3.
I have no idea what to say. How am I supposed to reassure her? I can't tell her that she won't be alone. I've never lied to her and I'm definitely not going to start now. And who am I to tell her that dreams won't get shattered? I'm definitely not one to talk.
I feel like I'm living in a soap opera. Man is CIA agent. Man loves woman. Woman turns out to be CIA agent. Man and woman work together and fall in love. Man and woman cannot express their love. Woman gets cancer.
And dies.
Leaving the man alive, alone, and wishing he were dead too.
There are no words. So I just hold her. And we stay like that for a while until my tears are dropping into her hair and hers are staining my shirt. And then she pulls away and wipes at her face. I see the look in her eyes. The pain is coming.
"Syd, let me stay with you this time. Let me help you. I can support you I promise; I don't want you to be alone," I beg her to let me stay just this once. She's not being fair to herself by letting herself go through this all alone.
But she shakes her head firmly, something I knew she was going to do. "No, Michael. Sometimes people have to be alone. And I don't want you to see me in pain. Besides, haven't you done enough for me already?" She tries to smile.
No. I haven't done anything. I haven't even come close to doing anything for you. You're the one with cancer, you're the one whose lying there doing all you can to keep from writhing in pain, you're the one who can't remember the people who love her the most. . . what am I doing? I'm not doing anything. I'm a mere spectator and I've never felt more worthless in my life.
"Sydney, you don't have to be alone you know." I try one last time. How could I not?
She knows. She looks into my eyes and directly into my soul. Her tears are dry now; her eyes are steeled with determination. She won't let herself be weak in front of me. "I know. I know you want to stay. But don't. I want you to remember me as someone who was strong and able to anything. I don't want you to have. . . this as your last memory. It would hurt to much to think that you were feeling sorry for me."
I nod. I'll leave. Again. I turn to go but then turn back to her and take her hand in mine again. "You are the strongest person I've ever known Sydney Bristow. And no matter what happens, nothing will ever change that. Everybody has to have a moment of weakness. That's what makes us human. And you should remember that you aren't Superman. You can't carry the entire world on your shoulders. Not all the time, anyway. So when you decide that you might need some support from the people who love you, remember that I'm just a phone call away."
She nods, putting her head down so I can't see the tears reforming in her eyes. I walk out of the room and hear her whimper softly as I step out of the doorway. My step falters but I force myself to keep going. She wants to be alone. She needs to be alone.
I walk out of the hospital and the air is fresh and warm and the only thing I can think about is the injustice that Sydney can't be here to share it with me. I feel guilty that I'm outside on such a beautiful day when she is cooped up in her hospital room.
The shopping center looms out in front of me and I walk out there, hoping that I'll be able to think under the cover of window-shopping. I wish I could comfort her. I wish there was some way to let her know that she would never be alone. But I don't know how to ensure that. I've never died before.
But if it feels much worse that this does, I don't know how I'll be able to handle it.
And then my mind starts wandering and it's almost as if I am the one that's dying because I see my life with her flashing before my eyes. My amusement and shock when I first saw her in that red wig, face controlled though it had been obvious that she had been crying.
My admiration when I learned of all she had gone through and the strength that she still possessed.
My growing love for her intelligence, her beauty, her compassion. . . was there even an end to the list of her virtues? I couldn't find one.
The unfulfilled promise of a date.
I would take her place in a heartbeat. I know that for a fact. Doesn't that count for something? Shouldn't my faith and love for her be strong enough to defy death? Shouldn't my conviction somehow bring her back?
And then I stop. And look at the window display in front of me. It's a sign. . . I'm almost sure of it. I don't know how I thought of it; I don't even recall thinking. It was just perfect; the easiest decision I had ever made in my life. If I did this, Sydney would never have to be alone. I would be with her.
I walk into the store and wait for the clerk to notice me. Maybe she sees the sadness in my eyes or the gruffness in my voice but she asks if she can help me in almost a maternal fashion.
Yes. You can help me. I point to the display. I want that one please. I'll pay with cash.
She sees the urgency in my eyes, hears it in my voice and knows it's a matter of life and death. Or live and love. I can't even tell the difference anymore. But I get what I came in for and I feel a weight lift off my chest.
There is something I can do for her after all.
(review please- Jenn)
I have no idea what to say. How am I supposed to reassure her? I can't tell her that she won't be alone. I've never lied to her and I'm definitely not going to start now. And who am I to tell her that dreams won't get shattered? I'm definitely not one to talk.
I feel like I'm living in a soap opera. Man is CIA agent. Man loves woman. Woman turns out to be CIA agent. Man and woman work together and fall in love. Man and woman cannot express their love. Woman gets cancer.
And dies.
Leaving the man alive, alone, and wishing he were dead too.
There are no words. So I just hold her. And we stay like that for a while until my tears are dropping into her hair and hers are staining my shirt. And then she pulls away and wipes at her face. I see the look in her eyes. The pain is coming.
"Syd, let me stay with you this time. Let me help you. I can support you I promise; I don't want you to be alone," I beg her to let me stay just this once. She's not being fair to herself by letting herself go through this all alone.
But she shakes her head firmly, something I knew she was going to do. "No, Michael. Sometimes people have to be alone. And I don't want you to see me in pain. Besides, haven't you done enough for me already?" She tries to smile.
No. I haven't done anything. I haven't even come close to doing anything for you. You're the one with cancer, you're the one whose lying there doing all you can to keep from writhing in pain, you're the one who can't remember the people who love her the most. . . what am I doing? I'm not doing anything. I'm a mere spectator and I've never felt more worthless in my life.
"Sydney, you don't have to be alone you know." I try one last time. How could I not?
She knows. She looks into my eyes and directly into my soul. Her tears are dry now; her eyes are steeled with determination. She won't let herself be weak in front of me. "I know. I know you want to stay. But don't. I want you to remember me as someone who was strong and able to anything. I don't want you to have. . . this as your last memory. It would hurt to much to think that you were feeling sorry for me."
I nod. I'll leave. Again. I turn to go but then turn back to her and take her hand in mine again. "You are the strongest person I've ever known Sydney Bristow. And no matter what happens, nothing will ever change that. Everybody has to have a moment of weakness. That's what makes us human. And you should remember that you aren't Superman. You can't carry the entire world on your shoulders. Not all the time, anyway. So when you decide that you might need some support from the people who love you, remember that I'm just a phone call away."
She nods, putting her head down so I can't see the tears reforming in her eyes. I walk out of the room and hear her whimper softly as I step out of the doorway. My step falters but I force myself to keep going. She wants to be alone. She needs to be alone.
I walk out of the hospital and the air is fresh and warm and the only thing I can think about is the injustice that Sydney can't be here to share it with me. I feel guilty that I'm outside on such a beautiful day when she is cooped up in her hospital room.
The shopping center looms out in front of me and I walk out there, hoping that I'll be able to think under the cover of window-shopping. I wish I could comfort her. I wish there was some way to let her know that she would never be alone. But I don't know how to ensure that. I've never died before.
But if it feels much worse that this does, I don't know how I'll be able to handle it.
And then my mind starts wandering and it's almost as if I am the one that's dying because I see my life with her flashing before my eyes. My amusement and shock when I first saw her in that red wig, face controlled though it had been obvious that she had been crying.
My admiration when I learned of all she had gone through and the strength that she still possessed.
My growing love for her intelligence, her beauty, her compassion. . . was there even an end to the list of her virtues? I couldn't find one.
The unfulfilled promise of a date.
I would take her place in a heartbeat. I know that for a fact. Doesn't that count for something? Shouldn't my faith and love for her be strong enough to defy death? Shouldn't my conviction somehow bring her back?
And then I stop. And look at the window display in front of me. It's a sign. . . I'm almost sure of it. I don't know how I thought of it; I don't even recall thinking. It was just perfect; the easiest decision I had ever made in my life. If I did this, Sydney would never have to be alone. I would be with her.
I walk into the store and wait for the clerk to notice me. Maybe she sees the sadness in my eyes or the gruffness in my voice but she asks if she can help me in almost a maternal fashion.
Yes. You can help me. I point to the display. I want that one please. I'll pay with cash.
She sees the urgency in my eyes, hears it in my voice and knows it's a matter of life and death. Or live and love. I can't even tell the difference anymore. But I get what I came in for and I feel a weight lift off my chest.
There is something I can do for her after all.
(review please- Jenn)