Title: Innermost Pages
Author: Liquid Thalassa
E-Mail: liquidthalassa@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Genre: romance/ other
Pairing/Ship: Sark/Sydney
Spoilers: None. AU-ish. Not tired to any episodes.
Disclaimer: Duh, not mine- well the characters and show at least. But I do take credit for this fic- it did come from my head- and was written by my hand...
Author's Notes: This is my first non-poem Sarkney fic. I'm a little nervous but oh well, just let me know what you think!
HERE IT IS:
*******
When Sydney first saw it- either in his hands, clasped like it was the codes to a nuclear launch, or in the breast pocket of his Armani suit over his heart, right next to his 9mm- she knew it was important.
But what was important to Sark, she would wonder. Power. Control. Money. Flexibility. Freedom. She was sure there was more, but none seemed to explain the notebook- at least not right now.
It seemed ordinary enough- small, dark blue, corners creased, tops of pages sticking out- but Sydney knew that when it came to Sark nothing was ordinary.
Nothing.
He sat across from her one day. Staring off into space, his rich blue eyes mingling with the sea in the distance. The sound of crashing waves lulled Sydney into a calm. She always loved the sea, the ocean, its vast possibilities- like Sark's eyes, she thought, immediately wondering where that came from. He looked down- still not meeting her gaze- to his glass of wine. She found out he drank wine all the time; it was the only thing she saw him drink actually. Chateau Petreuse: '82. He swirled it in his strong hands, watching the rich ruby color dance.
"Sark." She said breaking the silence.
He didn't look up, but gave an unintelligible "huh?"
"What are we doing out here?" She asked, taking a sip of her diet cola.
"Your guess is as good as mine." He said, finally elevating his crystal-blue eyes to hers.
Right, always the cryptic, she thought suppressing a sigh.
"You called me here for a reason." She said reminding him of the little phone call he gave her a few hours ago. Who was that, Vaughn asked. No one, she replied. Right, no one. No one but the one and only Mr. Sark. Fugitive at large.
"Yes. I did, didn't I?" He said, smirk on his face.
She rolled her eyes; this only seemed to amuse him more.
He took a sip of wine, the silence engulfing them once again. Her eyes never left his; they were locked in each other's gaze.
Transfixed. Entranced. Lost.
"What's in the notebook?" She asked him, not realizing she truly voiced the words.
He broke contact. "What notebook would that be, Ms. Bristow?"
"Cute, Sark. You know you pull that dumb blond thing off perfectly." She gave an annoyed smile, playing the game.
"Thanks for the compliment." He said laughing.
"It wasn't a compliment." She said flatly. "The notebook. I know you have one."
"No I don't think that I do."
She rose suddenly, almost knocking the plastic chair over and rounded him. He didn't react. Didn't do a damn thing. Just sat there, calmly like he always did. This is too easy, she thought as she reached into his inside suit pocket. She felt the heat radiating from him, felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. Her hands landed on it- the smooth cover, the creased corner- and pulled it out, a look of triumph on her face.
She pinned him a look. "What notebook?" She said mimicking his cocky British accent.
She held it, returning to her seat. "What's in it?" She asked.
"Why do you care?" Sark asked quietly.
Sydney was a curious person, always had been, it was one of her less deadly flaws. Though they did say curiosity killed the cat, she liked to think she was smarter than that.
"It's important to you- I know it is- I just want to know why." She looked down at it and back up to his face. No sign of worry, but that was Sark. Cool under pressure, stress or anything thing else; always cool and calm. But it was times like these that she wished he'd snap, blink, do anything to give her an indication of what he was thinking.
"Why do you care?" He asked again.
Even when she had the upper hand he always seemed to be in control, calling the shots. Sydney sighed. Why did she care? She didn't have an answer. "I don't know." She said truthfully.
It was then that she saw something in his cerulean gaze, some fleeting emotion deep within. She couldn't exactly tell. Without thinking she handed it to him. "Here." She said.
He lightly took it. "No, go ahead." He said quietly, to her surprise.
She couldn't understand why he was letting her look at it, why he gave in. Sark never gave in.
She took it graciously and opened the cover. She recognized his writing-oddly elegant and precise for a man- on the ultra white pages. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at was a poem. Sark wrote poetry, she thought amazed. It was beautiful, actually. The words almost seemed to leap from the paper touching her heart in a way she never imagined. She almost blushed when she felt his gaze on her. But she had more control than that over her emotions- outwardly at least. She cleared her throat and tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.
"Sark, you wrote this?" She asked in an astonished whisper.
He nodded.
"It's a love poem-" She said like he didn't know, like she was a little school girl again, getting a scoop in the latest gossip.
"Yes."
It never occurred to her that Sark could love- a person at least- as much as the words on the page told. So much passion, so much devotion and love. To say she was shocked was putting it lightly.
"I never realized-" She voiced, immediately regretting.
"-What that I have feelings?" Sark said a touch of anger in his voice. He was slipping, she knew. Giving away his feelings.
"No. no. Not that-well yeah that-" She admitted. "-But I never knew you could write poetry like this, Sark. Its like Shakespeare, Elizabeth Browning and all the others combined."
"You like it then?"
"Do I like it? Sark, it's amazing. How could I not?!" She exclaimed quietly.
He smiled a look of satisfaction in his features.
"Who is it about?" She asked.
He remained silent, a look of sadness in his thalassic eyes. Oops, she thought, my bad.
"It's about want-" He said after a beat.
"And what do you want?" She asked, knowing from the poem it was quiet evident but she wanted him to say it.
"What I want is that which I never had." He said softly, almost intimately.
Sydney remembered hearing Sark say that before, what he meant always eluded her. As far as she knew, Sark had everything.
Well except for one thing. Had he never had love, she wondered, ever? The thought baffled her. No wonder he was so-distant, cold. No wonder he was so, well, so Sark. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be him.
"There must be someone..."She said more to herself.
"Oh, there is. I have a feeling she'll never know. Its better that way-it's too complicated anyhow." He told her, sipping the wine.
She closed the notebook and handed it to him, only he didn't catch it and it hit the edge of the table and fell the ground with a thud. She got up and reached for it. It was lying open to the middle of the book face down; the pages bent and touched with dirt. Flipping it around she apologetically dusted it off.
"Sorry." She mumbled.
That's when she saw it. Her heart skipped a beat, her breathing halted. Printed in the now familiar script: "Sydney, my love, so beautiful is thee." She gulped, worried that he knew she knew. She closed it quickly and handed it to him.
"I...uh...gotta go. My dad would kill me- and you- if he knew we were together- I mean here at this location together-not together, together-" She said quickly, her mind racing. She had to get out of there. Fast.
He stood watch her go, disappearing into the distant crowd. Not missing the last look she gave in his direction.
Maybe there is hope, he thought. Hope was all Sark had after all; he clung onto it like a distant light in the dark, careful not to let it go, to let his vision waver. He would wait for her. Forever if he had to.
*******
*A/N2: So how'd you like it? It was inspired by this quote: **"He had always been more than willing to show me parts of [his notebook], whenever I asked him to; and naturally I had taken many furtive looks at its innermost pages when he wasn't around. (--Michael Chabon, Werewolves in Their Youth)** --Which I got off dictionary.com word-of-the-day. I know it doesn't really fit all the way but that's where I got the idea.
I left it open for a continuation, if people like it- or if not it could be taken as an open-ended-one-shot- and you can imagine what happened. Either way, please review! Flame me if you want- just make it constructive Thanks. Oh and I have no Beta so any mistakes or whatever is my fault (sorry).
~Liquid Thalassa~
Author: Liquid Thalassa
E-Mail: liquidthalassa@yahoo.com
Rating: PG
Genre: romance/ other
Pairing/Ship: Sark/Sydney
Spoilers: None. AU-ish. Not tired to any episodes.
Disclaimer: Duh, not mine- well the characters and show at least. But I do take credit for this fic- it did come from my head- and was written by my hand...
Author's Notes: This is my first non-poem Sarkney fic. I'm a little nervous but oh well, just let me know what you think!
HERE IT IS:
*******
When Sydney first saw it- either in his hands, clasped like it was the codes to a nuclear launch, or in the breast pocket of his Armani suit over his heart, right next to his 9mm- she knew it was important.
But what was important to Sark, she would wonder. Power. Control. Money. Flexibility. Freedom. She was sure there was more, but none seemed to explain the notebook- at least not right now.
It seemed ordinary enough- small, dark blue, corners creased, tops of pages sticking out- but Sydney knew that when it came to Sark nothing was ordinary.
Nothing.
He sat across from her one day. Staring off into space, his rich blue eyes mingling with the sea in the distance. The sound of crashing waves lulled Sydney into a calm. She always loved the sea, the ocean, its vast possibilities- like Sark's eyes, she thought, immediately wondering where that came from. He looked down- still not meeting her gaze- to his glass of wine. She found out he drank wine all the time; it was the only thing she saw him drink actually. Chateau Petreuse: '82. He swirled it in his strong hands, watching the rich ruby color dance.
"Sark." She said breaking the silence.
He didn't look up, but gave an unintelligible "huh?"
"What are we doing out here?" She asked, taking a sip of her diet cola.
"Your guess is as good as mine." He said, finally elevating his crystal-blue eyes to hers.
Right, always the cryptic, she thought suppressing a sigh.
"You called me here for a reason." She said reminding him of the little phone call he gave her a few hours ago. Who was that, Vaughn asked. No one, she replied. Right, no one. No one but the one and only Mr. Sark. Fugitive at large.
"Yes. I did, didn't I?" He said, smirk on his face.
She rolled her eyes; this only seemed to amuse him more.
He took a sip of wine, the silence engulfing them once again. Her eyes never left his; they were locked in each other's gaze.
Transfixed. Entranced. Lost.
"What's in the notebook?" She asked him, not realizing she truly voiced the words.
He broke contact. "What notebook would that be, Ms. Bristow?"
"Cute, Sark. You know you pull that dumb blond thing off perfectly." She gave an annoyed smile, playing the game.
"Thanks for the compliment." He said laughing.
"It wasn't a compliment." She said flatly. "The notebook. I know you have one."
"No I don't think that I do."
She rose suddenly, almost knocking the plastic chair over and rounded him. He didn't react. Didn't do a damn thing. Just sat there, calmly like he always did. This is too easy, she thought as she reached into his inside suit pocket. She felt the heat radiating from him, felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. Her hands landed on it- the smooth cover, the creased corner- and pulled it out, a look of triumph on her face.
She pinned him a look. "What notebook?" She said mimicking his cocky British accent.
She held it, returning to her seat. "What's in it?" She asked.
"Why do you care?" Sark asked quietly.
Sydney was a curious person, always had been, it was one of her less deadly flaws. Though they did say curiosity killed the cat, she liked to think she was smarter than that.
"It's important to you- I know it is- I just want to know why." She looked down at it and back up to his face. No sign of worry, but that was Sark. Cool under pressure, stress or anything thing else; always cool and calm. But it was times like these that she wished he'd snap, blink, do anything to give her an indication of what he was thinking.
"Why do you care?" He asked again.
Even when she had the upper hand he always seemed to be in control, calling the shots. Sydney sighed. Why did she care? She didn't have an answer. "I don't know." She said truthfully.
It was then that she saw something in his cerulean gaze, some fleeting emotion deep within. She couldn't exactly tell. Without thinking she handed it to him. "Here." She said.
He lightly took it. "No, go ahead." He said quietly, to her surprise.
She couldn't understand why he was letting her look at it, why he gave in. Sark never gave in.
She took it graciously and opened the cover. She recognized his writing-oddly elegant and precise for a man- on the ultra white pages. It took her a moment to realize what she was looking at was a poem. Sark wrote poetry, she thought amazed. It was beautiful, actually. The words almost seemed to leap from the paper touching her heart in a way she never imagined. She almost blushed when she felt his gaze on her. But she had more control than that over her emotions- outwardly at least. She cleared her throat and tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.
"Sark, you wrote this?" She asked in an astonished whisper.
He nodded.
"It's a love poem-" She said like he didn't know, like she was a little school girl again, getting a scoop in the latest gossip.
"Yes."
It never occurred to her that Sark could love- a person at least- as much as the words on the page told. So much passion, so much devotion and love. To say she was shocked was putting it lightly.
"I never realized-" She voiced, immediately regretting.
"-What that I have feelings?" Sark said a touch of anger in his voice. He was slipping, she knew. Giving away his feelings.
"No. no. Not that-well yeah that-" She admitted. "-But I never knew you could write poetry like this, Sark. Its like Shakespeare, Elizabeth Browning and all the others combined."
"You like it then?"
"Do I like it? Sark, it's amazing. How could I not?!" She exclaimed quietly.
He smiled a look of satisfaction in his features.
"Who is it about?" She asked.
He remained silent, a look of sadness in his thalassic eyes. Oops, she thought, my bad.
"It's about want-" He said after a beat.
"And what do you want?" She asked, knowing from the poem it was quiet evident but she wanted him to say it.
"What I want is that which I never had." He said softly, almost intimately.
Sydney remembered hearing Sark say that before, what he meant always eluded her. As far as she knew, Sark had everything.
Well except for one thing. Had he never had love, she wondered, ever? The thought baffled her. No wonder he was so-distant, cold. No wonder he was so, well, so Sark. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be him.
"There must be someone..."She said more to herself.
"Oh, there is. I have a feeling she'll never know. Its better that way-it's too complicated anyhow." He told her, sipping the wine.
She closed the notebook and handed it to him, only he didn't catch it and it hit the edge of the table and fell the ground with a thud. She got up and reached for it. It was lying open to the middle of the book face down; the pages bent and touched with dirt. Flipping it around she apologetically dusted it off.
"Sorry." She mumbled.
That's when she saw it. Her heart skipped a beat, her breathing halted. Printed in the now familiar script: "Sydney, my love, so beautiful is thee." She gulped, worried that he knew she knew. She closed it quickly and handed it to him.
"I...uh...gotta go. My dad would kill me- and you- if he knew we were together- I mean here at this location together-not together, together-" She said quickly, her mind racing. She had to get out of there. Fast.
He stood watch her go, disappearing into the distant crowd. Not missing the last look she gave in his direction.
Maybe there is hope, he thought. Hope was all Sark had after all; he clung onto it like a distant light in the dark, careful not to let it go, to let his vision waver. He would wait for her. Forever if he had to.
*******
*A/N2: So how'd you like it? It was inspired by this quote: **"He had always been more than willing to show me parts of [his notebook], whenever I asked him to; and naturally I had taken many furtive looks at its innermost pages when he wasn't around. (--Michael Chabon, Werewolves in Their Youth)** --Which I got off dictionary.com word-of-the-day. I know it doesn't really fit all the way but that's where I got the idea.
I left it open for a continuation, if people like it- or if not it could be taken as an open-ended-one-shot- and you can imagine what happened. Either way, please review! Flame me if you want- just make it constructive Thanks. Oh and I have no Beta so any mistakes or whatever is my fault (sorry).
~Liquid Thalassa~