A/N: Ha! My ploy worked! Caught your interest, didn't I? Well, I just want to say thanks to my frantic reviewers: chatnoir, Intel, ReeCee, Brynne, yumytaffy, lynn, Emma, Secret Agent Girl, donnatellaMarks, laurali, Mira, lurker, and all the rest of my faithful readers from chapters past! This is what you've all been waiting so anxiously for, sorry it's kind of short...
Chapter Twelve---Second Bullet
Sydney caught his gaze in that final millisecond before the bullet exploded into the air, and he wasn't afraid; he wasn't afraid of dying, and he had nothing to be afraid of in life now that she was back in his. Sydney would take care of him.
"I'm really going to miss you."
Instead of closing his eyes, he kept them open to witness his possible last moments in this world, and so he saw when her hand shook--shook deliberately so she could call it an accident if her plan failed. The air above his shoulder shattered as the bullet grazed his flesh, carving its mark through his shirt and skin, and burrowed into the side of guard beside him.
In that one second of shocked inaction, when not even the wounded man beside him moved, Sydney fired off another round into the chest of the other hireling attached to him. Then that second of grace was over, and ammunition sliced through the place where she had been standing as she dropped to the ground, rolling and firing while she tried to keep a hairsbreadth ahead of her death. A surprised, unarmed Sark was caught through the knee by one of her shots, and when his legs crumpled out from under him, the second bullet smashed into his torso, throwing him back at an unnatural angle.
Michael's reaction was to fall along with the two men beside him, casting off their cooling hands, and reaching across the tangled limbs of the closest one, finding sticky blood and the solid metal of a gun. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it free, using the momentum to throw him into the fray, but he wasn't looking to join the fight as he discharged a bullet into the nearest man, he was searching for his daughter. He crawled around a blond head he took to be Sark's and found her standing tall in the disarray, an easy target. He snaked out a hand to yank her ankle, throwing her off balance, his other arm coming around to shelter her back from the sudden tumble, stretching his body out as far as it would go to create a wall of protection over her. Their eyes locked, green against green, and an understanding passed between them before he lifted his head to glimpse the last guard escaping out the door. He recognized him as the man who still had the Rambaldi manuscript, and both he and Sydney raised their weapons at the same time, firing shots after his retreating form, but they hit empty air, ricocheting aimlessly. Too late.
Slowly unfolding himself, he pulled himself and Laramie up into a sitting position, clutching her as close as he could get her to him. The tears were harder to let go than he thought, all his anger and frustration, all his fear and pain, all bursting out at one time, it rocked him to his core. He stroked her hair with one rough hand, and she brought her arms up to hold him back uncertainly, not knowing how to comfort her father. "Daddy," she whispered, "You're bleeding."
"I know, baby, I know." The intervals between his sobs widening, he finally rose all the way to his feet, taking Laramie with him since he found himself incapable of letting her go again.
Sydney tucked her gun away with an air of heavy fatigue, turning in a small circle as if she was trying to recover her sense of direction. She discovered what she was looking for and approached the figure sprawled on the ground with small, unsteady steps, going down on one knee a short distance away from Sark. Her hand trembled as she reached for his wrist to check his pulse, and she drew it back before it even touched him; it was obvious he was already dead, his destroyed chest would never draw another breath, and his glacial blue eyes, wide with disbelief, were already beginning to glaze over.
"I really am going to miss you."
She braced her hand on the floor and pushed herself up and away from him, searching out instead her daughter and Michael only a few feet away. Michael unwrapped his daughter from his grasp and opened his arms for Sydney, who didn't hesitate as she crashed into them.
"He believed what he wanted to, didn't he?" Killing might come effortlessly to some, but that doesn't make the aftermath any easier to deal with.
Unable to listen to the suffering in her words, he leaned down to stop them, brushing his lips across hers once, twice, three times, but no nearer, not with their daughter watching. She drew her mouth back so she could place one kiss on his collarbone, scarce inches from where her bullet had skimmed him earlier. "I'm so sorry."
He cupped her cheek in his hand and drew her face down so it rested over his heart, "You did what you had to do." He put out his other hand blindly, connecting with Laramie's shirt, tugging her into their embrace.
And they simply stood there, turning their eyes away from the wreckage and gore they stood in the midst of, just the three of them, like they should have been all along.
"Mom, Dad...you have a lot of explaining to do."
He laughed.
Chapter Twelve---Second Bullet
Sydney caught his gaze in that final millisecond before the bullet exploded into the air, and he wasn't afraid; he wasn't afraid of dying, and he had nothing to be afraid of in life now that she was back in his. Sydney would take care of him.
"I'm really going to miss you."
Instead of closing his eyes, he kept them open to witness his possible last moments in this world, and so he saw when her hand shook--shook deliberately so she could call it an accident if her plan failed. The air above his shoulder shattered as the bullet grazed his flesh, carving its mark through his shirt and skin, and burrowed into the side of guard beside him.
In that one second of shocked inaction, when not even the wounded man beside him moved, Sydney fired off another round into the chest of the other hireling attached to him. Then that second of grace was over, and ammunition sliced through the place where she had been standing as she dropped to the ground, rolling and firing while she tried to keep a hairsbreadth ahead of her death. A surprised, unarmed Sark was caught through the knee by one of her shots, and when his legs crumpled out from under him, the second bullet smashed into his torso, throwing him back at an unnatural angle.
Michael's reaction was to fall along with the two men beside him, casting off their cooling hands, and reaching across the tangled limbs of the closest one, finding sticky blood and the solid metal of a gun. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it free, using the momentum to throw him into the fray, but he wasn't looking to join the fight as he discharged a bullet into the nearest man, he was searching for his daughter. He crawled around a blond head he took to be Sark's and found her standing tall in the disarray, an easy target. He snaked out a hand to yank her ankle, throwing her off balance, his other arm coming around to shelter her back from the sudden tumble, stretching his body out as far as it would go to create a wall of protection over her. Their eyes locked, green against green, and an understanding passed between them before he lifted his head to glimpse the last guard escaping out the door. He recognized him as the man who still had the Rambaldi manuscript, and both he and Sydney raised their weapons at the same time, firing shots after his retreating form, but they hit empty air, ricocheting aimlessly. Too late.
Slowly unfolding himself, he pulled himself and Laramie up into a sitting position, clutching her as close as he could get her to him. The tears were harder to let go than he thought, all his anger and frustration, all his fear and pain, all bursting out at one time, it rocked him to his core. He stroked her hair with one rough hand, and she brought her arms up to hold him back uncertainly, not knowing how to comfort her father. "Daddy," she whispered, "You're bleeding."
"I know, baby, I know." The intervals between his sobs widening, he finally rose all the way to his feet, taking Laramie with him since he found himself incapable of letting her go again.
Sydney tucked her gun away with an air of heavy fatigue, turning in a small circle as if she was trying to recover her sense of direction. She discovered what she was looking for and approached the figure sprawled on the ground with small, unsteady steps, going down on one knee a short distance away from Sark. Her hand trembled as she reached for his wrist to check his pulse, and she drew it back before it even touched him; it was obvious he was already dead, his destroyed chest would never draw another breath, and his glacial blue eyes, wide with disbelief, were already beginning to glaze over.
"I really am going to miss you."
She braced her hand on the floor and pushed herself up and away from him, searching out instead her daughter and Michael only a few feet away. Michael unwrapped his daughter from his grasp and opened his arms for Sydney, who didn't hesitate as she crashed into them.
"He believed what he wanted to, didn't he?" Killing might come effortlessly to some, but that doesn't make the aftermath any easier to deal with.
Unable to listen to the suffering in her words, he leaned down to stop them, brushing his lips across hers once, twice, three times, but no nearer, not with their daughter watching. She drew her mouth back so she could place one kiss on his collarbone, scarce inches from where her bullet had skimmed him earlier. "I'm so sorry."
He cupped her cheek in his hand and drew her face down so it rested over his heart, "You did what you had to do." He put out his other hand blindly, connecting with Laramie's shirt, tugging her into their embrace.
And they simply stood there, turning their eyes away from the wreckage and gore they stood in the midst of, just the three of them, like they should have been all along.
"Mom, Dad...you have a lot of explaining to do."
He laughed.