Sydney had taken the brushed steel alarm clock off the bedside stand.
Lennox just barely managed to dodge as a fastball timepiece went whizzing
by his head. Another crack told him that the clock had found another mark:
Sark. Lennox glanced over at him to see a newly formed cut on his forehead.
Meh. He was still breathing okay.
Looking back, he just saw the door swing as Sydney ran out of the room. Swearing under his breathe, Lennox tore after her, leaving Sark unattended on the couch.
He caught up with her at the end of the hall, just as she ran into an elevator. Lennox barely managed to make it in before it closed. Once inside, his face was immediately met with a well-placed kick from Bristow. Lennox hunched over and touched his lip. Not bleeding. Yet.
Jumping up suddenly, he lunged at her, pinning her hands against the elevator wall. He shoved his full weight against her, then wrenched her, struggling, so that her back was to him.
"Jesus, Sydney, I just want to help you!"
"I don't need your goddamned help!" She struggled to throw him off of her, but only succeeded in turning around to face him once more. Nothing accomplished. He still had her pinned.
"Give it up, Syd." Lennox said, holding her struggling body close to his own to keep control, "You're hungover." Sydney breathed, becoming still for a moment. A sharp pang shot through her head, as if proving his statement's validity. Her eyes squeezed shut in pain.
It suddenly became clear to Lennox how very close they were. Sydney's eyes opened once more, the pain obviously passing, but she continued to remain still instead of resuming the fight. She breathed again, warming Lennox's face.
It had to be his imagination. It was almost as if the nothingness that shattered her complexion was receding, suddenly melting away like an ill- fitted mask. And for a moment, it was just as it had been 3 years ago, when he had kissed Sydney at the LA safehouse. Then, he had been drawn to her out of desperation. Hers was the first truly kind face he'd seen. The only one who could empathize with him.
And now. there was some other reason for why his face was moving closer to hers. A reason he didn't want to identify. Not when he could feel the warmth of her face close to his, not when he could finally feel her started to relax against him.
His face remained hovered slowly, tantalizingly near to hers, not willing to risk it, but not willing to break off the sensations he was feeling from simply being near her. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing. There was such humanity in her eyes again.
"Sydney?" he whispered quietly.
The familiar ringing sound assailed his ears as the elevator door opened wide. Lennox's head whipped around. It was their floor.
"You guys going up or down?" A gray suit said, unperturbed by the fact that Lennox had Sydney pinned against a wall. Lennox looked back at Sydney, but her doors had slammed shut again.
"Actually, we were just getting out." Sydney said, and shook him off coldly, strutting out of the elevator.
************
She didn't make any more escape attempts on the way back. With the hangover she had, it was hopeless anyways. Plus, she didn't want any repeats of what had happened in the elevator. If she wasn't careful, she'd start making mistakes all over again.
A sudden frame flashed through her memory of Vaughn's lips on her own. Her eyes squeezed shut and the picture was gone. She compartmentalized now, and she kept all of the boxes shut.
Surprisingly enough, Sark was waiting for them in the hotel room when Lennox slid the card through the lock. He stared up at them nonchalantly from his place on the couch, a newly administered bandage on his forehead from where her alarm clock had left its mark. She silently complimented herself for her aim.
"Had a nice little walk did we?" he said with perfectly placid features.
"Fuck you" she said, returning the favor.
"Why are you still here?" Lennox said, bewildered. I was wondering the same thing, she thought. Sark sat back, and took a bite out of the apple he'd snatched from the complimentary fruit bowl.
"I told you, I need to speak to Sydney." Sark shoved the bowl at her. "Orange?"
She grabbed one and began peeling.
"Why'd you choose that one? An entire bowl full of perfectly round oranges, and you choose the one that's bruised all over." Sark shook his head, then winced from the pain his own action instigated. So Sark's hung-over too. This should make for pleasant moods, she thought cynically.
"I like the bruised ones better." No need for psychoanalysis. Jesus.
"What do you need to speak to Sydney about, Sark?" Lennox asked impatiently, mocking him, talking to him like one would a child. Sark was suddenly engrossed in peeling his orange.
Lennox began loading his gun.
Sark smirked. "There will be no need for that. Sit down. Have an orange."
Lennox still stood, glaring. Sark ignored him, and calmly took an envelope out of his jacket pocket.
The envelope was an elegant piece of time within itself, made of the richest crème paper. It was stamped closed with a wax seal the color of dried blood. The letters "MR" stood out on the imprint.
Sark looked at her. "It's for you Sydney. From your mother."
She took it from his hand stiffly. She would burn it later.
"Open it Sydney." Sark said.
"I'll open it later." Lennox looked at her oddly. She turned and sat on the bed, trying her damndest to act casual.
"What are you talking about, Sydney?" he said, laughing.
"I don't want to open it now." She said, annunciating each word with dangerous quiet.
"Why the hell not?!" the smile was still planted on his face, though more out of surprise now than jest.
"Because, I Don't Want To!" Blackness danced at the edge of her vision. Why was everything pushing to spill in again? The water of a thousand memories was berating the doors of her head.
Like when the water crashed up against the door with Vaughn. . .
NO, not like that. Where did that come from? That didn't happen, none of it did. What mattered was the here and now. Why did they want a something from a nothing? Why. . .
Sark and Lennox were looking at her, and she realized she'd been rocking back and forth.
Lennox bent down next to her. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, a little more patiently.
"Hell, would you quit trying to save me from something? I don't want to open it because I don't want to open it." She burst.
**************
Sark looked at her with a measure of understanding. Erasing one's identity wasn't easy, especially when it kept popping back up in your face. The truth was, Sydney was just too damned important to disappear for too long. On one level, Sark envied that, that she had too many people connected to her for her to possibly cut off all ties. But on entirely another level, he mourned for her importance.
It was the reason they chased her.
Yes, Sark knew plenty more than he should have under Sloane's regime. Much more than he would ever share.
Sydney suddenly turned to face him from where she stood arguing with Lennox. Sark realized too late that he had been laughing at them.
"What the hell are you looking at?" she growled. Sark just sat and smiled again. What a threesome they made.
"What the hell are you so afraid of?" he retorted, deliberately pressing her buttons. He waited a moment while she glared, building tension. Sark feigned innocence (Something completely unbelievable to anyone who had encountered him), and made his last comment.
". . . It's just a little letter after all."
Looking back, he just saw the door swing as Sydney ran out of the room. Swearing under his breathe, Lennox tore after her, leaving Sark unattended on the couch.
He caught up with her at the end of the hall, just as she ran into an elevator. Lennox barely managed to make it in before it closed. Once inside, his face was immediately met with a well-placed kick from Bristow. Lennox hunched over and touched his lip. Not bleeding. Yet.
Jumping up suddenly, he lunged at her, pinning her hands against the elevator wall. He shoved his full weight against her, then wrenched her, struggling, so that her back was to him.
"Jesus, Sydney, I just want to help you!"
"I don't need your goddamned help!" She struggled to throw him off of her, but only succeeded in turning around to face him once more. Nothing accomplished. He still had her pinned.
"Give it up, Syd." Lennox said, holding her struggling body close to his own to keep control, "You're hungover." Sydney breathed, becoming still for a moment. A sharp pang shot through her head, as if proving his statement's validity. Her eyes squeezed shut in pain.
It suddenly became clear to Lennox how very close they were. Sydney's eyes opened once more, the pain obviously passing, but she continued to remain still instead of resuming the fight. She breathed again, warming Lennox's face.
It had to be his imagination. It was almost as if the nothingness that shattered her complexion was receding, suddenly melting away like an ill- fitted mask. And for a moment, it was just as it had been 3 years ago, when he had kissed Sydney at the LA safehouse. Then, he had been drawn to her out of desperation. Hers was the first truly kind face he'd seen. The only one who could empathize with him.
And now. there was some other reason for why his face was moving closer to hers. A reason he didn't want to identify. Not when he could feel the warmth of her face close to his, not when he could finally feel her started to relax against him.
His face remained hovered slowly, tantalizingly near to hers, not willing to risk it, but not willing to break off the sensations he was feeling from simply being near her. The only thing he could hear was his own breathing. There was such humanity in her eyes again.
"Sydney?" he whispered quietly.
The familiar ringing sound assailed his ears as the elevator door opened wide. Lennox's head whipped around. It was their floor.
"You guys going up or down?" A gray suit said, unperturbed by the fact that Lennox had Sydney pinned against a wall. Lennox looked back at Sydney, but her doors had slammed shut again.
"Actually, we were just getting out." Sydney said, and shook him off coldly, strutting out of the elevator.
************
She didn't make any more escape attempts on the way back. With the hangover she had, it was hopeless anyways. Plus, she didn't want any repeats of what had happened in the elevator. If she wasn't careful, she'd start making mistakes all over again.
A sudden frame flashed through her memory of Vaughn's lips on her own. Her eyes squeezed shut and the picture was gone. She compartmentalized now, and she kept all of the boxes shut.
Surprisingly enough, Sark was waiting for them in the hotel room when Lennox slid the card through the lock. He stared up at them nonchalantly from his place on the couch, a newly administered bandage on his forehead from where her alarm clock had left its mark. She silently complimented herself for her aim.
"Had a nice little walk did we?" he said with perfectly placid features.
"Fuck you" she said, returning the favor.
"Why are you still here?" Lennox said, bewildered. I was wondering the same thing, she thought. Sark sat back, and took a bite out of the apple he'd snatched from the complimentary fruit bowl.
"I told you, I need to speak to Sydney." Sark shoved the bowl at her. "Orange?"
She grabbed one and began peeling.
"Why'd you choose that one? An entire bowl full of perfectly round oranges, and you choose the one that's bruised all over." Sark shook his head, then winced from the pain his own action instigated. So Sark's hung-over too. This should make for pleasant moods, she thought cynically.
"I like the bruised ones better." No need for psychoanalysis. Jesus.
"What do you need to speak to Sydney about, Sark?" Lennox asked impatiently, mocking him, talking to him like one would a child. Sark was suddenly engrossed in peeling his orange.
Lennox began loading his gun.
Sark smirked. "There will be no need for that. Sit down. Have an orange."
Lennox still stood, glaring. Sark ignored him, and calmly took an envelope out of his jacket pocket.
The envelope was an elegant piece of time within itself, made of the richest crème paper. It was stamped closed with a wax seal the color of dried blood. The letters "MR" stood out on the imprint.
Sark looked at her. "It's for you Sydney. From your mother."
She took it from his hand stiffly. She would burn it later.
"Open it Sydney." Sark said.
"I'll open it later." Lennox looked at her oddly. She turned and sat on the bed, trying her damndest to act casual.
"What are you talking about, Sydney?" he said, laughing.
"I don't want to open it now." She said, annunciating each word with dangerous quiet.
"Why the hell not?!" the smile was still planted on his face, though more out of surprise now than jest.
"Because, I Don't Want To!" Blackness danced at the edge of her vision. Why was everything pushing to spill in again? The water of a thousand memories was berating the doors of her head.
Like when the water crashed up against the door with Vaughn. . .
NO, not like that. Where did that come from? That didn't happen, none of it did. What mattered was the here and now. Why did they want a something from a nothing? Why. . .
Sark and Lennox were looking at her, and she realized she'd been rocking back and forth.
Lennox bent down next to her. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, a little more patiently.
"Hell, would you quit trying to save me from something? I don't want to open it because I don't want to open it." She burst.
**************
Sark looked at her with a measure of understanding. Erasing one's identity wasn't easy, especially when it kept popping back up in your face. The truth was, Sydney was just too damned important to disappear for too long. On one level, Sark envied that, that she had too many people connected to her for her to possibly cut off all ties. But on entirely another level, he mourned for her importance.
It was the reason they chased her.
Yes, Sark knew plenty more than he should have under Sloane's regime. Much more than he would ever share.
Sydney suddenly turned to face him from where she stood arguing with Lennox. Sark realized too late that he had been laughing at them.
"What the hell are you looking at?" she growled. Sark just sat and smiled again. What a threesome they made.
"What the hell are you so afraid of?" he retorted, deliberately pressing her buttons. He waited a moment while she glared, building tension. Sark feigned innocence (Something completely unbelievable to anyone who had encountered him), and made his last comment.
". . . It's just a little letter after all."