Syrina

Chapter Four

Gentle

Syrina giggled as they reached Trevi Fountain in the center of Rome.  She spun around in huge circles, feeling completely accomplished.  Sark watched her, her joy rubbing off on him.  "I take it everything went off without a hitch upstairs."

"More or less.  I had to fight Sydney, but…"

"Sydney was there?"

Syrina stopped her exaggerated dance and nodded.  "Yeah.  She was in the study when I got finished.  I had to fight her, but I totally kicked her butt!"

She seemed like she was nearly glowing.  She'd defeated one of the most well known agents in the entire spy world.  She'd found the end of The Telling.  She had Sark back with her.  Everything was going perfectly.

"Sydney is an excellent fighter, Syri."

"Yeah, she is.  But I'm better."  She knew how conceited she sounded, but at the moment, she didn't care.  She started to jump around happily again.

"I didn't even see her come in.  I would have warned you if I'd seen her."

"She was dressed up like that bloody awful singer that sang in the seventies.  Cher!"

Sark wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"She probably came in when you were distracting everyone.  I didn't see anyone else so she most likely used her distraction for her advantage.  That's what I would have done."

"Do you have the page?"

"Of course." She brandished the page with great ceremony.  Sark lifted her up in his arms and spun her around a few times.  He was so playful with Syrina.  He didn't know what it was that touched him in the way she did.  He wasn't always all business with her.  She didn't expect it from him.  He tumbled down to the ground, keeping Syrina from falling next to him.  She landed on top of him and they laughed.

"You're insane, Andrew."

"I know."

"I'm so glad you're home."

"I am as well.  I just wished I hadn't missed two years of your life."

Syrina leaned over, her lips hovering above Sark's.  They looked so perfect and pink, a little crooked on the bottom.  It was at that moment that Syrina realized how much she'd loved Sark and how much she wanted to kiss him.  The moment seemed so magickal.  She lowered her mouth onto his.  Of all the things she'd done, she'd never been kissed.  She never really had the chance to have a boyfriend.  She didn't know anybody her age.  Sark and Allison were the closest to it.  She could feel herself slowly melting as she tingled from head to toe.  Eventually, it was time to pull away.  Sark stared at her for so long after that kiss.  She felt herself tugging at her wig uncomfortably.  He was scrutinizing her.  Sark knew.  He had to.  She'd been terrible at kissing.

"Syri…"

He started it gently and she could feel her heart sink.

"You are absolutely perfect in everyway and you know I love you…"

"But I'm like your little sister."

"No.  You're like a girl who's under eighteen."

Syrina shot him a look.  "You'll break every other law except that one?!"

She sounded surprisingly frustrated.

"I think you're young and you need more time to grow up."

Syrina glared.  "I'm a sodding spy, Sark!  I've been grown up since I was eight!"

Sark brushed his hands through his hair, then realized it was still gone.  He stood up, feeling nearly as frustrated as Syrina did.

"That was your first kiss, Syri."

"No.  It wasn't!"

"I know you.  Don't deny it.  There's nothing wrong with that.  You just deserve someone so much better than me.  Someone as perfect as you are."

Syrina blinked back the tears in her eyes.  She couldn't let him see how upset he'd made her. She tried to compose herself, to put her game face on.  She rolled over and jumped to her feet.

"I'll see you in Moscow."

"The plane is waiting for us."

"I'll not be going home with you.  I need to be far away from you."

Syrina sprinted away from him, leaving the Rambaldi page fluttering behind her.  Suddenly, the missions she'd been on no longer seemed to matter.  Sark sighed, picking the manuscript up.  He started walking in the direction Syrina had gone.  He had to follow her.  He couldn't leave her alone in the city.

            Syrina pushed open the door to a bar.  It was crowded, half full of old men who were undeniably drunk and half full of college students out partying.  Syrina approached the bar and pulled herself up on one of the hard metal stools. 

"I want a double shot of whiskey."

She waited and the bar tender scanned her over.

"You don't look old enough to be ordering that alone, Signora."

"I'm old enough."

Syrina fixed her working glare on the bar tender, who immediately averted his gaze as chills ran down his spine.  Something about this girl was so cold and calculating.  She almost scared him.  He quickly poured the whiskey in the shot glass and placed it in front of her.  He took his leave of her, setting the whiskey bottle up next to her.  Syrina tipped the glass back and gulped.  It tasted horrible.  She didn't like the way alcohol tasted.  She simply felt an overwhelming urge to drown her sorrows.  She glanced about the bar and realized people were staring at her.  It was probably the costume.  It sort of attracted attention.  Or maybe it was her age.  That seemed to be a problem with a lot of people.  She banged on the bar to order another shot, then realized the bottle was next to her.  She lifted it to her lips and swigged.  She'd been so stupid.  She hadn't meant to kiss Sark exactly.  It had just happened.  And now she was absolutely miserable.  She took another sip.  She should have known better!  What had possessed her to do that?  Why was Andrew trying to let her down so gently?  She had seen his eyes.  He'd always looked at her so sweetly and lovingly.  Had she misinterpreted it?  She was usually an excellent judge of people's emotions.  She could sense love, fear, anger, bitterness, all of it, an entire array of feelings.  She couldn't have been mistaken.  Except she had.  She tipped back another swig and wobbled a bit in her chair.  She hiccupped and giggled.  She slid down the bar stool and swayed a little bit.  She took another sip from the bottle and turned when she heard the door jingle.  Sark had entered; wearing one of his usual Armani suits.  Syrina gripped the bottle and took one more swig.

"Syri, I think you've had enough for tonight."

"Like you c-care."  She pointed at him accusingly and felt her feet stumbled forward.  Sark reached out to catch her, but Syrina pushed him away with a sudden, steady force.

"No!  Jusleave me 'lone."

She turned away from him and suddenly the room was spinning.  It was sort of like being on a tilt-a-world.  Or at least what she had remembered from that one time Daddy had taken her to an amusement park.  She'd been four.  Sark straightened out.  "You're drunk, Syrina."

It was said in a mixture of guilt, disgust, and sympathy.

"So what if I am?"

Syrina held her hands out in front of her to stop Sark from moving forward.

"Just come back to the plane with me, Syri."

"No.  I won't go with you."

She sounded like a spoiled two-year old.  Sark paused and it was almost like he decided to try a different approach.

"I didn't know you had such a palette for whiskey."

Instead of protesting, she bit out, "Yeah, well, a lot changed in the two years you were gone."

Syrina glared at him, but she couldn't keep her eyes from watering.  She was angry with herself and angry at Sark.

"Syri, Love, come to me."

Syrina stepped forward, but instead of going into Sark's embrace, she pounded her fists on his chest.  In her less than sober state, the punches felt more like light thumps that were hardly even noticeable.  "I hate you!  I hate you so much!"

She yelled at him before passing out.  Sark grabbed her before she hit the floor.  She'd consumed so much alcohol and he blamed himself for every sip.  He'd followed her to the bar after changing clothes.  He'd observed her for an hour, watching her drink herself into a stupor.  Then, he'd gone in to take her home.  He slipped a $100 to the bar tender to cover Syrina's drinks and lifted her carefully in his arms. 

            Syrina woke with a jacket covering her arms.  Her wig was gone, but she still wore her linen shift.  She started to rise up when a wave of nausea struck her.  She was acutely aware of a soft thrumming around her, but she wasn't sure if it was separate from the sharp ache that filled her skull.  She groaned and clutched her head, leaning over from the pain.  Memories of the night before flooded back from the kiss to the screaming to the blackness.  She didn't quite remember what had happened after Sark had come into the bar.  Syrina surveyed her surroundings and realized they were still flying.  She hadn't reached Moscow yet.  She stood up from the seats and wobbled for a minute.  She stumbled into the second section of the private plane and saw Sark sitting in a chair with his laptop.

"Andrew?"

He looked up and acknowledged her.  Barely.

"Are you doing anything special?"  Syrina questioned, hoping for a more in depth answer.  She received a crisp no.  Syrina sighed and plopped into the couch.  Sark didn't say anything for a few moments, so Syrina took the time to study him.  His face was blank, but his eyes, those gorgeous blue orbs, were filled with regret and anger.  He was probably feeling immensely guilty about kissing her.  One thing for sure, Sark had always remained loyal to Allison, even if she didn't remain loyal to him.  Little did she know Sark was internally warring himself about the severe failure of his responsibility to Syrina.  He'd promised to always take care of her and he hadn't.  He'd betrayed her.  He stood and walked to the small refrigerator, pulling out a small bottle of water.  He unscrewed the cap and retrieved some aspirin. He unceremoniously handed it to her and waited for her to swallow them.  She accepted the aspirin gratefully.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Sark turned then stopped.

"Listen, Syrina, I'm sorry about last night."

Syrina stared at her hands that were wrapped around the cool water bottle.  She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say.  She was still upset with him.

"It wasn't your fault I got drunk, Andrew."

He seemed upset, too.  Cool, calm Mr. Sark was uncomfortable.

"Maybe not, but I shouldn't have let any of last night happen."

Syrina sighed and stretched across the couch.  "You are not responsible for me.  I am responsible for me.  Each of my actions were my fault and of my own accord.  I went to that bar with the intention of getting drunk.  And I did.  Let's just stop being angry with each other, okay?"

"All right."

Sark walked back to his chair and settled in.

"We'll be in Moscow in an hour.  Allison should meet us there."

Syrina nodded obediently before closing her eyes to block out the world.