Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is so short! More is on the way! I
originally intended Chapter 1: Absolution, to be a stand alone story, but
since I had so much fun with it, and there was such a positive response,
I've decided to continue!
"Well, does that make things better for you, Agent Bristow?" He did not flinch, did not move, did not react in any way. Had he even felt it? Only a telltale flickering in the pools of ice blue belied an insurmountable control placed over turbulence. The inquiry he posed was closer to the mark than she wanted, and it was not the one she expected, the one she asked, why did you do it? She ignored his questions and volleyed back one of her own. "How did you know I was in pain?"
He laughed. It was a harsh sound, guttural, without amusement, but without anger. "You wear your scars in your eyes. Besides, it would take a fool not to read your emotions."
A fool. Simply a fool, no pointing fingers, Vaughn's name left unsaid. Unsaid but still thought. When did he acquire such power over her even in his absence? Sark read her weakness like a book, her emotions as open to him as if she'd laid bare her soul. Her scars where many and multi- hued.
"Does kissing the man he hates make it better? Does it heal you inside?"
He was asking questions she didn't like. He was looking for answers she didn't have.
Again she ignored his words, this time concentrating instead at the errant curl of blond hair which had managed to fight its way loose and now flopped ever so rakishly over his left eye. Impulsively, for it seemed the day for impulses, Sydney took the smooth textured hair (like spun gold rolled in dirt) and tucked it behind his ear. Her fingers lingered, the feel of his skin had become an addiction. She couldn't get enough of the sensation, like a rough rose petal, but more importantly she couldn't get enough of his reaction. His blue eyes darkened, clouded, his eyes narrowed, he felt it. She was triumphant once more.
The warning came in a flash of metal too late.
He had broken the cuffs which so precariously kept her safe and his right hand grasped hers, links of splintered metal held in his left. The strength of his hands were unnerving, and he did nothing to calm her flash of surprise. "You didn't answer my question."
It was her turn to breathe difficultly, but she did not strain against him. Not that she could, he held her like a vise, with one hand pressing hers to his neck, drawing her body ever closer.
"Agent Bristow?" Spoken in concern, the guards had become bold again.
But they were not the ones to break the contact.
"Sydney?" Spoken in alarm bordering rage. Vaughn had returned.
The dark-haired man slid easily between them, pushing Sark against a desk. Immediately his hands went up in subservience, but his eyes remained dark. A guard took over the task of recaging Sark, but not before one last glance was shot her way. Vaughn turned his attentions to her, the glance lost to him.
"Are you all right?" There. There was some of the old concern, pity- free.
Like he had the right to be concerned over her. After all, he had long buried Sydney Bristow. Her pain, now, then or ever was not within his interest. So why did he ask?
"I'm fine."
"No, Sydney, you aren't fine. You're shaking all over. What did that pig say to you?" He hadn't seen it, hadn't been present for the kiss which redefined her moral compass. But still. Why did he ask?
"He didn't say anything."
He did not hear her. "I'll report this to Kendall, I'll make sure he never leaves that eight by ten cell ever again. I told them not to let him out. Sark hasn't given us a bit of valuable information in the past two years. All he does is give us half-truths wrapped up in riddles. But I'll get Jack to back me up, if he so much as goes near you again-"
"Vaughn." She broke in, finally. "He wasn't hurting me." She left the rest unspoken, like you're hurting me.
"Well, does that make things better for you, Agent Bristow?" He did not flinch, did not move, did not react in any way. Had he even felt it? Only a telltale flickering in the pools of ice blue belied an insurmountable control placed over turbulence. The inquiry he posed was closer to the mark than she wanted, and it was not the one she expected, the one she asked, why did you do it? She ignored his questions and volleyed back one of her own. "How did you know I was in pain?"
He laughed. It was a harsh sound, guttural, without amusement, but without anger. "You wear your scars in your eyes. Besides, it would take a fool not to read your emotions."
A fool. Simply a fool, no pointing fingers, Vaughn's name left unsaid. Unsaid but still thought. When did he acquire such power over her even in his absence? Sark read her weakness like a book, her emotions as open to him as if she'd laid bare her soul. Her scars where many and multi- hued.
"Does kissing the man he hates make it better? Does it heal you inside?"
He was asking questions she didn't like. He was looking for answers she didn't have.
Again she ignored his words, this time concentrating instead at the errant curl of blond hair which had managed to fight its way loose and now flopped ever so rakishly over his left eye. Impulsively, for it seemed the day for impulses, Sydney took the smooth textured hair (like spun gold rolled in dirt) and tucked it behind his ear. Her fingers lingered, the feel of his skin had become an addiction. She couldn't get enough of the sensation, like a rough rose petal, but more importantly she couldn't get enough of his reaction. His blue eyes darkened, clouded, his eyes narrowed, he felt it. She was triumphant once more.
The warning came in a flash of metal too late.
He had broken the cuffs which so precariously kept her safe and his right hand grasped hers, links of splintered metal held in his left. The strength of his hands were unnerving, and he did nothing to calm her flash of surprise. "You didn't answer my question."
It was her turn to breathe difficultly, but she did not strain against him. Not that she could, he held her like a vise, with one hand pressing hers to his neck, drawing her body ever closer.
"Agent Bristow?" Spoken in concern, the guards had become bold again.
But they were not the ones to break the contact.
"Sydney?" Spoken in alarm bordering rage. Vaughn had returned.
The dark-haired man slid easily between them, pushing Sark against a desk. Immediately his hands went up in subservience, but his eyes remained dark. A guard took over the task of recaging Sark, but not before one last glance was shot her way. Vaughn turned his attentions to her, the glance lost to him.
"Are you all right?" There. There was some of the old concern, pity- free.
Like he had the right to be concerned over her. After all, he had long buried Sydney Bristow. Her pain, now, then or ever was not within his interest. So why did he ask?
"I'm fine."
"No, Sydney, you aren't fine. You're shaking all over. What did that pig say to you?" He hadn't seen it, hadn't been present for the kiss which redefined her moral compass. But still. Why did he ask?
"He didn't say anything."
He did not hear her. "I'll report this to Kendall, I'll make sure he never leaves that eight by ten cell ever again. I told them not to let him out. Sark hasn't given us a bit of valuable information in the past two years. All he does is give us half-truths wrapped up in riddles. But I'll get Jack to back me up, if he so much as goes near you again-"
"Vaughn." She broke in, finally. "He wasn't hurting me." She left the rest unspoken, like you're hurting me.