"Sydney. I'm only concerned about your safety. You are a valuable
agent to this agency." Right. Because his concern could only be
professional at best. The need to qualify his own emotions hinted at a
guard he had put up. A minute in the past he had shown such passion
rekindled. And now it was gone. As if he saw his own ice, he continued.
"And you, you are.a good friend of mine."
Friend. He gave her such pleasure with such pain. When would it be her turn to give?
"Sark is a tiger that's been declawed. I can handle him. He's nothing now." She spoke with nerve she could not possibly feel. His intriguing departure would not be easily forgotten. And where had that odd impulse to slide her body over his come from? Those eyes, a million shades of blue, iridescent. No, Mr. Sark would not be so easily banished into thin air.
"You underestimate him." It was an argument they so oft repeated, before. Before. Tempering the present to bring back the past, his face softened, a memory of the old Vaughn, caring for the old Sydney. Memories could feel so real.
"You underestimate me."
"Sydney, I could never underestimate you." Was that the hint of a smile? A smile wistful at what might have been? Perhaps memories held the power to transform the present. And now she longed to recall more, show him that she was not a phantom, that the past could be easily willed into a visage of the future.
"Vaughn." Could fingers that lingered on the devil touch an angel, albeit a recalcitrant angel? Once he had been her guardian angel. Did he still hold the title? Or would her hands pass through, proving herself insubstantial?
He jerked back.
She had not even touched him. That she needed torture to force herself to feel was no longer in dispute.
Does it make things better - Sark asked the right question after all. Does it make things any better? No. Did it heal her? No. But it numbed the pain. Nothing short of a time machine would heal her. And yet her newly gained insights alluded to a change of heart. Paradigm shift absolute.perhaps. The rules and regulations which gave her direction, gave her purpose, disappeared. There was nothing left to follow. No one left, but the one woman she was finally beginning to understand.
She couldn't bear to see his retreating back once more. Couldn't stand to hear his footsteps echoing into the hallway, his shoulders hunched in defeat, his head down in pity, his eyes averted. He had become so good at leaving.
It is your turn - her mother's voice whispered. It is your turn to walk away. So many times she had trusted that voice. So began another seduction. Because it was her turn to walk away.
And so she did. She put one foot in front of the other, and continued to do so until she knew Vaughn could no longer see her. Ironic that she end up here. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
"Leave us." The guards stared.
"We have to leave the monitors on."
"Doesn't matter."
Nothing mattered. Anymore. It wouldn't be the first time she was filmed. Not that she planned on doing that with Sark, in a federal detention center of all places. Still, there was a poetry to his face which even Vaughn could not fake. Such clean lines, an openness which did not reach his eyes. Face of an angel - her mother's voice again whispered. Even Lucifer retained his beauty after his fall.
Kissing him had been like falling into deep water, with no hope of resurfacing. An indistinct pressure threatened to capsize every inch of her body, but still she had floated. And now, merely standing next to him, seeing him, Sydney felt as if she were falling all over again.
Like Alice down the rabbit hole.
Where would she land?
Friend. He gave her such pleasure with such pain. When would it be her turn to give?
"Sark is a tiger that's been declawed. I can handle him. He's nothing now." She spoke with nerve she could not possibly feel. His intriguing departure would not be easily forgotten. And where had that odd impulse to slide her body over his come from? Those eyes, a million shades of blue, iridescent. No, Mr. Sark would not be so easily banished into thin air.
"You underestimate him." It was an argument they so oft repeated, before. Before. Tempering the present to bring back the past, his face softened, a memory of the old Vaughn, caring for the old Sydney. Memories could feel so real.
"You underestimate me."
"Sydney, I could never underestimate you." Was that the hint of a smile? A smile wistful at what might have been? Perhaps memories held the power to transform the present. And now she longed to recall more, show him that she was not a phantom, that the past could be easily willed into a visage of the future.
"Vaughn." Could fingers that lingered on the devil touch an angel, albeit a recalcitrant angel? Once he had been her guardian angel. Did he still hold the title? Or would her hands pass through, proving herself insubstantial?
He jerked back.
She had not even touched him. That she needed torture to force herself to feel was no longer in dispute.
Does it make things better - Sark asked the right question after all. Does it make things any better? No. Did it heal her? No. But it numbed the pain. Nothing short of a time machine would heal her. And yet her newly gained insights alluded to a change of heart. Paradigm shift absolute.perhaps. The rules and regulations which gave her direction, gave her purpose, disappeared. There was nothing left to follow. No one left, but the one woman she was finally beginning to understand.
She couldn't bear to see his retreating back once more. Couldn't stand to hear his footsteps echoing into the hallway, his shoulders hunched in defeat, his head down in pity, his eyes averted. He had become so good at leaving.
It is your turn - her mother's voice whispered. It is your turn to walk away. So many times she had trusted that voice. So began another seduction. Because it was her turn to walk away.
And so she did. She put one foot in front of the other, and continued to do so until she knew Vaughn could no longer see her. Ironic that she end up here. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.
"Leave us." The guards stared.
"We have to leave the monitors on."
"Doesn't matter."
Nothing mattered. Anymore. It wouldn't be the first time she was filmed. Not that she planned on doing that with Sark, in a federal detention center of all places. Still, there was a poetry to his face which even Vaughn could not fake. Such clean lines, an openness which did not reach his eyes. Face of an angel - her mother's voice again whispered. Even Lucifer retained his beauty after his fall.
Kissing him had been like falling into deep water, with no hope of resurfacing. An indistinct pressure threatened to capsize every inch of her body, but still she had floated. And now, merely standing next to him, seeing him, Sydney felt as if she were falling all over again.
Like Alice down the rabbit hole.
Where would she land?