Author's Note:
Yeah, chapter two! We're finally getting somewhere here and I'm liking where this one's heading. Thank you for all your wonderful responses to this story. I really appreciate all your feedback and comments. I hope you enjoy!
~ * ~
"No one should fear what they cannot see,
And no one's to blame it's just hypocrisy,
It's written in your eyes,"
- "Elysium," Portishead
~ * ~
I met Vaughn's wife today. I was at the supermarket buying groceries for dinner with Will when I ran headfirst into them. They were holding hands, laughing, joking--things I used to do with Vaughn and never will again. Just seeing them together made my heart clench, made my breath catch in my throat. She wasn't what I expected: short, petite, blonde and blue-eyed. I felt like an amazon standing next to her while Vaughn shifted nervously from foot to foot. Her name was Jen, a good, All-American-Girl kind of name. She was all sunshine and smiles, she clearly knew who I was and my history with her husband, but she never let it show. She just calmly shook my hand, smiled brightly into my eyes, and said it was nice to meet me. I wish I could say the same about her.
I nodded politely at her small talk and hastily made my exit, mumbling about having to meet Will. Something like jealousy flashed in Vaughn's eyes and it gave me a smug sense of satisfaction that he was upset I chose to spend time with Will and not him. "Serves him right for going out and getting married," I thought to myself, but it didn't loosen the icy fist clasped around my heart. It was getting hard to breathe again. I didn't even pay for the groceries. I just dropped them in a pile, ignored the looks of other customers, and got the hell out of there. Outside I could smell a hint of salt on the breeze and I took deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm myself down. It helped a little, but I knew it wasn't enough.
I wasn't able to breathe easy until I felt sand under my feet and chilly water lap against my toes. I collapsed in the sand at the water's edge, calmed by the crash of the waves against my bare legs, the salty wind on my cheeks. I don't know how long I sat there, just staring out at the water, but it was the only thing I could do to calm down. It's getting to be a problem, having to flee to the ocean every time I can't deal with the mess that's become my life.
I know I'm turning into a head case. My shrink said it's not uncommon, considering everyone thinks I've been dead for two years and I've lost a large portion of my life, but it's driving me insane. I don't eat, I avoid the people I supposedly love, and every time I close my eyes all I see is a beautiful baby with white-blond curls that calls me "Mama." Just like it does every time I think about that dream, the scar on my stomach begins to itch and I rub it softly, wondering where the hell it came from. The doctor I saw said it looks like a Caesarian scar, but he couldn't be sure until I let him examine me. I told him I'd think about it. I know I shouldn't wait, but I'm just not ready to face the truth yet. If it is what I think it is, I won't know how to react, and more importantly, how to cope. Until I can think about Vaughn and breathe normally, I don't think I'm ready to have the scar examined.
I hear footsteps behind me, softly padding against the fine sand, but I don't bother to turn around. I could recognize that sound blindfolded. "What are you doing here, Dad?" I ask softly, watching a group of seagulls flutter around a buoy.
"Vaughn called," he says. "He said you had a minor breakdown at the grocery store. He's worried about you, Syd."
"Yeah, isn't everyone."
"What's that supposed to mean? You know we're happy to have you back, but we're worried. You're not yourself anymore."
I shoot to my feet angrily, jerking around to face my father. He's standing there expectantly, waiting for my answer. He can be such a moron sometimes. "Guess what, Dad?" I say angrily. "Did it ever occur to you that I'm not the same person anymore? Did it ever occur to you that being dead for two years might change me forever?"
"But you're not dead, Syd. You're here, you're alive. We just want the girl we love back."
"Well, she's not coming back!" I yell. "Nothing is the same anymore. How can you not see that? Vaughn is married, Dad. He has a wife and home, a life without me. Francie's dead, murdered because of me. Will has moved on. Did you know Abby is his new best friend? Even my apartment's gone. Nothing is left of my old life and I don't have much to build on for a new one. I don't know who I am or what I'm supposed to be. Everything has changed and you'd think I could have a little time to deal with that without everyone on my case all the time."
He takes a step closer and lays a hand on my arm. "Syd, I love you," he says softly. "Your mother loves you. Dixon, Marshall, Will, Vaughn. . .they all love you. We just want to help."
I look at him through teary eyes. "Than leave me alone," I whisper. "All I want to do is be left alone."
"Syd. . ."
"Dad," I interrupt. "Do you know what it's like to be dead? Do you?" I prod when he doesn't answer. He shakes his head no. "I didn't think so. It's like being reborn, only not in a good way. I mean, I look the same. I have the same hair, the same eyes, the same face--only it's not me. Everything that made me who I was is gone."
He reaches over and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, just like he did when I was a little girl, before my mother pretended to be dead too. "I'm still here, Sydney."
I pull out of his grasp. "I need time, Dad. I need to figure things out. Please, can you do that for me?"
He sighs deeply, tucks his hands in his pockets. He looks old, defeated, nothing like the indestructible, arrogant superspy he pretends to be; he just looks like my dad. "Okay," he reluctantly agrees. "If that's what you need."
"Could you talk to Will too? I can't bring myself to tell him to go away."
"Yeah, I'll tell Will."
"Thanks, Dad," I say and wrap my arms around him. I feel his arms come around me, and for the first time in forever it feels real. There's no anger, no bitter resentment anymore. Suddenly I'm six-years-old again and my Daddy's making all the pain go away. When I pull away my eyes are teary again, and to my surprise, there are tears in his eyes too.
"I love you, Syd," he says softly. "I hope you can believe me when I say that."
I laugh awkwardly and brush at my eyes. "You know, for once I think I do. I love you too, Dad. Thank you, for everything."
"Can I call you?"
I hesitate, wavering between doing what seems right and what I need. "How about I call you, when I'm ready."
"Okay," he softly agrees. "If that's what you need."
"I'll be better soon," I say. "I just need some time away from everything."
"Call me when you're better."
I stand on my tiptoes and brush my cheeks against his cheek. "I'll talk to you soon."
I watch him walk away, the wind ruffling his jacket, and turn back to the water. It's getting dark now, the sun hovering over water. In the distance a dolphin jumps, its body arching against milky shades of orange and purple, red and gold. I cross my arms over my stomach and the scar begins to itch again. It's funny how one thin line of raised flesh could change my entire life. All I do now is think about the scar and what it could mean. I think about that baby, his laughter, his brilliant blue eyes. I try not to think about the man that I called his father. I haven't seen Sark in two years, or at least not that I can remember. Not that it means anything. I can't remember two years of my life anyway, two years when I apparently had Sark's baby, or so my dreams leave me to believe. Sark and me? A baby? Now I know I'm going crazy. It's time to go home.
~ * ~
I start out in my bed, but as usual I end up in my lounge chair, a blanket wrapped around me. I finally fall asleep to the sound of waves and wind and the night. There are no dreams about that little boy tonight, no visions of cloudless skies and white sand and crystal-clear water. Tonight my dreams are filled with images of red wine and silken sheets and candlelight.
It's morning and sunlight is just beginning to stream through the curtains. I'm lying in a massive bed, naked, and I'm not alone. I'm on my side, curled against a hard, muscular, masculine body. He has one well-muscled forearm curled across my stomach, pulling me closer to his hard chest. I roll carefully so I don't wake him, turn to face my companion, and find myself staring into two pools of brilliant blue. "Good morning, Agent Bristow," Sark says in that arrogant, haughty, British voice of his. "Sleep well?"
I never get to give an answer. I jerk awake, my breathing uneven and my skin flushed. I'm hot all over and I toss the blanket off. I press a hand to my forehead, wondering if I have a fever or I'm just turned on from my dream. I'm cool as a cucumber. It must be the damn dream. Like clockwork, the scar starts to itch again, but this time I can't get it to stop. It's like my body is telling me, compelling me, to figure out the truth. I sigh heavily. I can't run from the past anymore, but I don't know what's worse: finding out the truth or living in denial.
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!
Yeah, chapter two! We're finally getting somewhere here and I'm liking where this one's heading. Thank you for all your wonderful responses to this story. I really appreciate all your feedback and comments. I hope you enjoy!
~ * ~
"No one should fear what they cannot see,
And no one's to blame it's just hypocrisy,
It's written in your eyes,"
- "Elysium," Portishead
~ * ~
I met Vaughn's wife today. I was at the supermarket buying groceries for dinner with Will when I ran headfirst into them. They were holding hands, laughing, joking--things I used to do with Vaughn and never will again. Just seeing them together made my heart clench, made my breath catch in my throat. She wasn't what I expected: short, petite, blonde and blue-eyed. I felt like an amazon standing next to her while Vaughn shifted nervously from foot to foot. Her name was Jen, a good, All-American-Girl kind of name. She was all sunshine and smiles, she clearly knew who I was and my history with her husband, but she never let it show. She just calmly shook my hand, smiled brightly into my eyes, and said it was nice to meet me. I wish I could say the same about her.
I nodded politely at her small talk and hastily made my exit, mumbling about having to meet Will. Something like jealousy flashed in Vaughn's eyes and it gave me a smug sense of satisfaction that he was upset I chose to spend time with Will and not him. "Serves him right for going out and getting married," I thought to myself, but it didn't loosen the icy fist clasped around my heart. It was getting hard to breathe again. I didn't even pay for the groceries. I just dropped them in a pile, ignored the looks of other customers, and got the hell out of there. Outside I could smell a hint of salt on the breeze and I took deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm myself down. It helped a little, but I knew it wasn't enough.
I wasn't able to breathe easy until I felt sand under my feet and chilly water lap against my toes. I collapsed in the sand at the water's edge, calmed by the crash of the waves against my bare legs, the salty wind on my cheeks. I don't know how long I sat there, just staring out at the water, but it was the only thing I could do to calm down. It's getting to be a problem, having to flee to the ocean every time I can't deal with the mess that's become my life.
I know I'm turning into a head case. My shrink said it's not uncommon, considering everyone thinks I've been dead for two years and I've lost a large portion of my life, but it's driving me insane. I don't eat, I avoid the people I supposedly love, and every time I close my eyes all I see is a beautiful baby with white-blond curls that calls me "Mama." Just like it does every time I think about that dream, the scar on my stomach begins to itch and I rub it softly, wondering where the hell it came from. The doctor I saw said it looks like a Caesarian scar, but he couldn't be sure until I let him examine me. I told him I'd think about it. I know I shouldn't wait, but I'm just not ready to face the truth yet. If it is what I think it is, I won't know how to react, and more importantly, how to cope. Until I can think about Vaughn and breathe normally, I don't think I'm ready to have the scar examined.
I hear footsteps behind me, softly padding against the fine sand, but I don't bother to turn around. I could recognize that sound blindfolded. "What are you doing here, Dad?" I ask softly, watching a group of seagulls flutter around a buoy.
"Vaughn called," he says. "He said you had a minor breakdown at the grocery store. He's worried about you, Syd."
"Yeah, isn't everyone."
"What's that supposed to mean? You know we're happy to have you back, but we're worried. You're not yourself anymore."
I shoot to my feet angrily, jerking around to face my father. He's standing there expectantly, waiting for my answer. He can be such a moron sometimes. "Guess what, Dad?" I say angrily. "Did it ever occur to you that I'm not the same person anymore? Did it ever occur to you that being dead for two years might change me forever?"
"But you're not dead, Syd. You're here, you're alive. We just want the girl we love back."
"Well, she's not coming back!" I yell. "Nothing is the same anymore. How can you not see that? Vaughn is married, Dad. He has a wife and home, a life without me. Francie's dead, murdered because of me. Will has moved on. Did you know Abby is his new best friend? Even my apartment's gone. Nothing is left of my old life and I don't have much to build on for a new one. I don't know who I am or what I'm supposed to be. Everything has changed and you'd think I could have a little time to deal with that without everyone on my case all the time."
He takes a step closer and lays a hand on my arm. "Syd, I love you," he says softly. "Your mother loves you. Dixon, Marshall, Will, Vaughn. . .they all love you. We just want to help."
I look at him through teary eyes. "Than leave me alone," I whisper. "All I want to do is be left alone."
"Syd. . ."
"Dad," I interrupt. "Do you know what it's like to be dead? Do you?" I prod when he doesn't answer. He shakes his head no. "I didn't think so. It's like being reborn, only not in a good way. I mean, I look the same. I have the same hair, the same eyes, the same face--only it's not me. Everything that made me who I was is gone."
He reaches over and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, just like he did when I was a little girl, before my mother pretended to be dead too. "I'm still here, Sydney."
I pull out of his grasp. "I need time, Dad. I need to figure things out. Please, can you do that for me?"
He sighs deeply, tucks his hands in his pockets. He looks old, defeated, nothing like the indestructible, arrogant superspy he pretends to be; he just looks like my dad. "Okay," he reluctantly agrees. "If that's what you need."
"Could you talk to Will too? I can't bring myself to tell him to go away."
"Yeah, I'll tell Will."
"Thanks, Dad," I say and wrap my arms around him. I feel his arms come around me, and for the first time in forever it feels real. There's no anger, no bitter resentment anymore. Suddenly I'm six-years-old again and my Daddy's making all the pain go away. When I pull away my eyes are teary again, and to my surprise, there are tears in his eyes too.
"I love you, Syd," he says softly. "I hope you can believe me when I say that."
I laugh awkwardly and brush at my eyes. "You know, for once I think I do. I love you too, Dad. Thank you, for everything."
"Can I call you?"
I hesitate, wavering between doing what seems right and what I need. "How about I call you, when I'm ready."
"Okay," he softly agrees. "If that's what you need."
"I'll be better soon," I say. "I just need some time away from everything."
"Call me when you're better."
I stand on my tiptoes and brush my cheeks against his cheek. "I'll talk to you soon."
I watch him walk away, the wind ruffling his jacket, and turn back to the water. It's getting dark now, the sun hovering over water. In the distance a dolphin jumps, its body arching against milky shades of orange and purple, red and gold. I cross my arms over my stomach and the scar begins to itch again. It's funny how one thin line of raised flesh could change my entire life. All I do now is think about the scar and what it could mean. I think about that baby, his laughter, his brilliant blue eyes. I try not to think about the man that I called his father. I haven't seen Sark in two years, or at least not that I can remember. Not that it means anything. I can't remember two years of my life anyway, two years when I apparently had Sark's baby, or so my dreams leave me to believe. Sark and me? A baby? Now I know I'm going crazy. It's time to go home.
~ * ~
I start out in my bed, but as usual I end up in my lounge chair, a blanket wrapped around me. I finally fall asleep to the sound of waves and wind and the night. There are no dreams about that little boy tonight, no visions of cloudless skies and white sand and crystal-clear water. Tonight my dreams are filled with images of red wine and silken sheets and candlelight.
It's morning and sunlight is just beginning to stream through the curtains. I'm lying in a massive bed, naked, and I'm not alone. I'm on my side, curled against a hard, muscular, masculine body. He has one well-muscled forearm curled across my stomach, pulling me closer to his hard chest. I roll carefully so I don't wake him, turn to face my companion, and find myself staring into two pools of brilliant blue. "Good morning, Agent Bristow," Sark says in that arrogant, haughty, British voice of his. "Sleep well?"
I never get to give an answer. I jerk awake, my breathing uneven and my skin flushed. I'm hot all over and I toss the blanket off. I press a hand to my forehead, wondering if I have a fever or I'm just turned on from my dream. I'm cool as a cucumber. It must be the damn dream. Like clockwork, the scar starts to itch again, but this time I can't get it to stop. It's like my body is telling me, compelling me, to figure out the truth. I sigh heavily. I can't run from the past anymore, but I don't know what's worse: finding out the truth or living in denial.
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!