Disclaimer: This is now thoroughly AU, which was perhaps always inevitable. The chapter titles are all from Morphine songs I don't own; I also don't own the characters I'm playing with here, obviously.
* * *
1. "I can tell you taste like the sky, because you look like rain."
He has always hated the heat, and so it is that he finds himself cursing his employer's name, not for the first time. It's 4am, and he's sitting in a rental car with the windows rolled down and the engine off, watching a door like it's a pot stubbornly refusing to boil.
Perhaps it would be better to simply break in and sit inside, let the guy walk in and find him sitting there in the dark. On the other hand, the air conditioner probably wouldn't be on if the guy wasn't home, so it wouldn't be much of an improvement. But maybe the darkness would be a reprieve; as unlikely as that prospect was, anything would be better than strangling in this stagnant, humid air. He grabs the box from the passenger seat and locks the door before stalking across the street--an empty gesture, considering that no one is around to see.
Getting in without leaving evidence isn't a problem. He hadn't anticipated that it would be.
"Shit," a familiar voice says from somewhere in the darkness.
He remains silent and still, hoping she's merely stubbed a toe.
"I can see you," she says. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" he repeats, setting his box on what seems to be a nearby table, preparing to remove its contents.
"Waiting for Dr. Miratomi."
"What for?"
"What do you want him for?"
"How did you get in here? I've been watching the front all night."
"Back window. You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you kill him."
"I don't want to kill him."
"You can't take him with you."
"Well, you're not taking him with you, either."
"I need-" she pauses abruptly, and both are quiet as a key turns in the lock. The man sings loudly, off-key, to himself: "She has a little stutter, she yells, t-top floor-"
Dr. Henry Miratomi hits the wood floor with a hard thud before he even has time to register that a dart is lodged in his neck.
"Tell me what you want him for," Sark says calmly.
"You first," Sydney counters.
"Help me get him to the car, then."
"You're not taking him with you," she repeats.
"Okay," he shrugs, grasping the man around his ankles and dragging him toward the door. "Don't help."
Sydney watches Dr. Miratomi's head glide across the smooth floor, and remembers the concrete stairs that lead to his front door. "All right, I'll help," she amends, grabbing his limp arms.
Later she will be unable to recount exactly how she ended up sitting in the passenger seat of his car, after Miratomi's body is safely stashed in the trunk, no witnesses. She thinks Sark might have said: "Get in. It's late. We'll deal with who takes him where later." There she is, watching him start the engine, watching the streetlights pass overhead one after the other, and she feels suddenly that she must have agreed to something at some point, but she can't quite be sure what it was.
"Relax," he says, and smiles at her.
And she still hates him, but she does.
She certainly doesn't trust him enough to sleep, although her eyes burn. Instead she says, "Why do you stay with her?"
No response.
"Aren't you a little old to be her errand boy?"
"You aren't going to convert me to the side of all that is pure and good. I don't know why you even try."
She lets out an exasperated sigh. "You know what? Neither do I."
They don't talk for another hour.
"I'm sorry," she says. "That was rude." She waits for a response, and when there is none: "It's been so long."
"A year," he says. He does not say: exactly 317 days have passed since you killed Allison Doren, and I would feel perfectly justified in taking your life now in retribution, but that isn't what I was ordered to do. "Where have you been? We've wondered."
"I woke up in a hospital in London after that night I almost died."
That night you should have died, he mentally amends.
"After they released me, about a month had passed. I came home, and there was nothing left. Will left. Francie was dead. My father was still in Sloane's clutches; it wasn't until later that I found out it was by choice. So I left, too. I've been working on my own, trying to track my mother down, find out what she was talking about that last night I saw her. Find out if she was the one who saved my life, although I doubt it, and if she was--"
"She was," he says indifferently.
"If she was, I'm sure she had an agenda."
She omitted Agent Vaughn from her explanation; he decides against asking. "It must have been a shock, to come home and find your father had defected to the dark side."
"He thought I was dead."
"Does he know you aren't?"
"I don't know," she shrugs. "So you are still working for her?"
"With."
She cracks a smile. "Right. Sorry."
"Easy mistake to make," he relents, cracking a smile of his own.
She pauses. "What does she want from Miratomi?"
"She hasn't told me," he lies. "You're working for yourself. What do you want from him?"
Sydney stares out the window; the sun is coming up over the skyline of a city she's never visited before. "He's a Rambaldi scholar. I was hoping he could tell me what Sloane has been up to--what my father's been up to."
"That's what she wants, too." Sort of.
"I don't want to see her, if that's where you're going."
"You said you were trying to track her down." He is careful to sound disinterested.
"I was. I am. But I'm not ready for that yet."
"I'll let you out wherever you want."
"Not without Dr. Miratomi." She is resolute.
"Then I guess you'd better get ready to see her." He glances at her out of the corner of his eye; her face darkens as she considers her options: overpower him, get out without Miratomi, or surrender. She apparently chooses the third choice, making no move to achieve either the first or second. Outside, grey storm clouds are already overtaking the morning sun, as the humid air threatens to burst.
* * *
1. "I can tell you taste like the sky, because you look like rain."
He has always hated the heat, and so it is that he finds himself cursing his employer's name, not for the first time. It's 4am, and he's sitting in a rental car with the windows rolled down and the engine off, watching a door like it's a pot stubbornly refusing to boil.
Perhaps it would be better to simply break in and sit inside, let the guy walk in and find him sitting there in the dark. On the other hand, the air conditioner probably wouldn't be on if the guy wasn't home, so it wouldn't be much of an improvement. But maybe the darkness would be a reprieve; as unlikely as that prospect was, anything would be better than strangling in this stagnant, humid air. He grabs the box from the passenger seat and locks the door before stalking across the street--an empty gesture, considering that no one is around to see.
Getting in without leaving evidence isn't a problem. He hadn't anticipated that it would be.
"Shit," a familiar voice says from somewhere in the darkness.
He remains silent and still, hoping she's merely stubbed a toe.
"I can see you," she says. "What are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here?" he repeats, setting his box on what seems to be a nearby table, preparing to remove its contents.
"Waiting for Dr. Miratomi."
"What for?"
"What do you want him for?"
"How did you get in here? I've been watching the front all night."
"Back window. You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you kill him."
"I don't want to kill him."
"You can't take him with you."
"Well, you're not taking him with you, either."
"I need-" she pauses abruptly, and both are quiet as a key turns in the lock. The man sings loudly, off-key, to himself: "She has a little stutter, she yells, t-top floor-"
Dr. Henry Miratomi hits the wood floor with a hard thud before he even has time to register that a dart is lodged in his neck.
"Tell me what you want him for," Sark says calmly.
"You first," Sydney counters.
"Help me get him to the car, then."
"You're not taking him with you," she repeats.
"Okay," he shrugs, grasping the man around his ankles and dragging him toward the door. "Don't help."
Sydney watches Dr. Miratomi's head glide across the smooth floor, and remembers the concrete stairs that lead to his front door. "All right, I'll help," she amends, grabbing his limp arms.
Later she will be unable to recount exactly how she ended up sitting in the passenger seat of his car, after Miratomi's body is safely stashed in the trunk, no witnesses. She thinks Sark might have said: "Get in. It's late. We'll deal with who takes him where later." There she is, watching him start the engine, watching the streetlights pass overhead one after the other, and she feels suddenly that she must have agreed to something at some point, but she can't quite be sure what it was.
"Relax," he says, and smiles at her.
And she still hates him, but she does.
She certainly doesn't trust him enough to sleep, although her eyes burn. Instead she says, "Why do you stay with her?"
No response.
"Aren't you a little old to be her errand boy?"
"You aren't going to convert me to the side of all that is pure and good. I don't know why you even try."
She lets out an exasperated sigh. "You know what? Neither do I."
They don't talk for another hour.
"I'm sorry," she says. "That was rude." She waits for a response, and when there is none: "It's been so long."
"A year," he says. He does not say: exactly 317 days have passed since you killed Allison Doren, and I would feel perfectly justified in taking your life now in retribution, but that isn't what I was ordered to do. "Where have you been? We've wondered."
"I woke up in a hospital in London after that night I almost died."
That night you should have died, he mentally amends.
"After they released me, about a month had passed. I came home, and there was nothing left. Will left. Francie was dead. My father was still in Sloane's clutches; it wasn't until later that I found out it was by choice. So I left, too. I've been working on my own, trying to track my mother down, find out what she was talking about that last night I saw her. Find out if she was the one who saved my life, although I doubt it, and if she was--"
"She was," he says indifferently.
"If she was, I'm sure she had an agenda."
She omitted Agent Vaughn from her explanation; he decides against asking. "It must have been a shock, to come home and find your father had defected to the dark side."
"He thought I was dead."
"Does he know you aren't?"
"I don't know," she shrugs. "So you are still working for her?"
"With."
She cracks a smile. "Right. Sorry."
"Easy mistake to make," he relents, cracking a smile of his own.
She pauses. "What does she want from Miratomi?"
"She hasn't told me," he lies. "You're working for yourself. What do you want from him?"
Sydney stares out the window; the sun is coming up over the skyline of a city she's never visited before. "He's a Rambaldi scholar. I was hoping he could tell me what Sloane has been up to--what my father's been up to."
"That's what she wants, too." Sort of.
"I don't want to see her, if that's where you're going."
"You said you were trying to track her down." He is careful to sound disinterested.
"I was. I am. But I'm not ready for that yet."
"I'll let you out wherever you want."
"Not without Dr. Miratomi." She is resolute.
"Then I guess you'd better get ready to see her." He glances at her out of the corner of his eye; her face darkens as she considers her options: overpower him, get out without Miratomi, or surrender. She apparently chooses the third choice, making no move to achieve either the first or second. Outside, grey storm clouds are already overtaking the morning sun, as the humid air threatens to burst.