Disclaimer: See first entry.
A/N: Here's the second chapter, titled Ironic Facades. Enjoy! Special thanks to cheeky-chaos and alexei04 for reviewing. I'm so glad you like it! I'm definitely excited about this story. This chappy's dedicated to my first reviewers -_-
-Katie
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He looked up at her, his blood freezing inside his veins, wondering whether she would recognize him. Then, he came to his senses. The hat, he thought. The sunglasses as well...they would hide everything about me that she knows. Besides, he continued the banter in his mind; it's not as if she expects me to be here. She will never know it's me.
Again, he looked up at her, puffy eyes and all, and, in a daze, slowly got up to let her into her seat. As she sat down, he noticed the Kleenex crunched into her fist. So she had been crying. Sark pieced together everything he knew about her, and knew that if she was crying, it had to be something serious.
Not that it mattered to him, however, he quickly assured himself. Even if he lusted after her in a highly unprofessional way and was something like stalking her at the moment, that didn't mean he wanted any 'relationship.' It didn't mean he cared. Tears didn't work on him. They were signs of weakness, no matter the circumstances. He didn't cry when he first murdered an innocent man. He didn't cry when his father was killed. He didn't even cry when Sydney, that beautiful woman next to him, tried to kill him with an ice pick. Nothing made him cry. Nothing ever would. Plus, he added to himself, crying would show that I actually have human emotions, and the whole world is convinced otherwise. Why disappoint now?
"Are you going to sit down? The plane is about to leave." Sydney's voice, barely above a whisper, invaded his thoughts and he instantly stiffened up, something only her voice could do to him. It must be all of those death threats, he thought wryly.
"Oh yeah, sorry." He said it without thinking, but his mind knew what to do. The words came out with an American accent, something he had not used since Irina took him to the states when he was fifteen. It disguised his true nature from the ironically oblivious secret agent at the window seat. He quickly sat down, and was taken aback when Sydney spoke.
"Do you mind trading places with me? I...I have a feeling I'm going to be getting up a lot during the flight." She said it with a voice that made Sark want to give her everything. And he did. Or, at least, he gave her his seat.
"I'm...Julian, by the way. Thought you might want to know. This flight is going to be quite long." The American accent seemed to roll off of his tongue now, with incredible ease. He almost laughed at the situation...his archenemy sitting less than a foot away from him, and they're making polite conversation.
Through her dried tears, Sydney's eyes smiled back at him, and she thrust her hand towards him. "I'm Sydney. Nice to meet you."
He smiled back, before he could mentally kick himself for turning into such a sap. Since when did your life turn into a cheesy Meg Ryan romantic comedy? he asked himself.
After that horrible revelation, the most he could will himself to do was to sleep. Sleep is always good.
However, when a child sits in back of you, sleep really isn't all that great, Sark found out an hour later, waking up to a child pounding the back of his seat with his fist. It took all he had in him not to punch the lights out of the little bugger, but then, he remembered that people call that "child abuse." He stopped himself before he could mutter to himself, "Back in my day, when children misbehaved..."
In the moments following the disruption, he became aware of Sydney next to him, sleeping peacefully. Something caught his eye, and he realized it was Sydney's pillow on the floor. He didn't want to give her the dirty one, so he gave her his and carefully placed it under her head, when she grabbed his arm, inches from her head, and twisted it.
"Bloody hell!" Sark muttered, trying to get away from the woman who was causing him unbearable pain at the moment. He took a moment to examine her face, and then it hit him. She's still asleep. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then he bit her.
What else was he to do? She had a hold on both of his hands, and was scaring the crap out of him to boot, all while she was in a sleep state. The bite on her forearm certainly woke her up.
Her eyes were bugged out, and she was panting heavily, but at least she was awake. Better than that psycho state she was in prior to that moment. She looked so bad, he could barely stand it. But most of all, she looked scared.
"What's wrong with you?" He asked her, harsher than he meant. He stared at her through his sunglasses. She stared back, and then answered with a shaky voice.
"Nothing...it's just...some problems I'm having. It makes it hard for me to sleep. Sorry about your hands."
That peaked Sark's interest to no end. "What kind of problems?" He said it softly, trying to make up for the harsh tone he used earlier. Sydney stared at her hands that were placed in her lap. Sark didn't know what to do except sit there and wait for a response. Then, he found himself saying, "I mean, maybe I could help."
She was the picture of innocence as she smiled at him with tears welled in her eyes. She was beautiful...even with those weak tears.
"Is it problems with men, per chance?" He prompted, oddly wanting to know the answer to what was making Sydney so upset. He almost smirked when he saw Sydney's head shot up and looked at him with wide eyes, but he didn't. It would give him away. She slowly nodded.
"Yeah...how did you know?" she asked incredulously. He could tell Sydney was amazed that he knew. At his psychic prediction, she felt a little more like opening up. "His name was Michael...he's back together with..."
Sark however cut her off with a comment of his own. "God," he muttered. "I utterly loathe the name 'Michael.'"
Sydney's laugh was throaty but sad. "I'm starting to, too." She looked at him. "Why do you hate it?"
He then got a gleam in his eye. What should he say? Should he tell the truth? Or should he play mind games with her?
He decided easily, and then said with an ironic twist to his voice, "My ex- girlfriend, Lauren, left me for a man named Michael."
Sark had to keep from bursting out laughing at Sydney's shocked face.
A/N: Here's the second chapter, titled Ironic Facades. Enjoy! Special thanks to cheeky-chaos and alexei04 for reviewing. I'm so glad you like it! I'm definitely excited about this story. This chappy's dedicated to my first reviewers -_-
-Katie
_______________________________________________________________
He looked up at her, his blood freezing inside his veins, wondering whether she would recognize him. Then, he came to his senses. The hat, he thought. The sunglasses as well...they would hide everything about me that she knows. Besides, he continued the banter in his mind; it's not as if she expects me to be here. She will never know it's me.
Again, he looked up at her, puffy eyes and all, and, in a daze, slowly got up to let her into her seat. As she sat down, he noticed the Kleenex crunched into her fist. So she had been crying. Sark pieced together everything he knew about her, and knew that if she was crying, it had to be something serious.
Not that it mattered to him, however, he quickly assured himself. Even if he lusted after her in a highly unprofessional way and was something like stalking her at the moment, that didn't mean he wanted any 'relationship.' It didn't mean he cared. Tears didn't work on him. They were signs of weakness, no matter the circumstances. He didn't cry when he first murdered an innocent man. He didn't cry when his father was killed. He didn't even cry when Sydney, that beautiful woman next to him, tried to kill him with an ice pick. Nothing made him cry. Nothing ever would. Plus, he added to himself, crying would show that I actually have human emotions, and the whole world is convinced otherwise. Why disappoint now?
"Are you going to sit down? The plane is about to leave." Sydney's voice, barely above a whisper, invaded his thoughts and he instantly stiffened up, something only her voice could do to him. It must be all of those death threats, he thought wryly.
"Oh yeah, sorry." He said it without thinking, but his mind knew what to do. The words came out with an American accent, something he had not used since Irina took him to the states when he was fifteen. It disguised his true nature from the ironically oblivious secret agent at the window seat. He quickly sat down, and was taken aback when Sydney spoke.
"Do you mind trading places with me? I...I have a feeling I'm going to be getting up a lot during the flight." She said it with a voice that made Sark want to give her everything. And he did. Or, at least, he gave her his seat.
"I'm...Julian, by the way. Thought you might want to know. This flight is going to be quite long." The American accent seemed to roll off of his tongue now, with incredible ease. He almost laughed at the situation...his archenemy sitting less than a foot away from him, and they're making polite conversation.
Through her dried tears, Sydney's eyes smiled back at him, and she thrust her hand towards him. "I'm Sydney. Nice to meet you."
He smiled back, before he could mentally kick himself for turning into such a sap. Since when did your life turn into a cheesy Meg Ryan romantic comedy? he asked himself.
After that horrible revelation, the most he could will himself to do was to sleep. Sleep is always good.
However, when a child sits in back of you, sleep really isn't all that great, Sark found out an hour later, waking up to a child pounding the back of his seat with his fist. It took all he had in him not to punch the lights out of the little bugger, but then, he remembered that people call that "child abuse." He stopped himself before he could mutter to himself, "Back in my day, when children misbehaved..."
In the moments following the disruption, he became aware of Sydney next to him, sleeping peacefully. Something caught his eye, and he realized it was Sydney's pillow on the floor. He didn't want to give her the dirty one, so he gave her his and carefully placed it under her head, when she grabbed his arm, inches from her head, and twisted it.
"Bloody hell!" Sark muttered, trying to get away from the woman who was causing him unbearable pain at the moment. He took a moment to examine her face, and then it hit him. She's still asleep. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, and then he bit her.
What else was he to do? She had a hold on both of his hands, and was scaring the crap out of him to boot, all while she was in a sleep state. The bite on her forearm certainly woke her up.
Her eyes were bugged out, and she was panting heavily, but at least she was awake. Better than that psycho state she was in prior to that moment. She looked so bad, he could barely stand it. But most of all, she looked scared.
"What's wrong with you?" He asked her, harsher than he meant. He stared at her through his sunglasses. She stared back, and then answered with a shaky voice.
"Nothing...it's just...some problems I'm having. It makes it hard for me to sleep. Sorry about your hands."
That peaked Sark's interest to no end. "What kind of problems?" He said it softly, trying to make up for the harsh tone he used earlier. Sydney stared at her hands that were placed in her lap. Sark didn't know what to do except sit there and wait for a response. Then, he found himself saying, "I mean, maybe I could help."
She was the picture of innocence as she smiled at him with tears welled in her eyes. She was beautiful...even with those weak tears.
"Is it problems with men, per chance?" He prompted, oddly wanting to know the answer to what was making Sydney so upset. He almost smirked when he saw Sydney's head shot up and looked at him with wide eyes, but he didn't. It would give him away. She slowly nodded.
"Yeah...how did you know?" she asked incredulously. He could tell Sydney was amazed that he knew. At his psychic prediction, she felt a little more like opening up. "His name was Michael...he's back together with..."
Sark however cut her off with a comment of his own. "God," he muttered. "I utterly loathe the name 'Michael.'"
Sydney's laugh was throaty but sad. "I'm starting to, too." She looked at him. "Why do you hate it?"
He then got a gleam in his eye. What should he say? Should he tell the truth? Or should he play mind games with her?
He decided easily, and then said with an ironic twist to his voice, "My ex- girlfriend, Lauren, left me for a man named Michael."
Sark had to keep from bursting out laughing at Sydney's shocked face.