Story: Once Upon A Time
Author: Steph, aka Fanatic482 (stephanie406@att.net)
Disclaimer: Alias and the characters of the show aren't mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot Productions, etc etc
Rating: PG-13 overall, individual chapters that are R will be marked as such
Spoilers/Summary: Sequel to "Beyond All Limits"; General Season 1 Spoilers; Sydney and Sark on a private island with one Prophecy goal to fulfill
Distribution: Cover Me, Sarkgasm, Dark Enigma yes; all other please ask first
Thanks To: Glenna, Jennifer and Becky for the betas!
Author's Note: wow. I'm so frickin' proud of myself right now, because I'm on a roll and it feels great…Hell, I'm getting caught up in my own story! As always, read, review, and make me feel loved! (special shout out to 'screen names are tacky'… your last review had me smiling as I went to take a monster test, and reminded me so much why I share the fruits of my creativity in the first place. Thank you)
Chapter Six: Dance
It was day forty-one, a week later, and Sydney was still mad. Upset. Angry. Hell, she was the torrential tornado that swept through the house. Dinners, which Ethan still insisted upon eating with her, were tense affairs. His attempts to be pleasant were met with terse, biting replies that usually quieted him long enough that she could resume brooding. She was perfecting her dark, brooding technique.
For all the thinking she'd done, she refused to think about why, exactly, his life story had affected her so much. Refused to acknowledge that it was because she'd begun to care about him. Embracing her pain and anger was easier than confronting those confusing emotions where black and white blurred to shades of gray. Her alternatives were pity and sympathy or identification and empathy, neither of which was on her to-do list where Ethan McMillan was concerned.
Sydney finished taping her knuckles and slipped on the boxing gloves as she eyed the punching bag. Too bad she couldn't get a picture of his face to tape to it. Of course, he chose that moment to show his face. Sydney ignored him as she braced her feet on the mat and threw her first punch, then a second, testing the bag, and falling into a rhythm. Punching bags were impractical for practicing more than perfecting her jab, and that usually was just fine with her. She began to intermediate the throws with kicks. When he appeared on the other side of the bag to hold it in place for her, she managed to tap into a new reservoir of energy and began kicking and punching as if out to kill.
Over the rhythmic slap of glove and skin to bag, she heard him offer to fight her. She stopped, eyed him challenging with a hard gaze that he met in return. "You're on." Sydney was breathing hard, and sweating profusely by this point, and she found it very hard to keep her gaze off him as he stripped off his shirt and grabbed the roll of tape.
"Hope you know what you're getting yourself into," she muttered, yanking her right glove off to grab a bottle of water. She uncapped it, maintaining constant movement to keep her muscles limber. Some of her hair had escaped her ponytail and hung in damp strands in her face. She brushed them out of the way as he put on his gloves, and returned her hand to her glove.
"I always know what I'm getting myself into." His eyebrows rose in a challenge as he began to circle her. She wasted no time inviting him to attack, blocking every punch, fighting as if she was dancing. After all, Sydney had taken ballet lessons, eventually, her younger self thinking it was a surefire way to gain the approval of her distant remaining parent. Fighting was nothing more than an unchoreographed, but equally beautiful, dance.
She used every move she'd ever been taught, borrowing from other fighting styles and being creative as she went. "I get the feeling you're holding back on me," she breathed heavily, blocking a throw and attempted an undercut. He advanced on her again, trying to kick her feet out from under her. She jumped just in time. The fighting had advanced to all out war, just with boxing gloves as an added bonus.
"Maybe I am," he countered. "But then again, so are you."
She grinned, pulling a fancy footwork maneuver and danced her way out of reach. "Maybe." He lunged and she tumbled away. "Or maybe not. Maybe you'll never know." She used a last burst of energy to launch an all out attack, grinning in exhileration when she finally managed to knock his feet from under him and send him crashing to the ground. She straddled his middle, pinning him to the floor. "Gotcha," she crowed in glee. They were both panting heavily.
A few deep breaths later, and he relaxed under her, a reckless grin on his face. Sydney eyed him suspiciously, sitting back and settling her weight squarely on his stomach. "What?" she finally asked.
"Nothing. Nothing at all." He gave her his completely unconvincing rendition of an innocent look. "Just… you know, enjoying the view from down here." His laughter turned into a groan as her gloved right hand clocked him on the side of his head. "Owww…" he complained as she stood and he sat upright, his now gloveless hand tenderly rubbed the spot.
"Like you haven't suffered worse, you arrogant little—"
"Hey now… How about we call a truce before you say something you'll regret later."
"Not likely. I don't think regret fits anywhere in this picture, Ethan." She yanked off her gloves, wincing as her bloody knuckles emerged.
"Except maybe not putting enough tape on those?" He graced her with an arrogant smirk as he stood and tossed his gloves in the general direction of the proper equipment box. "Let me have a look." He'd gotten hold of her hands before she could pull away, gently unwrapping the soiled tape. Of course, just to rub the pain in all the more, his own tape looked as it had when he'd put it on, if just a little sweatier. Damn him.
"Punching bag," she muttered, shrugging out of reach and finished unwrapping her hands herself, dropping the tape into the waste basket on her way out of the room.
"You can't avoid me forever, you know." Great, he'd changed the topic to something even less to her liking than before, and to make matters worse, he was following her up the stairs to her room.
"You going to stop me from trying?" she tossed back challengingly. She entered her room and went straight for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. She dropped it on the counter, turned the cold water on full force and stuck her hands under the stream of water. "Yes?" she asked in exasperation, turning to look at him standing comfortably in her bathroom doorway, his hip propped against the doorframe and his arms folded over his bare chest. His face held an irritated, if slightly perturbed, look.
"Why do you insist on causing yourself so much unnecessary pain?" His head nodded in indication towards her hands, but both knew he meant much more than that.
Sydney thought about just ignoring the question, but knew he would just ask again, some other time, some other way. She turned the water off and began gently blotting her hands dry. "Why not? It seems to be what I'm best at. To get emotionally involved in whatever the hell it is that I'm doing, to give it everything I've got, and then to have it turn against me and bite me in the ass. Is that what you wanted to know? Is there some more, oh, I don't know, personal reason I can give you?" Her sarcasm was evident as she dropped the towel down the laundry chute and turned to leave the bathroom, only to find him still blocking the exit. "Do you mind? I'd like to actually take a nice, hot bath before dinner, and you're blocking my way to the closet." She sent him a leveled hard gaze, but he only simply met it, searching her eyes for God knows what. After what seemed an eternity to her, he moved out of the way.
"So I'll see you at dinner then?" he asked pleasantly, as if the previous exchange hadn't happened, as if the whole entire week had just been any other fun-filled happy week in their little island paradise. She flipped the finger to his retreating back, innocently moving into her closet when he turned to look at her before closing the door behind him.
Sydney perused the collection of sundresses in her closet. She was about to settle on a red and white checked gingham when an idea entered her mind. She wandered further into the closet, into the corner full of the more formal clothes. Sydney had discovered them her first trip into the closet, but had dismissed them as too fussy and much too like the clothing she wore on a regular basis for missions.
But tonight, Sydney felt like shaking things up. And she knew exactly what she was going to wear.
***********
Her fingers trailed softly down the curving wooden banister as she made her way towards the dining room. The hem of the dress swished silkily against her knees, and she could feel the loose curls slipping free of the precarious half twist. Black designer stilettos clicked down the marble hallway, and her glossy lipstick was slick when she rubbed her lips together. She knew exactly how sexy her look was, how completely overdone for dinner, and she didn't care in the least.
She sauntered into the room and found Ethan with his back turned to her and perusing the wine bottles. "What do you think about a—" he was asking as he turned around, the words in his mouth trailing off when he caught sight of her standing in the doorway. She donned a knowing smirk when he almost dropped the bottle he was holding. All the time achieving the look was worth the look on his face. She knew that rarely did anything ever catch him off guard, let alone actually surprise him.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll do just fine," she replied, making her way towards the table. The chiffon of her black halter dress swayed with every movement, the ruffle on the plunging neckline drawing more attention than anything as she turned to be seated. When the chair didn't move in, she coyly turned around to find him fixated on her completely bare back. "Ethan," she prompted.
He snapped out of his trance. "Right," he said and pushed the chair in.
"Thank you." She crossed her legs under the table and watched as he uncorked the chosen wine bottle. Not surprisingly, another red wine.
"Well. I'm feeling quite underdressed for the first time in a long time," he commented as he seated himself. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Sydney gave a casual, almost careless shrug. "I felt like dressing up. Do I need a reason beyond that?"
"Not at all. In fact, Miss Bristow, you look quite stunning. I just wish you'd allowed me the pleasure of joining you in the 'dressing up' part of the evening."
She smiled the secretive little smile she'd perfected many years ago. "Now, that would have just spoiled all my fun in surprising you, wouldn't it have? Besides, you look just fine." And he did. His khakis were meticulous, and the navy polo shirt made his eyes look even bluer. But she wasn't going to tell him that. Because that would mean that she'd taken notice of his eyes, knew what shade of blue they were when he was in a certain mood, wearing a certain color, and in different light.
He straightened and his face brightened, which immediately made Sydney suspicious. "I have an idea. Would you maybe like to have a little dancing after dinner?"
Sydney almost choked on the sip of wine she'd just taken, but recovered enough to take his question in stride. In fact… She gave him a sly smile. "I'd love to."
"Wonderful." He smiled one of those rare, bright smiles of his, the kind that always made her heart skip a tiny beat. Maria emerged with dinner, and so the eating commenced.
***********
She'd been in the small-scale ballroom once before, on her initial examination of the house after her arrival. Two sides were floor-to-ceiling glass with an ocean view, the other sides tastefully decorated in cream with gold trimmings. The décor scheme enhanced the painted murals across the domed ceiling. It was breath-takingly beautiful, and completely impractical for a solitary home on an island far away from civilization. But she loved it anyways.
Ethan had disappeared into a room behind a hidden wall panel, and soon soft jazzy music was filling the room. "How's the sound?" he called, peering around the door.
She stood in the middle of the dance floor. "Gorgeous," she answered.
He nodded, apparently satisfied, returned to the room. The lights began to dim, which made her laugh softly and shake her head. When he reemerged, she said, "You know, Ethan, one would almost think you were trying to create a romantic atmosphere." She tilted her head and smiled as he approached.
He stopped in front of her and smiled in return. "Would that be such a bad thing, Sydney?"
Her eyes narrowed when she heard him refer to her by her first name. "I—"
He reached for her hands. "You have to admit that it's getting rather ridiculous for me to call you by a name other than the one you go by." Sydney sighed, because, more than anything, it was frustrating when he was right. His fingers rubbed absent-mindedly over her bruised and raw knuckles. "Shall we?"
The fingers of his left hand laced with her right, and his other hand slid around her waist to the bare skin of her back as he drew her closer. The warmth emanating from the tips of his fingers proved to be distracting as he began moving to the music, drawing her with him.
"Something the matter?" he asked after a few moments, picking up on her unease.
"Heels," she replied, blaming her discomfort unaccordingly. "Four inch stilettos, nonetheless. I'm just not used to wearing them anymore."
"So get rid of them." He stopped, allowing her to bend over and remove the shoes, his hand hovering protectively over her back. She straightened, leaving the shoes where they were and pasting a smile on her face. "Better?" he asked.
"Much." The music changed to a more upbeat tempo, much to Sydney's relief. Before she knew it, she was spinning circles across the length of the ballroom, showing off her dancing skills in their true form. Sydney no longer had to force a smile to her face, because it began to be fun. He wasn't a bad dancer himself, and he challenged her as much as he prodded her.
But the mood abruptly changed. He'd spun her out and pulled her back in. But instead of releasing her, he wrapped his arms around her.
"What?" she breathlessly laughed at the serious look that had suddenly lodged itself on his face.
"You're beautiful, you know that?"
"Ethan, don't…" she protested and tried to back away. He held tight. She looked into his face searchingly. "What's going on?"
A deep sigh emerged. "Nothing." He dropped his arms. He turned and began to walk away, she assumed to turn the music off. "You know what? Not nothing." He spun around. "How can you do it, Sydney? How do you just ignore it and pretend you don't feel a damned thing?"
"Ignore what?" She cried out in surprise when he seized her upper arms and dragged her close.
"The chemistry, Sydney. The attraction that we've both felt and tried to deny from the day we first met." His eyes were a stormy blue, staring at her hard—making her so uncomfortable she had to look away.
"I—" she broke off into silence, not knowing exactly what to say.
"You know what? Forget it. Forget I said anything."
And then he was gone, leaving her standing alone once again in the middle of the ballroom floor, the sad jazz music playing on.
For all his faults, abruptness, and assumptions, this time he wasn't wrong, much though she desperately wanted him to be. And she didn't know what scared her more—admitting it to herself, or knowing that he felt the same way.
Author's Note: Review and make me a happy camper! Chapter 7 is almost done…