Chapter Sixteen.
He let his hands touch at her neck, gingerly and his teeth clenched, but he did it. Sydney watching him with angry tears, still blind to the possibility that he was suffering the false hope that she was. Vaughn just stood back, forgetting it was his job to hold Sydney and, being possibly the most detached, seeing the final sign he needed. He nudged Sark who was standing arm's crossed and eyes elsewhere.
Sark glared at him and Vaughn glared back, but only for moment before pointedly turning his gaze back to Irina, causing Sark to look as well. He swallowed and stared at the body, not seeing what Vaughn could see until he was told, Vaughn's voice hushed and hesitant, but unable to keep quiet when he was so sure he was right. "Jack," all eyes swung to him, his voice, no matter how soft, splitting away the serenity and calm that the place had to itself. He waited, staring at them, scared to be wrong. "Jack, I think she's breathing."
Vaughn's POV
It sounds so stupid now that I've said it, so clumsy and wrong. What if I am wrong, what if it is some horrible trick that fate is playing on us all. I can see Sydney's eyes brimming again, no longed sad but angry that I should say something so preposterous, but she's turning to look at her, Irina, the women who created, in some way, every piece of pain in my life and at the same time Sydney, the only goodness there is left on the earth.
I could have sworn I saw her chest rising and then falling a few seconds ago, but now, I cannot be sure, it's covered in so many long cuts, from where I can't be sure, but what if she was a live? Where would that leave us? I know it is selfish to think like this, but if she's a live everything changes again. We were all so positive she was dead. Except Jack.
He wanted to come back and find her body, he was acting like a man possessed and I suppose now that he felt like he had unfinished business. He's bending over her now, the only movement but the gentle lapping of the water at her feet. She looks so much like Sydney that it's scary. And I have to admire her for what she's done, even if she did kill my father and I never forgive her for that, she's saved me and Sydney numerous times. She's acted good and then she threw herself off the cliff, there was no way she could have been hoping to live, the wish would have been too risky for a woman like her. She did it to save us, proving once and for all where her allegiance lies.
And what she said, had she been serious, about Sydney and I, I have no idea how to take that and I know it's wrong for me to think about it, but I suppose she said it for me to remember, it's shocking what she chose to do in what should have been her last moments. I mean, she kissed Jack and told Sydney and I that we loved each other. What am I supposed to make from that? There was no talk of continuing the business or the plan or coded talk for Sark, who, I suppose still is her right hand man. So what do I make from it all? I fear I'll never know.
Jack's close enough to her to tell so why isn't he speaking? I swallow and wait.
Sydney's POV
My father, I've never seen him like this and I don't think I ever want to see him this distressed, this vulnerable again. It's typical that my mother should do this to him, accidentally or otherwise, in her dying moments. If she is indeed dead, because right now, I'm hoping to hell that she isn't and that would appear to be the case. Her chest, I can see it rising and falling, far too slow and not enough, but at least it is moving. Her skin, it's too white and wrinkled. Usually so tanned and healthy looking, I can't bear to look at her like this. And the scratches, goodness knows how they got there, they're like nothing I've ever seen, some of them run deep and far, but the way they're distributed causes only more questions, questions I may never get answers to.
Dad is bending further and further over her, eyes wide as he looks, so slowly and carefully. I let my eyes slide to Sark, his face is still hard but his eyes have finally come to land on the body, live or dead, and his eyes are clearly glassy. Vaughn is just watching with narrowed eyes, knowing what I must be feeling and I can see him thinking the same.
When we were rescued by the trio, I was shocked, to say the least, scared and shocked, at first suspicious of my mother and of Sark, but right now and trekking though the rainforest, I trust them, I don't know why, but everything seems to fit. I hate this slow tedious job, why can't she just wake up and have a happy reunion without the hours that are really only seconds of just lying there, not limp because my father is still too scared to touch her with more than finger tips.
I can see him now though, he's close enough to see the truth, to find out, so what, I have to ask, is holding him back? My entire body stiffens and I wait for this climax that, no matter what, I know is going to send me into tears.
Sark POV
The man I admire, turned to goo, and not the warm, sentimental goo, Irina always claimed eh could be, under the right circumstances, the kind that occurs when there's nothing left. He was goo a minute ago, but Agent Vaughn had now caused him to stiffen, I doubt anyone else can see it, but I know these things, I was taught by the best to pick up on them and Jack is stiff, not with hope, but with fear.
It takes me a moment to work out why, but I do, as always. He is scared he's wrong, he thinks she's alive as well and I must admit, right now I agree, she is alive. But what if we're both wrong, what if he picks her up and she is dead, dead in his arms. Obviously, I can see that this will be worse for him, to hold the dead body, but looking at it objectively, I think that perhaps, I'm scared of that too.
He bends over her, so tenderly, so hesitantly, blatantly expecting to lose everything again. For the third time, my head hangs, people say to have the one person you love, your 'soul mate', to have them die, is almost as bad as death to you itself. Others say that once your 'other half' is gone, death is welcomed. So I have to try, to pressure myself to understand how it would be to have that happen three times. I feel sorry for him. It's unusual for me to feel sorry for anyone, almost an impossibility and in most people's opinion a miracle, but for him, to lose so great a woman, it must be bad.
But she went down with a bang, proving once and for all that it wasn't money, that it wasn't power or mystery or death or hatred that she supported, she spent every second of her last minute showing that it was emotion, love probably, but I cannot be sure without asking her. I hope I get my chance.
Jack's leaning over more, his hands wavering above the wounds. He's got to be able to tell, being that close, he should feel the heat, see her breathing, hear her breath, so why does he remain quiet? I breathe heavily and wait.
Jack's POV
She's alive, she has to be, she'd bleeding, breathing, and creating heat, is there any other explanation. Anything at all to say she's dead? I have to wonder how she managed; she's obviously a better swimmer than I ever imagined. The cuts, I still don't understand and I will ask her when she wakes up. When she wakes up...No longer an if, but a when. And she will, it's not questionable. The others, they're all standing behind me, all waiting for a verdict, waiting for me to break what they hope is good news but are ready to hear bad.
I swallow, even now, she's slowly warming up, I lay a hand on her waist, feeling the skin warmer than it had been minutes ago as she escapes the cool water and arrives in the heated Malaysian afternoon Finally, something fair. Of course, it isn't really, I will be fired and thrown into prison when I get back to the US, but she's alive and that, at the moment, is all that is important.
I was scared to pick her up a moment ago; fearful she would fall limp and cold, the heat radiating only a dream and thus determine that she was indeed dead, but now, I am sure of myself. Perhaps stupidly, but I am. An arm under her knees and another behind her back, her arm around my shoulder, limp but not cold or dead, I stand, her body a dead weight but my own renewed with energy.
Sydney stares at me, along with Sark and Vaughn, all of them still waiting for an answer. But what words could I use? So I just smile, my mouth twitching up and I can feel my eyes become lighter with relief. They all continue to stare at me a moment, Sydney's head inclined in question, the tears no longer falling but her face tear stained. I nod and she understands, "Really?"
Sark looks at the body wide eyed and his hard exterior shattering, Vaughn similar as he draws the curtain back for me, leading my through to under the next willow and then further out onto the grass, in the full sun. I lay her, down, careful not to hurt her, the cuts still oozing tiny, insignificant amounts of blood that will undoubtedly hurt forever. I push her hair out of her eyes, her arm still draped around my shoulders. I go to remove it, to lie her down properly and I'm shocked to find her tighten her grip and smile delicately. Her eyes are still closed, but no dead body can do that.
I grin and force it off, her smile remaining as though in some brilliant dream. I leave her on her back, the sun drying the water on her feet and legs, the rest almost gone already. The blood slowly stops as I dab at it with the corners of my shirt, the sun helps, sealing the wounds temporarily though they will doubtlessly break open when next she moves.
I stand up and leave her there, an eye always watching her as she lies, unmoving and seemingly dead but for the tinge of tan returning to her skin. Sark, Vaughn and Sydney stand, all expressions hopeful but still restrained enough, just in case she's dead and I have something sad to say. I have to make them understand that she's fine and I say it as simply as I can, "She appears to be just tired, not even really unconscious; just deeply asleep."
Sydney stares at me, "What she's fine, nothing permanent?" She sounds incredulous.
"The cuts, they might leave some scars, but she seems fine." I keep using the word 'seem' perhaps because I still cannot be totally sure, so I try to beat my uncertainty into submission with words, something Irina would have done, "She is fine."
Sydney smiles and would have continued but for a moaned and whispered voice from behind, "Jack," pain filled so much of the voice that I flinch as I turn to see.
Reviews please. Didn't get many for my last round of updates
He let his hands touch at her neck, gingerly and his teeth clenched, but he did it. Sydney watching him with angry tears, still blind to the possibility that he was suffering the false hope that she was. Vaughn just stood back, forgetting it was his job to hold Sydney and, being possibly the most detached, seeing the final sign he needed. He nudged Sark who was standing arm's crossed and eyes elsewhere.
Sark glared at him and Vaughn glared back, but only for moment before pointedly turning his gaze back to Irina, causing Sark to look as well. He swallowed and stared at the body, not seeing what Vaughn could see until he was told, Vaughn's voice hushed and hesitant, but unable to keep quiet when he was so sure he was right. "Jack," all eyes swung to him, his voice, no matter how soft, splitting away the serenity and calm that the place had to itself. He waited, staring at them, scared to be wrong. "Jack, I think she's breathing."
Vaughn's POV
It sounds so stupid now that I've said it, so clumsy and wrong. What if I am wrong, what if it is some horrible trick that fate is playing on us all. I can see Sydney's eyes brimming again, no longed sad but angry that I should say something so preposterous, but she's turning to look at her, Irina, the women who created, in some way, every piece of pain in my life and at the same time Sydney, the only goodness there is left on the earth.
I could have sworn I saw her chest rising and then falling a few seconds ago, but now, I cannot be sure, it's covered in so many long cuts, from where I can't be sure, but what if she was a live? Where would that leave us? I know it is selfish to think like this, but if she's a live everything changes again. We were all so positive she was dead. Except Jack.
He wanted to come back and find her body, he was acting like a man possessed and I suppose now that he felt like he had unfinished business. He's bending over her now, the only movement but the gentle lapping of the water at her feet. She looks so much like Sydney that it's scary. And I have to admire her for what she's done, even if she did kill my father and I never forgive her for that, she's saved me and Sydney numerous times. She's acted good and then she threw herself off the cliff, there was no way she could have been hoping to live, the wish would have been too risky for a woman like her. She did it to save us, proving once and for all where her allegiance lies.
And what she said, had she been serious, about Sydney and I, I have no idea how to take that and I know it's wrong for me to think about it, but I suppose she said it for me to remember, it's shocking what she chose to do in what should have been her last moments. I mean, she kissed Jack and told Sydney and I that we loved each other. What am I supposed to make from that? There was no talk of continuing the business or the plan or coded talk for Sark, who, I suppose still is her right hand man. So what do I make from it all? I fear I'll never know.
Jack's close enough to her to tell so why isn't he speaking? I swallow and wait.
Sydney's POV
My father, I've never seen him like this and I don't think I ever want to see him this distressed, this vulnerable again. It's typical that my mother should do this to him, accidentally or otherwise, in her dying moments. If she is indeed dead, because right now, I'm hoping to hell that she isn't and that would appear to be the case. Her chest, I can see it rising and falling, far too slow and not enough, but at least it is moving. Her skin, it's too white and wrinkled. Usually so tanned and healthy looking, I can't bear to look at her like this. And the scratches, goodness knows how they got there, they're like nothing I've ever seen, some of them run deep and far, but the way they're distributed causes only more questions, questions I may never get answers to.
Dad is bending further and further over her, eyes wide as he looks, so slowly and carefully. I let my eyes slide to Sark, his face is still hard but his eyes have finally come to land on the body, live or dead, and his eyes are clearly glassy. Vaughn is just watching with narrowed eyes, knowing what I must be feeling and I can see him thinking the same.
When we were rescued by the trio, I was shocked, to say the least, scared and shocked, at first suspicious of my mother and of Sark, but right now and trekking though the rainforest, I trust them, I don't know why, but everything seems to fit. I hate this slow tedious job, why can't she just wake up and have a happy reunion without the hours that are really only seconds of just lying there, not limp because my father is still too scared to touch her with more than finger tips.
I can see him now though, he's close enough to see the truth, to find out, so what, I have to ask, is holding him back? My entire body stiffens and I wait for this climax that, no matter what, I know is going to send me into tears.
Sark POV
The man I admire, turned to goo, and not the warm, sentimental goo, Irina always claimed eh could be, under the right circumstances, the kind that occurs when there's nothing left. He was goo a minute ago, but Agent Vaughn had now caused him to stiffen, I doubt anyone else can see it, but I know these things, I was taught by the best to pick up on them and Jack is stiff, not with hope, but with fear.
It takes me a moment to work out why, but I do, as always. He is scared he's wrong, he thinks she's alive as well and I must admit, right now I agree, she is alive. But what if we're both wrong, what if he picks her up and she is dead, dead in his arms. Obviously, I can see that this will be worse for him, to hold the dead body, but looking at it objectively, I think that perhaps, I'm scared of that too.
He bends over her, so tenderly, so hesitantly, blatantly expecting to lose everything again. For the third time, my head hangs, people say to have the one person you love, your 'soul mate', to have them die, is almost as bad as death to you itself. Others say that once your 'other half' is gone, death is welcomed. So I have to try, to pressure myself to understand how it would be to have that happen three times. I feel sorry for him. It's unusual for me to feel sorry for anyone, almost an impossibility and in most people's opinion a miracle, but for him, to lose so great a woman, it must be bad.
But she went down with a bang, proving once and for all that it wasn't money, that it wasn't power or mystery or death or hatred that she supported, she spent every second of her last minute showing that it was emotion, love probably, but I cannot be sure without asking her. I hope I get my chance.
Jack's leaning over more, his hands wavering above the wounds. He's got to be able to tell, being that close, he should feel the heat, see her breathing, hear her breath, so why does he remain quiet? I breathe heavily and wait.
Jack's POV
She's alive, she has to be, she'd bleeding, breathing, and creating heat, is there any other explanation. Anything at all to say she's dead? I have to wonder how she managed; she's obviously a better swimmer than I ever imagined. The cuts, I still don't understand and I will ask her when she wakes up. When she wakes up...No longer an if, but a when. And she will, it's not questionable. The others, they're all standing behind me, all waiting for a verdict, waiting for me to break what they hope is good news but are ready to hear bad.
I swallow, even now, she's slowly warming up, I lay a hand on her waist, feeling the skin warmer than it had been minutes ago as she escapes the cool water and arrives in the heated Malaysian afternoon Finally, something fair. Of course, it isn't really, I will be fired and thrown into prison when I get back to the US, but she's alive and that, at the moment, is all that is important.
I was scared to pick her up a moment ago; fearful she would fall limp and cold, the heat radiating only a dream and thus determine that she was indeed dead, but now, I am sure of myself. Perhaps stupidly, but I am. An arm under her knees and another behind her back, her arm around my shoulder, limp but not cold or dead, I stand, her body a dead weight but my own renewed with energy.
Sydney stares at me, along with Sark and Vaughn, all of them still waiting for an answer. But what words could I use? So I just smile, my mouth twitching up and I can feel my eyes become lighter with relief. They all continue to stare at me a moment, Sydney's head inclined in question, the tears no longer falling but her face tear stained. I nod and she understands, "Really?"
Sark looks at the body wide eyed and his hard exterior shattering, Vaughn similar as he draws the curtain back for me, leading my through to under the next willow and then further out onto the grass, in the full sun. I lay her, down, careful not to hurt her, the cuts still oozing tiny, insignificant amounts of blood that will undoubtedly hurt forever. I push her hair out of her eyes, her arm still draped around my shoulders. I go to remove it, to lie her down properly and I'm shocked to find her tighten her grip and smile delicately. Her eyes are still closed, but no dead body can do that.
I grin and force it off, her smile remaining as though in some brilliant dream. I leave her on her back, the sun drying the water on her feet and legs, the rest almost gone already. The blood slowly stops as I dab at it with the corners of my shirt, the sun helps, sealing the wounds temporarily though they will doubtlessly break open when next she moves.
I stand up and leave her there, an eye always watching her as she lies, unmoving and seemingly dead but for the tinge of tan returning to her skin. Sark, Vaughn and Sydney stand, all expressions hopeful but still restrained enough, just in case she's dead and I have something sad to say. I have to make them understand that she's fine and I say it as simply as I can, "She appears to be just tired, not even really unconscious; just deeply asleep."
Sydney stares at me, "What she's fine, nothing permanent?" She sounds incredulous.
"The cuts, they might leave some scars, but she seems fine." I keep using the word 'seem' perhaps because I still cannot be totally sure, so I try to beat my uncertainty into submission with words, something Irina would have done, "She is fine."
Sydney smiles and would have continued but for a moaned and whispered voice from behind, "Jack," pain filled so much of the voice that I flinch as I turn to see.
Reviews please. Didn't get many for my last round of updates