The sound of rain pounding on the window pulls me reluctantly from a deep, dreamless sleep. Strong arms are wrapped possessively around me, and I'm sprawled half on top of Sark who by all appearances is asleep.
'Patience is a virtue, Sydney,' he'd whispered huskily in my ear the night before when I'd asked for his name, and his breath on my skin had sent shivers down my spine. Somehow, we'd made it to the bed before the last item of clothing fell, and I fell onto the bed taking him with me. I touched a finger lightly to my lips, sure he'd bruised them with his own the night before just as he'd seared every inch of my skin with his touch, though he was always careful of my shoulder.
Closing my eyes, I listened to his heart pounding and the sound of the rain, remembering the night before. There were so many reasons that this shouldn't have happened, but I didn't want to think of any of them now. There would be plently of time for that later.
"Syd..." Sark murmers against my shoulder some time later, and I can't help but smile at the sleepy sound of his voice.
"You promised me your name," I grin, tracing a finger lightly down his arm.
"This again?" he sounds incredibly amused at my persistence, "I promised you no such thing..."
Turning my head, I see him smiling sleepily at me. It's an indescribable feeling to be under that gaze when his eyes aren't ice, his face void of all emotion. He's unguarded, vulnerable.. happy.
"You'll tell me anyways," I predict before trailing kisses along his throat, eliciting a groan when I finally cover his mouth with my own, kissing him roughly. It would be so easy to stay in bed all day, completely forgetting the mission I know so little about. When he finally pulls away I whimper and catch his bottom lip gently with my teeth, trying to prolong the kiss for even seconds longer- not wanting the end of the warmth of his mouth on my own.
"Your name..." I whisper half-heartedly as he brushes a lock of hair away from my face. I know he won't tell me yet.
"Maybe after breakfast," he teases before slipping out of bed and into the bathroom to shower, leaving me tangled in the soft, white sheets and blankets. Resting my head on the pillow that smells tantalizingly like him, I close my eyes and reluctantly think about the long day ahead.
If all went according to plan, this time tomarrow I would be in Sloane's hands cementing some secret deal between he and Sark. Anger bubbled within me at the thought of Arvin Sloane. Still fresh memories of every lie, betrayal, and superficial fatherly gesture convinced me that I could empty a gun in him without thinking twice- without a guilt plagued dream that night. I wouldn't be killing a man, I'd be ridding the world of a horrible monster. This never ending nightmare would finally come to an end with Sark by my side.
The thought pitted an ache deep inside of me. I'd always thought Vaughn would be with me when this was all over.
It's strange to think of how my motivation has changed throughout the years. I would avenge Danny's death, and make Sloane pay for stealing him away from me- atleast that's how it had started. As the years trudged on though Danny faded to the background of my motives, and the guilt of that will never leave me. It became all about revenge, my deep, white hot burning hatrid towards Sloane fueled the fight day after day. I would pull the ground out from under him with no warning like he had done to me, and he'd never again play puppeteer with a human life.
And then came Vaughn. Funny how I'd once despised him, thought he was mocking me with his concern and acts of kindness. But any such feelings sunk to the bottom of the Pacific along with my pager that night on the pier. It seemed so long ago- but the memory is still crystal clear. Michael Vaughn was safety, comfort, a break from all the danger around me. He was a release from all the long hours spent guarding my words and telling lies. With Vaughn I could be honest, simply myself. I would fight any fight to topple Sloane and SD-6 and be able to enjoy those freedoms and feel complete.
It was the perfect fairytale ending to kiss him for the first time- everything I imagined it would be. Sweet, cautious, safe...and all my troubles seemed to melt away.
I'd always had this scene in my head about what the end of SD-6 would be like. The actual event was every bit like what I'd imagined, but for a single difference. In my daydream I'd always told Vaughn that I loved him. It had been on the tip of my tounge that day, and I'd like to think I would have meant it, but I couldn't bring myself to say the words. Even though I was finally free to be with Vaughn forever- my wish granted- there was still the emptiness inside me. Distant and easily forgettable, but still present none the less.
I loved him, still love him. God, I always will... but not in that heart pounding, aching way that I'd always thought I would have.
Not to say that I loved Sark, but I'd never felt so intrigued by a person ever before. So desperate to know everything about him, and even then sensing that it might not be enough. There was such a deep, unspoken understanding between us, a connection that couldn't be explained and could only have been forged by betrayals we'd both faced at the hands of Sloane and my mother. It was a twisted bond, but knowing that he was the only one who could possibly understand the darkest of thoughts in my head- and then know not to bother with petty words that could never take the nightmares away- drew me to him and wouldn't let me free. The hole deep inside me was somehow filled with his presence.
"Matthew," I point a fork with a piece of pancake speared on its prongs at Sark accusatorily. He had breakfast brought to the room while I was showering, and we are now sitting on the floor eating pancakes and sipping orange juice- a makeshift picnic.
He shakes his head. I'm running out of names, and consider buying a baby book if I had the time, reading off the names alphabetically from beginning to end.
"William?"
Somehow, he manages to swallow his orange juice before laughing, "Oh God, no! Just because I'm British doesn't mean I share my name with that-"
"Okay, okay!" we're both grinning like idiots by this point. I'd even yelled names at him from the shower to which he threatened to come in and stop me. The laughter that had errupted at the innocent comment had prompted him to halfheartedly mutter something about getting my mind out of the bloody gutter.
"You could just tell me and end this game," I point out, and he shakes his head.
"There'd be no fun in that..."
I smile and sip my orange juice, and we fall into a silence that is no longer uncomfortable, but unfortunatly soon broken.
"Sydney, about last night..."
I'd actually thought we might be able to avoid this discussion. Subconsciously, I tucks strands my still wet hair behind my ear and pull at the ends- a nervous habit I know I've picked up from my mother- and brace myself for him to continue. I knew we'd have to discuss this, but not this soon. Not when things felt so right.
"You were upset, vulnerable. I took advantage of that-" he always holds my eyes with his own when he speaks to me, it's almost hypnotic. He does so now, but with great difficulty. Unaccustomed to owning up to his mistakes, or what he feels to be a mistake, he can hardly look me in the eyes.
"I may have been upset, but I knew what I was doing..." I force myself to take a deep breath, and resist the urge to lean closer to him, kiss him and show him that way that this was no mistake made in a moment of heartache and confusion. "I have no regrets."
He subtly releases a breath I didn't know he'd been holding.
"What are we doing, Sydney?"
The only answer I can give isn't an answer at all, "I'm not sure..."
He pauses, and its clear that he's uncomfortable with his next question, and my answer. I didn't think he was capable of being unnerved, let alone by something like this.
"Do you trust me?"
Slowly, I shake my head, and my bathrobe slides down to reveal the bloodsoaked bandage on my shoulder. I pull it back into place before replying barely above a whisper, "No, but I want you to prove me wrong."
Breakfast is finished in silence. Neither of us know what to say, but when we're through he points out that we should rebandage my shoulder, and I allow him to do so.
The day is spent going over the 'mission' for tonight, and I listen to it numbly. Sark has slipped back into his professional demeanor, and he talks of me being handed over to Sloane as if I'm not a life being put in danger but a step in this complicated plan. I'm not offended; I've gone through this process too many times to be upset by the impersonal nature of it all.
"The idea tonight is to get noticed. You'll be entering the club some time before me with that in your purse," he nods towards the box we'd retrieved from the museum. "Sloane will have men stationed throughout the building- it's a hot spot for black market trades, namely of Rambaldi artifacts. You want Sloane to believe that you have the intention of passing the artifact along to a CIA contact."
I open my mouth to protest, to explain that no one will be there for me to meet with, but Sark interrupts.
"You won't have time to worry about finding a contact."
This scares me a little, but only because I don't like walking into a situation without being in complete control. Especially one that will put me at the hands of the man I despise.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me what you intend to have happen..." I say evenly, trying to mask my nerves.
He smiles, and I could almost call the expression sad. He's dropped the professional exterior and is again the man I remember from the night before, "When I asked you if you trusted me, Sydney, it was for a reason."
We're sitting crosslegged, facing eachother on the couch. Leaning closer to me, he rests his hand lightly on the side of my face. That small gesture alone leaves me breathless.
"I won't let him hurt you again..." he whispers before kissing me. Tangling my fingers in the blonde curls at the nape of his neck, I pull him to me and refuse to let go. I don't know what's going to happen tonight or when I'll see him again.
In my wildest dreams I never could have imagined that the thought of losing Sark would hve pitted such a horrible ache inside of me, and I pull him closer still, feeling alone already.
'Patience is a virtue, Sydney,' he'd whispered huskily in my ear the night before when I'd asked for his name, and his breath on my skin had sent shivers down my spine. Somehow, we'd made it to the bed before the last item of clothing fell, and I fell onto the bed taking him with me. I touched a finger lightly to my lips, sure he'd bruised them with his own the night before just as he'd seared every inch of my skin with his touch, though he was always careful of my shoulder.
Closing my eyes, I listened to his heart pounding and the sound of the rain, remembering the night before. There were so many reasons that this shouldn't have happened, but I didn't want to think of any of them now. There would be plently of time for that later.
"Syd..." Sark murmers against my shoulder some time later, and I can't help but smile at the sleepy sound of his voice.
"You promised me your name," I grin, tracing a finger lightly down his arm.
"This again?" he sounds incredibly amused at my persistence, "I promised you no such thing..."
Turning my head, I see him smiling sleepily at me. It's an indescribable feeling to be under that gaze when his eyes aren't ice, his face void of all emotion. He's unguarded, vulnerable.. happy.
"You'll tell me anyways," I predict before trailing kisses along his throat, eliciting a groan when I finally cover his mouth with my own, kissing him roughly. It would be so easy to stay in bed all day, completely forgetting the mission I know so little about. When he finally pulls away I whimper and catch his bottom lip gently with my teeth, trying to prolong the kiss for even seconds longer- not wanting the end of the warmth of his mouth on my own.
"Your name..." I whisper half-heartedly as he brushes a lock of hair away from my face. I know he won't tell me yet.
"Maybe after breakfast," he teases before slipping out of bed and into the bathroom to shower, leaving me tangled in the soft, white sheets and blankets. Resting my head on the pillow that smells tantalizingly like him, I close my eyes and reluctantly think about the long day ahead.
If all went according to plan, this time tomarrow I would be in Sloane's hands cementing some secret deal between he and Sark. Anger bubbled within me at the thought of Arvin Sloane. Still fresh memories of every lie, betrayal, and superficial fatherly gesture convinced me that I could empty a gun in him without thinking twice- without a guilt plagued dream that night. I wouldn't be killing a man, I'd be ridding the world of a horrible monster. This never ending nightmare would finally come to an end with Sark by my side.
The thought pitted an ache deep inside of me. I'd always thought Vaughn would be with me when this was all over.
It's strange to think of how my motivation has changed throughout the years. I would avenge Danny's death, and make Sloane pay for stealing him away from me- atleast that's how it had started. As the years trudged on though Danny faded to the background of my motives, and the guilt of that will never leave me. It became all about revenge, my deep, white hot burning hatrid towards Sloane fueled the fight day after day. I would pull the ground out from under him with no warning like he had done to me, and he'd never again play puppeteer with a human life.
And then came Vaughn. Funny how I'd once despised him, thought he was mocking me with his concern and acts of kindness. But any such feelings sunk to the bottom of the Pacific along with my pager that night on the pier. It seemed so long ago- but the memory is still crystal clear. Michael Vaughn was safety, comfort, a break from all the danger around me. He was a release from all the long hours spent guarding my words and telling lies. With Vaughn I could be honest, simply myself. I would fight any fight to topple Sloane and SD-6 and be able to enjoy those freedoms and feel complete.
It was the perfect fairytale ending to kiss him for the first time- everything I imagined it would be. Sweet, cautious, safe...and all my troubles seemed to melt away.
I'd always had this scene in my head about what the end of SD-6 would be like. The actual event was every bit like what I'd imagined, but for a single difference. In my daydream I'd always told Vaughn that I loved him. It had been on the tip of my tounge that day, and I'd like to think I would have meant it, but I couldn't bring myself to say the words. Even though I was finally free to be with Vaughn forever- my wish granted- there was still the emptiness inside me. Distant and easily forgettable, but still present none the less.
I loved him, still love him. God, I always will... but not in that heart pounding, aching way that I'd always thought I would have.
Not to say that I loved Sark, but I'd never felt so intrigued by a person ever before. So desperate to know everything about him, and even then sensing that it might not be enough. There was such a deep, unspoken understanding between us, a connection that couldn't be explained and could only have been forged by betrayals we'd both faced at the hands of Sloane and my mother. It was a twisted bond, but knowing that he was the only one who could possibly understand the darkest of thoughts in my head- and then know not to bother with petty words that could never take the nightmares away- drew me to him and wouldn't let me free. The hole deep inside me was somehow filled with his presence.
"Matthew," I point a fork with a piece of pancake speared on its prongs at Sark accusatorily. He had breakfast brought to the room while I was showering, and we are now sitting on the floor eating pancakes and sipping orange juice- a makeshift picnic.
He shakes his head. I'm running out of names, and consider buying a baby book if I had the time, reading off the names alphabetically from beginning to end.
"William?"
Somehow, he manages to swallow his orange juice before laughing, "Oh God, no! Just because I'm British doesn't mean I share my name with that-"
"Okay, okay!" we're both grinning like idiots by this point. I'd even yelled names at him from the shower to which he threatened to come in and stop me. The laughter that had errupted at the innocent comment had prompted him to halfheartedly mutter something about getting my mind out of the bloody gutter.
"You could just tell me and end this game," I point out, and he shakes his head.
"There'd be no fun in that..."
I smile and sip my orange juice, and we fall into a silence that is no longer uncomfortable, but unfortunatly soon broken.
"Sydney, about last night..."
I'd actually thought we might be able to avoid this discussion. Subconsciously, I tucks strands my still wet hair behind my ear and pull at the ends- a nervous habit I know I've picked up from my mother- and brace myself for him to continue. I knew we'd have to discuss this, but not this soon. Not when things felt so right.
"You were upset, vulnerable. I took advantage of that-" he always holds my eyes with his own when he speaks to me, it's almost hypnotic. He does so now, but with great difficulty. Unaccustomed to owning up to his mistakes, or what he feels to be a mistake, he can hardly look me in the eyes.
"I may have been upset, but I knew what I was doing..." I force myself to take a deep breath, and resist the urge to lean closer to him, kiss him and show him that way that this was no mistake made in a moment of heartache and confusion. "I have no regrets."
He subtly releases a breath I didn't know he'd been holding.
"What are we doing, Sydney?"
The only answer I can give isn't an answer at all, "I'm not sure..."
He pauses, and its clear that he's uncomfortable with his next question, and my answer. I didn't think he was capable of being unnerved, let alone by something like this.
"Do you trust me?"
Slowly, I shake my head, and my bathrobe slides down to reveal the bloodsoaked bandage on my shoulder. I pull it back into place before replying barely above a whisper, "No, but I want you to prove me wrong."
Breakfast is finished in silence. Neither of us know what to say, but when we're through he points out that we should rebandage my shoulder, and I allow him to do so.
The day is spent going over the 'mission' for tonight, and I listen to it numbly. Sark has slipped back into his professional demeanor, and he talks of me being handed over to Sloane as if I'm not a life being put in danger but a step in this complicated plan. I'm not offended; I've gone through this process too many times to be upset by the impersonal nature of it all.
"The idea tonight is to get noticed. You'll be entering the club some time before me with that in your purse," he nods towards the box we'd retrieved from the museum. "Sloane will have men stationed throughout the building- it's a hot spot for black market trades, namely of Rambaldi artifacts. You want Sloane to believe that you have the intention of passing the artifact along to a CIA contact."
I open my mouth to protest, to explain that no one will be there for me to meet with, but Sark interrupts.
"You won't have time to worry about finding a contact."
This scares me a little, but only because I don't like walking into a situation without being in complete control. Especially one that will put me at the hands of the man I despise.
"I don't suppose you'll tell me what you intend to have happen..." I say evenly, trying to mask my nerves.
He smiles, and I could almost call the expression sad. He's dropped the professional exterior and is again the man I remember from the night before, "When I asked you if you trusted me, Sydney, it was for a reason."
We're sitting crosslegged, facing eachother on the couch. Leaning closer to me, he rests his hand lightly on the side of my face. That small gesture alone leaves me breathless.
"I won't let him hurt you again..." he whispers before kissing me. Tangling my fingers in the blonde curls at the nape of his neck, I pull him to me and refuse to let go. I don't know what's going to happen tonight or when I'll see him again.
In my wildest dreams I never could have imagined that the thought of losing Sark would hve pitted such a horrible ache inside of me, and I pull him closer still, feeling alone already.
