Just so you know, and don't get confused...Sydneys thoughts are also in italics, but have # around them. #Like This#
Both parties stared at each other, with very different expressions gracing their faces. Sydney's had scrunched up in a fit of hysteria and a shocked, followed by horrified, expression fought its way onto Sark's face. It was at that moment he was glad she was scarily drunk, she would not notice the slip in his usual impassive façade.
She won't be receiving anything more to work with that I have to give her.
"Sark! The infa-mousse Mr. Sark is in my 'umble abode." Sydney attempted a mocking bow the, achieving it without much grace, but achieving it none the less. "What do you want? Here to kill me? Get you pwize, er, prize? To destroy me bit more? Do your Master's handiwork like the lap-, lap-, lapdog you are?"
Sark stopped himself short of snarling at the woman. Holding himself back from her his composure remained intact.
Sydney, Sydney, Sydney .I'll only allow so much. Don't push me.
The giggling had turned into a bitter laugh and Sydney swayed heavily before opening her mouth in an attempt to speak once more.
"Or are you here to get me to work with you a-gainnn? Well go ahead, do what always wanted to dooo. Shoot Sydney, Sark! Give yourself the grati-, grati-, what you always wanted. You can finally say you best-ed Sydney Bistow. Er, Bristow." She threw her arms out at her sides, her head dropping back. Then she fell back into the chair behind her, her eyes closed.
"Ooof." Sydney grumbled.
"Is there any particular reason you're referring to yourself in the third person, Agent Bristow?" Sark muttered quietly, mainly to himself. Sighing the young man slipped off his jacket. Looking with disgust at the overloaded suit stand he turned abruptly, entering the first room on his left, down the corridor. Realizing thankfully that this was the spare bedroom he went straight to the wardrobe and removing a hanger he slid his suit jacket over it and back into the wardrobe.
Returning to the main room he looked over at the young woman. Not letting his eyes linger.
For a woman who can strike fear into the hearts of any man she chooses, she holds her alcohol like a teenager.
He turned around and as he did so Sydney opened one tired eye and peered at him through it. Had she had the energy she'd demand to know what the hell he was doing in her apartment if he wasn't kidnapping or killing her.
#Well, he could still do both.#
Her body refused to fight the sleep that threatened to overtake her, and she gave herself over to it without too much of a thought.
Sark dropped the folder he had brought with him onto her dining room table and without sparing her a glance he strode out onto her balcony, half closing the door behind him, leaving it open enough to hear any distinctive sounds. Settling himself into a chair he let the night engulf him.
If I left, I know she'd find me. We both know she has no other choice. However, neither do I, even if she isn't aware of that.
He glanced back over his shoulder, reassuring himself that she was still slumped in the chair, safe from any harm but that she inflicted on herself.
So I wait. She has a choice that much is true, but as far as I'm concerned, there's only one. I won't allow for anything else.