Sark's lips were velvet-peachskin rosepetals, the sweetness invaded her,
made her melt. It was like biting into a strawberry-- sour and surprisingly
wonderful. As the kiss deepened, it penetrated, filling her insides like a
strange hypnotic drug, desensitizing her to the outside. Opening her up.
She was steadily becoming lost in the moment, losing herself and losing
control.
With those last thoughts, fear snared through her mind. She could not handle losing control-the price is too dear to lose control. What was the price? she wondered. Before she could think too much, Sydney pulled back, turning away from Sark. She could not handle the risk of losing herself -her control- again.
She let out an involuntary shudder, for a fleeting instant revealing the inner frailty that she kept hidden so well.
"Sydney, I . . . . . . . ." Sark was having trouble coming up with the words to backtrack on what he'd done. It would be difficult to make reparations on his incompetent behavior.
She turned back, a distant, unreadable look present on her face.
"It's alright. I'm sorry, I . . . . . . . . . ." she trailed off, uncertain of how to finish the sentence.
"I didn't mean to. Blame it on the concussion." Sark had never thought that he would be thanking his lucky stars for having a head injury. It provided a weak, but liable excuse for his actions. Though Sydney surely wasn't foolish enough to believe him, at least there would be no more words on the subject.
"Yeah, it's fine." she was momentarily at a loss for eloquent speech. Sydney was just beginning to notice how tiny this space was, and how stuffy it was. How was it possible that just an hour before she was in danger of freezing to death?
"You mind if I open the door and let in some air? I think the wind has died down."
"It's fine." Sark definitely wasn't cold anymore.
Cold, crisp night air rushed in as Sydney sat at the edge of the door, legs dangling over the side, gazing up at the stars. She reminded Sark of a little girl, lost. He skooched up next to her and sat down, quietly.
"There's Orion." She whispered finally, after a few silent minutes had passed.
It took Sark a few seconds before he spotted the belt, then slowly the rest of the constellation came into view.
"Pretty soon the scorpion will be coming up, chasing him out of the sky." she continued, in a haze. She had always been fascinated by the stars.
"The one creature he never expected, who ended up being his downfall." Sydney looked up at him, reading the heaviness in his words.
"You should never underestimate. It's a dangerous thing." she said, still staring.
"That it is." he whispered, giving a halfhearted smile. They sat in companionable silence a moment longer.
"How do you know so much about the stars? Did you take a college course in astrology before you quit?" His questions were now simply a means to keep the conversation alive, to avoid other issues which pressed in around them.
"How did you know I quit college?"
"Sloane has me keep tabs on you." Despite herself, Sydney felt a tad disappointed.
"Oh." Very witty, Syd, she thought to herself. It had been awhile since she had had a somewhat meaningful conversation with anyone, she needed to brush up on her people skills.
"You never answered my question." Now Sark was curious just to see why she'd sidestepped. Sydney closed her eyes for a moment, and smiled to feel the snowflakes fall upon her eyelids.
"My mother taught me." she said finally. Now Sark wished he had never brought it up.
In his constant investigation of Sydney, he had been made all too aware of how quickly Sydney's family problems had been "solved." At least that's what they called it in the CIA report when they finally got around to executing Irina Derevko after draining her dry of information. Claiming that Irina had committed a disloyal act somehow from in her glass prison, claiming to Sydney that it was "in her best interest."
Like it was in her best interest when during the execution, the CIA finally shoved Jack Bristow over the line between isolation and sanity by making him "bear witness" to the lethal injection. Like it was in her best interest for Sydney to walk into her father's office and find her father's body. He'd shot himself in the head.
Sydney's face was emotionless as she looked out over the dark silent snow. She wished that he hadn't brought that up either. Whenever the issue was mentioned, images flowed into her head. Images of her mother's last words to her. A long maudlin farewell, with many "I love you"'s and "I'm sorry"'s. Images of her father's goodbye note to his daughter. Blood spatters on the paper, almost divinely placed, over the words "I love you, Sydney."
Another long silence. What was there to say?
"I'm sorry." Sark said.
"It's fine. I got over it." Syd said, continuing to stare out into the barren snow, sure that it held the answers to her existence. Sark could almost see her mind retreating to the card house of memories in the back of her mind. He had erected one himself long ago as an escape from bitter realities.
"Like hell." Sark said. Sydney didn't respond.
"Do you ever think about leaving it all?" He continued.
"Every single day." she replied.
"Why do you even bother staying?"
"It's not where I am right now that frightens me as much as where I would be without the CIA. I have no place to go."
A question rose up in Sark's throat, but his rationality silenced it before it was voiced.
"After all this time, I've been kind of realizing how pointless it all is, though." Sydney said, trying to sound casual, shrugging off her observation.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, I first got in the organization to make a difference, to get rid of the bad guy."
"Sloane." Sark interrupted. But Sloane had been dead for 3 months. Sark had done the deed himself. Why was Sydney sticking around?
"Yeah, Sloane. But no matter what I did, more violence still rose up. It's like the harder you try, the farther you sink." Sark nodded, understanding.
"And now, I'm looking back on the impact that I made, and I'm not sure that it was really a positive one." Her voice took on an odd tone. Syd slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, surprised to find the Rambaldi artifact still inside. She opened the miniature coffin and showed it to Sark. The last piece to the Rambaldi puzzle.
Looking down at the soft, peaceful dove, Sark gave a wry smile.
"Oh, the irony." he said, his dry humor returning to him. At the end of the violent bloody race, was the quintessential symbol of peace. Bending closer to the bird, he carefully extracted the glass sphere from its beak, and held it delicately between his fingers. It was slightly smaller than a marble, but heavy. He heard Sydney gasp.
He looked up in time to see the white dove, now very much alive and perching on Sydney's knee, spread its wings and fly away.
"It sat up as soon as you took that thing out of its mouth." Sydney said breathlessly. A hint of a smile played on her face. Rambaldi certainly worked in interesting ways.
Whoa, Sark thought.
Sark sat speechless, watching the dove fly farther and farther away, until it became a white wisp in the sky. For once in his life, he could not find a witty comeback. Trying to keep up appearances, he said nothing and tried his best to wear his usual uncaring mask.
He opened up his hand staring again at the glass ball that had been closed inside it. All this effort seemed to incredibly pointless to him now. How easy it would be to just toss it into the snow, some fifty feet down, to never be found again. He looked up at Sydney, who was staring into his hand as well.
"We should." Syd said quietly. Sark wasn't quite sure how she managed to follow the same thought pattern as he did, but it certainly made communication easier. Both looked up at the same time. He tried to read the expression in her eyes, judge how serious she was about her statement, only to find it impossible to read Sydney's emotions.
"You sure?" he asked. Sydney nodded.
"You do the honors, then." he said, respectfully. He carefully, almost ceremoniously, handed her the artifact.
Sydney stared at it a moment, memorizing its shape, its weight, its feeling. Holding it in the center of her open palm, she stuck her arm straight out the window, and slowly turned her hand down towards the snow, spilling its contents. The sphere rolled, almost in slow motion off her palm, its heaviness leaving her hands along with the weight that seemed to lift from her shoulders as she let it drop, leaving a miniscule crater in the snow, disappearing in the white.
It was a eulogy to all that she had lost in this pointless battle. The battle that led me back to my starting point, Syd thought. It was for Vaughn, Francie, Danny, Will, Noah, her Dad, her Mom, Emily, and even Sloane. Nobody had won the war.
The tears finally came then, salty and bitter. They no longer froze to her cheek. They emptied out Sydney's insides, until there was nothing left but her hollow shell, and Syd wondered what had been in there in the beginning.
Turning away from the door, Syd grabbed the top of her knees and curled up into herself, trying to compact her pain, make herself solid once again.
Tentatively, Sark reached out and put an arm around her shoulder, then gave it all up, pulled her in and hugged her tight. Held her body as it shook with sobs.
When he pulled back out to look at her face once more, Syd could see that the oceans contained within his eyes were draining out onto his cheek. Who would have thought he was capable of tears, Syd thought. She pulled him into a hug once more.
Over Sydney's shoulder, Sark say the sun begin to rise. The night had ended.
With those last thoughts, fear snared through her mind. She could not handle losing control-the price is too dear to lose control. What was the price? she wondered. Before she could think too much, Sydney pulled back, turning away from Sark. She could not handle the risk of losing herself -her control- again.
She let out an involuntary shudder, for a fleeting instant revealing the inner frailty that she kept hidden so well.
"Sydney, I . . . . . . . ." Sark was having trouble coming up with the words to backtrack on what he'd done. It would be difficult to make reparations on his incompetent behavior.
She turned back, a distant, unreadable look present on her face.
"It's alright. I'm sorry, I . . . . . . . . . ." she trailed off, uncertain of how to finish the sentence.
"I didn't mean to. Blame it on the concussion." Sark had never thought that he would be thanking his lucky stars for having a head injury. It provided a weak, but liable excuse for his actions. Though Sydney surely wasn't foolish enough to believe him, at least there would be no more words on the subject.
"Yeah, it's fine." she was momentarily at a loss for eloquent speech. Sydney was just beginning to notice how tiny this space was, and how stuffy it was. How was it possible that just an hour before she was in danger of freezing to death?
"You mind if I open the door and let in some air? I think the wind has died down."
"It's fine." Sark definitely wasn't cold anymore.
Cold, crisp night air rushed in as Sydney sat at the edge of the door, legs dangling over the side, gazing up at the stars. She reminded Sark of a little girl, lost. He skooched up next to her and sat down, quietly.
"There's Orion." She whispered finally, after a few silent minutes had passed.
It took Sark a few seconds before he spotted the belt, then slowly the rest of the constellation came into view.
"Pretty soon the scorpion will be coming up, chasing him out of the sky." she continued, in a haze. She had always been fascinated by the stars.
"The one creature he never expected, who ended up being his downfall." Sydney looked up at him, reading the heaviness in his words.
"You should never underestimate. It's a dangerous thing." she said, still staring.
"That it is." he whispered, giving a halfhearted smile. They sat in companionable silence a moment longer.
"How do you know so much about the stars? Did you take a college course in astrology before you quit?" His questions were now simply a means to keep the conversation alive, to avoid other issues which pressed in around them.
"How did you know I quit college?"
"Sloane has me keep tabs on you." Despite herself, Sydney felt a tad disappointed.
"Oh." Very witty, Syd, she thought to herself. It had been awhile since she had had a somewhat meaningful conversation with anyone, she needed to brush up on her people skills.
"You never answered my question." Now Sark was curious just to see why she'd sidestepped. Sydney closed her eyes for a moment, and smiled to feel the snowflakes fall upon her eyelids.
"My mother taught me." she said finally. Now Sark wished he had never brought it up.
In his constant investigation of Sydney, he had been made all too aware of how quickly Sydney's family problems had been "solved." At least that's what they called it in the CIA report when they finally got around to executing Irina Derevko after draining her dry of information. Claiming that Irina had committed a disloyal act somehow from in her glass prison, claiming to Sydney that it was "in her best interest."
Like it was in her best interest when during the execution, the CIA finally shoved Jack Bristow over the line between isolation and sanity by making him "bear witness" to the lethal injection. Like it was in her best interest for Sydney to walk into her father's office and find her father's body. He'd shot himself in the head.
Sydney's face was emotionless as she looked out over the dark silent snow. She wished that he hadn't brought that up either. Whenever the issue was mentioned, images flowed into her head. Images of her mother's last words to her. A long maudlin farewell, with many "I love you"'s and "I'm sorry"'s. Images of her father's goodbye note to his daughter. Blood spatters on the paper, almost divinely placed, over the words "I love you, Sydney."
Another long silence. What was there to say?
"I'm sorry." Sark said.
"It's fine. I got over it." Syd said, continuing to stare out into the barren snow, sure that it held the answers to her existence. Sark could almost see her mind retreating to the card house of memories in the back of her mind. He had erected one himself long ago as an escape from bitter realities.
"Like hell." Sark said. Sydney didn't respond.
"Do you ever think about leaving it all?" He continued.
"Every single day." she replied.
"Why do you even bother staying?"
"It's not where I am right now that frightens me as much as where I would be without the CIA. I have no place to go."
A question rose up in Sark's throat, but his rationality silenced it before it was voiced.
"After all this time, I've been kind of realizing how pointless it all is, though." Sydney said, trying to sound casual, shrugging off her observation.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, I first got in the organization to make a difference, to get rid of the bad guy."
"Sloane." Sark interrupted. But Sloane had been dead for 3 months. Sark had done the deed himself. Why was Sydney sticking around?
"Yeah, Sloane. But no matter what I did, more violence still rose up. It's like the harder you try, the farther you sink." Sark nodded, understanding.
"And now, I'm looking back on the impact that I made, and I'm not sure that it was really a positive one." Her voice took on an odd tone. Syd slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, surprised to find the Rambaldi artifact still inside. She opened the miniature coffin and showed it to Sark. The last piece to the Rambaldi puzzle.
Looking down at the soft, peaceful dove, Sark gave a wry smile.
"Oh, the irony." he said, his dry humor returning to him. At the end of the violent bloody race, was the quintessential symbol of peace. Bending closer to the bird, he carefully extracted the glass sphere from its beak, and held it delicately between his fingers. It was slightly smaller than a marble, but heavy. He heard Sydney gasp.
He looked up in time to see the white dove, now very much alive and perching on Sydney's knee, spread its wings and fly away.
"It sat up as soon as you took that thing out of its mouth." Sydney said breathlessly. A hint of a smile played on her face. Rambaldi certainly worked in interesting ways.
Whoa, Sark thought.
Sark sat speechless, watching the dove fly farther and farther away, until it became a white wisp in the sky. For once in his life, he could not find a witty comeback. Trying to keep up appearances, he said nothing and tried his best to wear his usual uncaring mask.
He opened up his hand staring again at the glass ball that had been closed inside it. All this effort seemed to incredibly pointless to him now. How easy it would be to just toss it into the snow, some fifty feet down, to never be found again. He looked up at Sydney, who was staring into his hand as well.
"We should." Syd said quietly. Sark wasn't quite sure how she managed to follow the same thought pattern as he did, but it certainly made communication easier. Both looked up at the same time. He tried to read the expression in her eyes, judge how serious she was about her statement, only to find it impossible to read Sydney's emotions.
"You sure?" he asked. Sydney nodded.
"You do the honors, then." he said, respectfully. He carefully, almost ceremoniously, handed her the artifact.
Sydney stared at it a moment, memorizing its shape, its weight, its feeling. Holding it in the center of her open palm, she stuck her arm straight out the window, and slowly turned her hand down towards the snow, spilling its contents. The sphere rolled, almost in slow motion off her palm, its heaviness leaving her hands along with the weight that seemed to lift from her shoulders as she let it drop, leaving a miniscule crater in the snow, disappearing in the white.
It was a eulogy to all that she had lost in this pointless battle. The battle that led me back to my starting point, Syd thought. It was for Vaughn, Francie, Danny, Will, Noah, her Dad, her Mom, Emily, and even Sloane. Nobody had won the war.
The tears finally came then, salty and bitter. They no longer froze to her cheek. They emptied out Sydney's insides, until there was nothing left but her hollow shell, and Syd wondered what had been in there in the beginning.
Turning away from the door, Syd grabbed the top of her knees and curled up into herself, trying to compact her pain, make herself solid once again.
Tentatively, Sark reached out and put an arm around her shoulder, then gave it all up, pulled her in and hugged her tight. Held her body as it shook with sobs.
When he pulled back out to look at her face once more, Syd could see that the oceans contained within his eyes were draining out onto his cheek. Who would have thought he was capable of tears, Syd thought. She pulled him into a hug once more.
Over Sydney's shoulder, Sark say the sun begin to rise. The night had ended.
