out the window as well. He still couldn't figure out why Sydney had gotten drunk and fucked some guy just because she was feeling down. But, in a way, he understood: he should have told her how he felt before she had the chance to do anything.

He thought back to their conversation in the hotel room. She had wanted to say something to him but the phone had rang. After he told her the news of the second room, she seemed absolutely crushed and also didn't want to say what she wanted before the phone call.

Had she wanted to tell him she had feelings for him?

He couldn't be sure, but even if she did, it would be her duty to repair what she had broken, not his. She was the one who had given up—even if it was only for one night—she had given up. He wasn't going to chase after her and have his heart broken. If she truly felt something for him, she would tell him.

Wouldn't she?


Author's Note: I haven't gotten nearly as many reviews as I hoped I would get for a story that I (as well as many others) consider to be better than Evasion' which got reviews up the wazoo. It would be really nice of you people (especially if there are people reading this who despise reviewing) to leave even an itty bitty short review. That little lavender button down there on the left is calling to you...DON'T DENY THE BUTTON;x Oh, and does anyone think there should be a petition for better stats? Stupid FF.net wants us to pay to have a form of a hit counter for readers of our stories. That's a load of crap. Anyways, I'm done...now, about that little lavender button...;x