A.N: I never planned on adding to this fic. But insomnia, boredom, and
reviews have persuaded me otherwise.
Disclaimer: If I said it WAS mine..would anyone even believe me?
It was a really awful day outside. Rainy and overcast. But that's ok, it suited me, and it suited what I was doing. Once a year for the past five years, I've sat in this same spot, in front of his weathered tombstone. I once again indulge in this depressing ritual. Depressing, yes, and meaningful I guess.
It shouldn't have been him. No, he was an innocent, an outsider. Whatever compelled him to follow me that day, that mission, it led to his demise. And mine. God, he was such a fool. He was so stupid. All he could ever think of was protecting me, and I didn't even need him to. He never really understood what he was doing. He never had to live each day fearing he'd come home to another dead body in a bathtub. He never understood that he should have been afraid. It shouldn't have been him, it should have been me.
I loved him so much. I loved him so much..but a little bit everyday, he was killing me. Suffocating me, keeping me in the dark about things I had a right to know about. He wasen't letting me live.
I even went to he and Alice's wedding. I stayed long enough to give her a hug and drop off a brightly wrapped expresso machine. The card said, 'To a long and happy life together.-Rita.' He gave me that look as I walked to the exit. You know, that look. The one where he's about to break down and cry, 'I want to be with you, I don't want this, this isn't right.' I just turned and walked away. I think Alice saw that expression in his eyes. She left him 18 months later.
Slowly, I rise from my kneeling position, shrug my jacket tighter onto my shoulders and walk back to the car. The car with Sark in it. Andrew Sark. The day he told me his real name was the day I realized I loved him. I've never told him that, I don't need to. He loves me so much. More than he loves himself, that's saying quite a bit. For as long as he can remember, he's all that he's had.
In the middle of the night, when we're both tired of pretending to sleep, he asks why I don't say it. Say I love him. I tell him it's because he wont let me call him Andrew. And he replies that he isn't Andrew anymore. It's the same each time, the same dance. I wonder if he knows the actual reason why. The actual reason I don't say it.
I feel guilty. I feel guilty for being with him. He tortured my friend. He's slaughtered men without flinching. He played a part in the death of my father. Of my mother.
And I love him more than Vaughn.
Sark let's me live. He let's me live and he's all I've got left.
I get in the car and turn the heat up some more as he backs out of the cemetery. He wont say anything to me, I don't want him to. This is my tradition, not his.
"Sark?"
"Yes, love."
"Let's go somewhere."
"Where?"
"Someplace else."
"For how long, Sydney."
"Until you let me call you Andrew."
He turns and looks at me. He doesn't smile, but his eyes get a tiny bit wider.
"Okay."
We don't go home to pack, we just start driving. I don't know where we're going. But someday we'll get there. He and I both.
A.N: Whenever I think of the future for all the characters, I see Syd and Sark together. Jack, Irina, and Vaughn dead. Will still being broody and all together pretty annoying and unentertaining and Francie still oblivious to everything that goes on around her. I just don't know HOW they all get there. Sorry, writing stories with PLOTS is not my strong suit. I'll keep doing these little introspections. Review please.
Disclaimer: If I said it WAS mine..would anyone even believe me?
It was a really awful day outside. Rainy and overcast. But that's ok, it suited me, and it suited what I was doing. Once a year for the past five years, I've sat in this same spot, in front of his weathered tombstone. I once again indulge in this depressing ritual. Depressing, yes, and meaningful I guess.
It shouldn't have been him. No, he was an innocent, an outsider. Whatever compelled him to follow me that day, that mission, it led to his demise. And mine. God, he was such a fool. He was so stupid. All he could ever think of was protecting me, and I didn't even need him to. He never really understood what he was doing. He never had to live each day fearing he'd come home to another dead body in a bathtub. He never understood that he should have been afraid. It shouldn't have been him, it should have been me.
I loved him so much. I loved him so much..but a little bit everyday, he was killing me. Suffocating me, keeping me in the dark about things I had a right to know about. He wasen't letting me live.
I even went to he and Alice's wedding. I stayed long enough to give her a hug and drop off a brightly wrapped expresso machine. The card said, 'To a long and happy life together.-Rita.' He gave me that look as I walked to the exit. You know, that look. The one where he's about to break down and cry, 'I want to be with you, I don't want this, this isn't right.' I just turned and walked away. I think Alice saw that expression in his eyes. She left him 18 months later.
Slowly, I rise from my kneeling position, shrug my jacket tighter onto my shoulders and walk back to the car. The car with Sark in it. Andrew Sark. The day he told me his real name was the day I realized I loved him. I've never told him that, I don't need to. He loves me so much. More than he loves himself, that's saying quite a bit. For as long as he can remember, he's all that he's had.
In the middle of the night, when we're both tired of pretending to sleep, he asks why I don't say it. Say I love him. I tell him it's because he wont let me call him Andrew. And he replies that he isn't Andrew anymore. It's the same each time, the same dance. I wonder if he knows the actual reason why. The actual reason I don't say it.
I feel guilty. I feel guilty for being with him. He tortured my friend. He's slaughtered men without flinching. He played a part in the death of my father. Of my mother.
And I love him more than Vaughn.
Sark let's me live. He let's me live and he's all I've got left.
I get in the car and turn the heat up some more as he backs out of the cemetery. He wont say anything to me, I don't want him to. This is my tradition, not his.
"Sark?"
"Yes, love."
"Let's go somewhere."
"Where?"
"Someplace else."
"For how long, Sydney."
"Until you let me call you Andrew."
He turns and looks at me. He doesn't smile, but his eyes get a tiny bit wider.
"Okay."
We don't go home to pack, we just start driving. I don't know where we're going. But someday we'll get there. He and I both.
A.N: Whenever I think of the future for all the characters, I see Syd and Sark together. Jack, Irina, and Vaughn dead. Will still being broody and all together pretty annoying and unentertaining and Francie still oblivious to everything that goes on around her. I just don't know HOW they all get there. Sorry, writing stories with PLOTS is not my strong suit. I'll keep doing these little introspections. Review please.