Chapter Nine---Hope
He was so surprised there was no room for thought, only for reacting to her mouth on his, warm and full, just the way he remembered it, as it slowly burned through him. The kiss was hard and crushing, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip; nothing like the sweet innocence of their first kiss, but it still has the same bittersweet tang of longing, like the taste of teardrops and chocolate. He pulled back once to remind himself to be gentle, trailing kisses from one corner of her mouth to the other, his hand working through her hair in painful tugs, hers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. She reminded him of better times, and he felt whole, two pieces of the puzzle crashing--none too gently--together again.
Abruptly she was gone, ripping away from him, taking the one stumbling step backward that the limited space allowed for, and she stood for a second looking up at him with a familiar emotion in her eyes, one that after all these years he still hadn't learned to read.
"What did you do that for?" He used the only words he could still form, wanting only one answer.
She leaned in close so her lips nearly touched his ear, so he could still feel the heat in them. "They're in the vault--didn't you hear them? I needed you to shut up."
He lowered his voice to match hers, a sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach, "Then why didn't you just put a hand over my mouth or give me a sign to be quiet?" Then why did you kiss me like that? But he doesn't speak the last part out loud.
"Would you have stopped? You never did take a hint when you really wanted to say something."
He didn't respond, knowing what she said to be the truth; he was always so determined to be heard that he sometimes ignored the warnings. Like the time he had wanted so urgently to explain himself after he had been sick, to explain Alice to her, but it hadn't been information she could handle at that moment. Would he ever learn?
Inside him, something curled in on itself, shrinking in size, he thought its name was Hope, but he couldn't be sure anymore.
She was respectful enough to give him a few minutes of time to think, and he outwardly turned his focus away from her, rubbing his hands against the sides of his pants as if he could rid himself of the texture of her. No matter what he promised her that morning, love's not as easy as they tell you, and there's no universal law that says when you love someone they have to love you back.
Her mind was working too as he wrapped himself in apathy, her eyes slowly trailing down to the manuscript she still clasped in one hand. She was gentle as she opened the red cover, but there was a certain type of significance underlying her movements, drawing his eyes along with hers. There, the first page revealed a sign that was well known to both of them. "Rambaldi," she verbalized needlessly. "I thought that was over."
"Obviously not." He heard the resentment in his own voice, but refused to wince, knowing it was only a cover for the pain eating away at him.
She bit her lip over whatever she was going to say next and looked down. "The ventilation system," she interposed, her eyes still on her feet. "We can get out through the ventilation system." She grabbed his hand, but there was nothing intimate about the way she held his fingers in a firm grasp, leading him out into the open, slowly as she searched for the guards she knew were there.
"Wait," he commanded, digging his heels in, bringing their painfully sluggish process to a standstill. "We have to go back for the computer."
"We can't--"
"My fingerprints are on it...they could trace it to us."
"They won't--"
"Sydney, just because for once you're not the one in trouble, doesn't mean we can ignore it."
She turned on her heel, heading back to the door, dragging him along behind her as she weaved between the rows without a word. She pulled up when they could see the shattered parts on the floor just outside of the shadow of the shelf they were behind, and relinquished his hand in the equivalent of a shove in the right direction. She turned her back on him, arms crossed across her chest, feet apart, assuming a defensive stance as she scrutinized the interior of the vault. He collapsed to his knees, sliding them across the slick floor as his hands crawled along the surface, searching out the tiniest of the slivers, anything that could be used against them.
The hand lowered on his shoulder in an overpowering hold before the chilly metal of the gun drove into his temple. One of the larger chunks he had just scooped up clattered to the floor almost soundlessly, but it was still enough to alert Sydney, swinging around with her weapon already drawn, eyes locking with the bulk above his left ear.
"Drop it," a gruff voice ordered, and he begged Sydney silently not to listen. "Drop the gun, or he dies. Now."
The gun plummeted straight down, where it lay at her feet, still within reach. Sydney could still pick it up and fire it in time.
"Kick it over here." The barrel of the gun dug harder against his skull as his captor switched his grip on the trigger.
The gun spun in dizzying circles towards him, shedding rainbows as the light refracted crazily off the polished exterior. Damn it, Sydney never gave in so easily.
On some unseen signal, another man that he hadn't known was there, hunched into the corner of his vision to retrieve the gun, and two more appeared to take Sydney by the arms. Instinctively he fought against the restraint on him as their foul hands touched Sydney--his Sydney--but he only earned himself a disorienting blow to the head as he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. The position of gun changed again, this time shoved into the small of his back where it was hidden from public view as they were marched through the vault door.
"The manuscript?" the first man prompted, and the second rushed to pluck it from Sydney's limp hands, tucking it triumphantly away. "Good." He paused before they plunged back into the chaos of the museum, his eyes taking in the condition of their group. "We have been instructed by our employer to provide...transport...for the two of you. Now, we will have to walk through the crowd to get the parking lot, and I expect you to act normally--laughing, talking, so on--because if we are caught, you will be turned over to the guards."
His captor took the first pace and the rest of them flowed around him, the man who had taken the manuscript beginning to spin some tale for the them, everyone laughing at the appropriate times, Sydney even smiling up at one of her retainers. They seemed to pass invisible among the people, the tourists too happily engaged and the employees too preoccupied to look their way, but in those moments when he did catch someone's eye time slowed down, hoping that they were discovered, praying that they weren't.
There were three cars waiting for them, all dark and sleek with tinted windows that you could neither see in or out of, arranged in a semi-circle. Sydney and he were directed to the back seat of the longest one, the door shutting with the distinctive sound of a lock driving home. Sydney reacted by clawing at the cracks, testing a foot against the windows, but the glass was too thick to break. He stared straight ahead at the partition between the front and back seats as he felt the driver climb in, the engine starting up. She eventually fell back against the black leather, all her options exhausted, resting close to him, knee to knee, soul to soul.
Her defeated gesture confirmed his fears: they were trapped.
He was so surprised there was no room for thought, only for reacting to her mouth on his, warm and full, just the way he remembered it, as it slowly burned through him. The kiss was hard and crushing, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip; nothing like the sweet innocence of their first kiss, but it still has the same bittersweet tang of longing, like the taste of teardrops and chocolate. He pulled back once to remind himself to be gentle, trailing kisses from one corner of her mouth to the other, his hand working through her hair in painful tugs, hers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. She reminded him of better times, and he felt whole, two pieces of the puzzle crashing--none too gently--together again.
Abruptly she was gone, ripping away from him, taking the one stumbling step backward that the limited space allowed for, and she stood for a second looking up at him with a familiar emotion in her eyes, one that after all these years he still hadn't learned to read.
"What did you do that for?" He used the only words he could still form, wanting only one answer.
She leaned in close so her lips nearly touched his ear, so he could still feel the heat in them. "They're in the vault--didn't you hear them? I needed you to shut up."
He lowered his voice to match hers, a sinking feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach, "Then why didn't you just put a hand over my mouth or give me a sign to be quiet?" Then why did you kiss me like that? But he doesn't speak the last part out loud.
"Would you have stopped? You never did take a hint when you really wanted to say something."
He didn't respond, knowing what she said to be the truth; he was always so determined to be heard that he sometimes ignored the warnings. Like the time he had wanted so urgently to explain himself after he had been sick, to explain Alice to her, but it hadn't been information she could handle at that moment. Would he ever learn?
Inside him, something curled in on itself, shrinking in size, he thought its name was Hope, but he couldn't be sure anymore.
She was respectful enough to give him a few minutes of time to think, and he outwardly turned his focus away from her, rubbing his hands against the sides of his pants as if he could rid himself of the texture of her. No matter what he promised her that morning, love's not as easy as they tell you, and there's no universal law that says when you love someone they have to love you back.
Her mind was working too as he wrapped himself in apathy, her eyes slowly trailing down to the manuscript she still clasped in one hand. She was gentle as she opened the red cover, but there was a certain type of significance underlying her movements, drawing his eyes along with hers. There, the first page revealed a sign that was well known to both of them. "Rambaldi," she verbalized needlessly. "I thought that was over."
"Obviously not." He heard the resentment in his own voice, but refused to wince, knowing it was only a cover for the pain eating away at him.
She bit her lip over whatever she was going to say next and looked down. "The ventilation system," she interposed, her eyes still on her feet. "We can get out through the ventilation system." She grabbed his hand, but there was nothing intimate about the way she held his fingers in a firm grasp, leading him out into the open, slowly as she searched for the guards she knew were there.
"Wait," he commanded, digging his heels in, bringing their painfully sluggish process to a standstill. "We have to go back for the computer."
"We can't--"
"My fingerprints are on it...they could trace it to us."
"They won't--"
"Sydney, just because for once you're not the one in trouble, doesn't mean we can ignore it."
She turned on her heel, heading back to the door, dragging him along behind her as she weaved between the rows without a word. She pulled up when they could see the shattered parts on the floor just outside of the shadow of the shelf they were behind, and relinquished his hand in the equivalent of a shove in the right direction. She turned her back on him, arms crossed across her chest, feet apart, assuming a defensive stance as she scrutinized the interior of the vault. He collapsed to his knees, sliding them across the slick floor as his hands crawled along the surface, searching out the tiniest of the slivers, anything that could be used against them.
The hand lowered on his shoulder in an overpowering hold before the chilly metal of the gun drove into his temple. One of the larger chunks he had just scooped up clattered to the floor almost soundlessly, but it was still enough to alert Sydney, swinging around with her weapon already drawn, eyes locking with the bulk above his left ear.
"Drop it," a gruff voice ordered, and he begged Sydney silently not to listen. "Drop the gun, or he dies. Now."
The gun plummeted straight down, where it lay at her feet, still within reach. Sydney could still pick it up and fire it in time.
"Kick it over here." The barrel of the gun dug harder against his skull as his captor switched his grip on the trigger.
The gun spun in dizzying circles towards him, shedding rainbows as the light refracted crazily off the polished exterior. Damn it, Sydney never gave in so easily.
On some unseen signal, another man that he hadn't known was there, hunched into the corner of his vision to retrieve the gun, and two more appeared to take Sydney by the arms. Instinctively he fought against the restraint on him as their foul hands touched Sydney--his Sydney--but he only earned himself a disorienting blow to the head as he was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. The position of gun changed again, this time shoved into the small of his back where it was hidden from public view as they were marched through the vault door.
"The manuscript?" the first man prompted, and the second rushed to pluck it from Sydney's limp hands, tucking it triumphantly away. "Good." He paused before they plunged back into the chaos of the museum, his eyes taking in the condition of their group. "We have been instructed by our employer to provide...transport...for the two of you. Now, we will have to walk through the crowd to get the parking lot, and I expect you to act normally--laughing, talking, so on--because if we are caught, you will be turned over to the guards."
His captor took the first pace and the rest of them flowed around him, the man who had taken the manuscript beginning to spin some tale for the them, everyone laughing at the appropriate times, Sydney even smiling up at one of her retainers. They seemed to pass invisible among the people, the tourists too happily engaged and the employees too preoccupied to look their way, but in those moments when he did catch someone's eye time slowed down, hoping that they were discovered, praying that they weren't.
There were three cars waiting for them, all dark and sleek with tinted windows that you could neither see in or out of, arranged in a semi-circle. Sydney and he were directed to the back seat of the longest one, the door shutting with the distinctive sound of a lock driving home. Sydney reacted by clawing at the cracks, testing a foot against the windows, but the glass was too thick to break. He stared straight ahead at the partition between the front and back seats as he felt the driver climb in, the engine starting up. She eventually fell back against the black leather, all her options exhausted, resting close to him, knee to knee, soul to soul.
Her defeated gesture confirmed his fears: they were trapped.