Closer



Sydney tossed her suitcase onto the passenger's seat and climbed into her car. She started the engine, backed out of the driveway, and started in the direction of the airport.

She had called several airlines and rental car companies while Will was at the CIA garnering the information she had requested. She knew she would have to pay through the nose for such last-minute arrangements but she didn't care in the slightest.

The late afternoon sun created a blinding glare on her windshield that even her visor wouldn't block. She sighed and squinted through the glare, grateful when she turned a corner and the sun was at her back. She put her visor back up as she didn't need it anymore. Shadows from surrounding buildings fell on her windshield and with the little bit of light, she was able to see her reflection.

She frowned.

There were dark circles under her eyes and her eyes themselves were still bloodshot. She touched her face near her mouth, and saw a few wrinkles there that she hadn't noticed before.

She groaned and flipped down the visor and checked her appearance in the mirror on it, as if the windshield might be lying. She still saw the dark circles, the bloodshot eyes, and the wrinkles, but it all looked worse now because of the clear view she had of herself in the mirror.

Angrily, she slapped the cover down on the mirror and flipped the visor back up again. She found herself gripping the steering wheel tightly, feeling a dull ache in her hands. The stress was becoming too much for her to handle. What she had been through would have probably driven others to suicide but she had managed to guide herself through it.

She set her jaw. She wanted everything to be the way it was, when she and Sark were trusting of each other and were able to love one another. She wished she had never doubted him and she wished she could relive the morning over. If she could, she knew she would just let him stay by her side, stroking her hair with one hand while keeping an arm around her, pulling her to his chest, trying to comfort her for what had happened and protect her from what might happen.

If it was possible, her grip on the wheel had tightened. She forced herself to think ahead to what would happen when she arrived in Tuscany. She would let her mother and Sark explain themselves. After all, they should feel bad for leaving her without any sort of answer as to where they were going, what they were doing, or why they were doing it.

After that was resolved, Sydney imagined she'd take Sark to bed. She'd expel her demons and repair what she had with him by being rough and eager, wanting things to return to normal between them. Afterwards, she imagined she would be emotional about her lack of trust in him before and be in need of his reassurance that everything wasn't her fault. She needed him to say that she did have reason to doubt him given their past, and say that he was sorry for not being able to tell her that he was going to just dispose of Sloane himself so that he could be the one to repair their relationship and let her place her trust in him again.

He would cradle her head against his chest and she would move to be as close to him as possible, letting her fingers intertwine with his, planting soft kisses on his body, in something that was halfway between gestures of love and gestures of apology. As she did so, he would probably run his fingertips from her hip up her side, and over her stomach, tracing patterns.

She would sigh with content and bring his head down to hers to kiss him, and before they would know what was happening, they would be making love again. But this time would be different—it would be slow, romantic, their bodies moving together as one until their joint needs were fulfilled.

Sydney tried to snap herself back to reality and not think of what was or what might take place once she got to Tuscany. She needed to focus on just getting there, but it was hard for her to do that completely because of the intense desire she had just built up inside of her. Her loins were burning, her face was flushed, and she had begun to tremble slightly.

Amidst all this, her heart was beating painfully in her chest, a reminder of how much she loved and missed Sark. She had been away from him too long even though it had only been a matter of hours. She needed him and she was certain that he felt the same way she did.

She finally arrived at the airport and unfortunately the evidence of her arousal still remained. She sighed and lifted her suitcase from her car and set it on the ground. She locked her door and all but slammed it shut, then began walking, pulling the suitcase along on its wheels behind her.


Meanwhile, Sark was swimming laps in the rather large pool at Sloane's villa, unaware that Irina had come out to watch him. Irina had taken a seat on one of the lounge chairs and was watching Sark swim. She could tell by the way he moved—the way he harshly carved his arms through the water, the way his feet kicked up waves violently—that he was trying to work out his frustration.

Sark finally came up for air after completing a couple dozen or so laps. He swam to the side of the pool and hoisted himself out. He stood for a moment, the water cascading down his chest and abdomen, as well as off his trunks—which were clinging to all the right places—onto his well-muscled legs.

He raked a hand through his hair as he sauntered over to the chair on which his towel rested, then shook his head in the manner of a dog after it has been hosed down from a bath. His hair was left perfectly mussed and considerably less wet.

Irina smiled at the action, wishing Sydney had been there to see it. She figured Sydney would have laughed and perhaps made a joke about immaturity. Her smile faded when she thought about what Sydney might be doing. Irina was well aware that Sydney could just tell the CIA that she wanted a team to be sent to eliminate both Irina and Sark. Irina bit her lip and ventured back into the house, leaving Sark alone.

Sark picked up his towel and dried himself off, starting with his face and his dampened brow that was causing water to get into his eyes. He moved to his arms next, roughly sliding the towel over his toned biceps and his forearms. He followed this by smoothing the towel over his chest and abdomen where water had still been coursing down from his shoulders. His trunks were drying as he ran the towel over his legs.

When he was satisfied that he was dry enough, he slung the towel around his neck and began to walk towards the house.


Sydney sat in the coach cabin in a window seat next to a woman who looked old enough to be a grandmother and a teenage boy listening to his CD player who was probably the woman's grandson. She made sure her seat belt was secured even though it was now safe for her to unbuckle it and propped her elbow against the small bit of sill and stared blankly out the window.

She wasn't sure how she knew, but she was more than aware that the woman had her gaze fixed on her. She sighed, partly because of what she was going through and partly because she had a feeling it would prompt the woman to start asking questions instead of just staring at her for the whole flight.

The woman touched Sydney's arm, causing Sydney to turn towards her. Sydney's eyes were dark and her lips formed a thin line as she awaited the woman's query. "What seems to be troubling you, my dear?"

Sydney quickly cast her eyes downward and shook her head. "Nothing."

The woman lifted Sydney's chin up and tilted her own head to one side as she gazed into Sydney's eyes. "That's not entirely convincing," she said with a smile.

Sydney allowed herself a small chuckle and a brief smile. "I was never any good at lying." The words rolled off her tongue before she had the chance to really think about them. It wasn't like it mattered—she would never see this woman again, so did it really matter if she told her a tiny lie?

"Tell me what's bothering you, dear," the woman said calmly, giving Sydney a knowing look.

Sydney shrugged a little. "It's not a big thing, it's just that I—" She shook her head. "Well, actually it is a big thing, I just—" She swallowed hard, a strong current of emotions suddenly washing over her. "I wasn't very trusting of him—my boyfriend, I mean—and he got upset and I got upset, and I ended up breaking up with him, and now I'm trying to sort things out."

The woman nodded, mulling over Sydney's words, perhaps thinking of a time when she had gone through the same thing. "What's his name?"

Sydney found herself blushing. "Andrew." As soon as his name rolled off of her tongue, she felt better, and the stress that she had been feeling beforehand was lifted off her shoulders.

"What's he like?"

Sydney smiled again, blushing fiercely, and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. "He's really kind, and caring, and loving. He has a great personality, a great sense of humor." She nodded slowly, her eyes closing for a brief moment as she whispered, "He's so good to me."

The woman frowned thoughtfully. "What happened? Why didn't you trust him?"

Sydney felt a knot tighten in her stomach and a lump form in her throat. "Our past is somewhat complicated, but there have always been trust issues between us, things we weren't able to resolve until recently before things just shattered all over again."

"What happened to bring things to this?"

Sydney looked up at the woman, feeling her gray eyes bore into her own eyes, and almost believing that the woman could read her entire soul by just observing the emotions etched into her eyes. "I didn't think he could change, given everything that we had been through. I found it too difficult to believe that he wasn't going to hurt me in some way, so I got scared and just—ended it."

"So now you realized you made a mistake and you're going to see if he'll take you back," the woman said.

"Yeah, something like that," Sydney said quietly.

"You're sure he won't give up on you?" the woman asked, tilting her head to one side again and looking into Sydney's eyes.

Sydney's eyes narrowed and she stared intently at the woman. "He's not like that," she insisted, "he won't give up on me. He knows I need time." She turned away from the woman then, looking out the window again. In a voice tinged with sadness, she said, "My life isn't exactly what one would call a picnic."

"I can see that," the woman stated simply.

Sydney nearly whipped back around to look at her. "How?"

"Your eyes, dear," the woman told her, "I can tell you've been through a great deal, and had probably more than your fair share of arduous times."

Sydney nodded solemnly. If only the woman knew what sort of 'arduous times' that she had had to overcome.

"Can I offer you some advice on your repairing of this relationship?" the woman asked, fully intending to offer her advice whether Sydney was accepting of it or not.

"Sure," Sydney said with a shrug.

"When you go to him, don't beat around the bush. You need to be strong and forceful so that he knows how much you need him and how much you regret your decision. Just grab him by the shirt and kiss him, you know?" Sydney smiled at this and the woman continued, "After that, explain to him what you told me, and if he's as wonderful a man as you've made him out to be, everything should be fine."

Sydney smiled again. "Thank you."

The woman smiled back at her and patted her hand before picking up a magazine and proceeding to indulge herself in it. Sydney looked at her for a few seconds more before leaning her shoulder and head against the window and smiling as she dozed off.


Sark was in the room he had selected earlier. He had already taken a quick shower to cleanse himself of the chlorine and had promptly gotten dressed. He climbed onto the bed and propped up the pillows against his back so he could lean on them. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about Sydney.

He found himself wondering what she would do when she arrived. Would she yell at him for leaving? Was she just coming so she that she could tell him a CIA team was en route and that he was going to be killed? Or would she grab him by his shirt and meld her lips to his to show him that she was feeling guilty for doubting him and for ending their relationship and for threatening to turn him into the CIA?

He hoped the third option was the one that Sydney would choose, but he couldn't be sure. He knew they both had things to feel guilty about, him for leaving her the way he did, without telling her his plans, and her for giving up when she had no truly valid reason to do so.

He figured that there was something else that could be tacked on to the third option—Sydney would probably make him and Irina explain exactly what was happening. After she had reassurance that he wasn't betraying her, she would probably march him up to bed and apologize in private. He imagined the words would be hard for her to say, so she would most likely tell him a little bit, then leave the rest unsaid by her lips, but spoken loud and clear by her actions.

He would allow her to do whatever she felt she needed to do to repair what she wanted and needed to fix. He would let her lead with whatever course of action she wanted to take to accomplish her goal and he would make sure he supported her in whatever way he could to make things as easy as possible for her.

He presumed that with her plan, she would be rough, eager, wanting things to be back to normal as soon as possible. She would probably be gentle after that, though, they both would be. She would probably seek his reassurance that they both had a fault in breaking up their relationship, that it wasn't just her. Then, they would relax and relish being with one another, and then the event would repeat itself, but it would be slow, romantic, the way they both knew it should be.

Sark smiled to himself. If she indeed chose the third option like he believed she would, he had a great deal to which he would be able to look forward.

Remaining in bed, he kicked off his pants and tugged off his shirt so that he was clad only in his boxers. He slid underneath the covers and smiled as he drifted off to sleep.