It was only when, distracted by the glare of the T.V. on the wall clock, Sydney looked up, realising how late it was.
Big hand on the six, she thought absently, and little hand on the twelve.
She'd come home from work exhausted both in body and soul. Another day of paper work and watching Vaughn and Lauren together had passed and, tired and heart-sore, she'd dragged herself through it.
When she'd gotten home, she'd read her mail and ate a half-defrosted TV dinner before crawling into the bathroom for a long, hot bubble bath. The soak had done her a little good, easing out the strain in her neck muscles and back from sitting hunched over a computer all day, but it hadn't done anything to revive her flagging spirits. So, with the superficial warmth of her bath fading, she'd collapsed onto the couch to watch TV, too restless to sleep.
That had been at half past eight, and if it was half past twelve now, she'd sat, occasionally channel surfing, through four hours of gimmicky game shows and reality TV without really seeing it. None of it had interested her much, mostly because it seemed targeted to an audience she didn't fit in. One with a different kind of life, that lived in a different world to hers. She could dimly remember the shift from family-style programming to the more adult-orientated late shows, but otherwise couldn't remember a single thing she'd watched.
If only I could carry that over in other parts of my life, she thought wryly.
It was times like these she really missed Francie and Will. She couldn't help the feeling that she'd taken them for granted for the last few months before her missing two years, caught up as she'd been with Vaughn and in her duties as a double agent. She also couldn't help but know that she had caused their lives to change dramatically and irrevocably; Francie losing hers and Will having to give his up and begin another away from everything he'd ever known, all because of Sydney's choice of career.
And now that Vaughn and her double duties were effectively gone from her life and Francie was dead and Will in witness protection, she was alone. Oh, she had Weiss and her father, but they could only give her certain things in their own certain way. They couldn't give her Francie's smile and her cooking, or Will's laughter and steady, unwavering friendship. They were lost to her forever.
Tired of TV…Sydney switched the television off, hauling herself off the couch and over to the sliding glass doors, opening them. She was closer to the beach now at her new apartment, but that had never really been that important to her. Looking around her darkened courtyard, Sydney supposed she had taken her old apartment for granted, too. Now, staring into the shadows made by the neighbour's trees and her own outdoor furniture, she wished she was back in her old courtyard, the one she and Francie had sat in together, sipping wine and talking.
The layout of the small paved area was still unfamiliar to her as she ventured into the gloom, so she held her head in a way that allowed her to look from the corner of her eye; a little spy trick she'd learnt for night missions. She winced as, sitting down on one of her metal chairs, the cold seeped through her thin pants and leeched away any of the warmth she'd accrued on the couch, leaving her chilled and shivering.
Night is so unfriendly, she mused, it made you feel so bitter and small. The vast darkness only seemed to enhance her mawkish mood, wrapping her in its infinite icy arms to freeze her for eternity, or so she felt. The slightly salty edge to the air only served to remind her of the taste and scent of tears. As if summoned by her thought, she felt her eyes begin to well, as if an ocean of her self-pity was waiting to escape, to catch her up in arctic waves and drown her.
What I wouldn't give for someone to be here with me right now, she thought, for someone to help me chase the shadows away. The tears that threatened to choke her broke free then, catching in her lashes before meandering free to course in wind-chilled trails down her cheeks. I could be the only person left on the planet, she reflected, everyone else could fade away and I wouldn't see it for the darkness.
She shook off her overemotional thoughts with an inward laugh at how maudlin she'd become. Wiping away the tears, she chafed her arms vigorously through her thermal t-shirt and went inside. A lingering tendril of over-sentimentality made her leave the sliding door unlocked; to give her phantom saviour from the night a way in. Not that there's anyone out there, she thought with a self-deprecating laugh.
Little did she know it, but a figure stood cloaked in the darkness. He had watched her through the doors, retreating into the shadows when she'd come outside. Her tears had captivated him and he had wondered at their cause. She had looked so alone in the darkness, so maybe it had been loneliness. It could just have easily been regret at her loss in love, but Sydney's observer dismissed that thought. Whatever it had been, it didn't matter. He was going to wait until the lights went out and then he was going to go inside and comfort her. She was not the only one affected by the night.
Autumn winds…
The sound of the wind blowing outside the window was lulling Sydney to sleep, but every now and then there would be a creak that caught her attention. There's not a soul out there, she told herself, allowing sleep to claim her.
Night himself walked into Sydney's bedroom some time later. She watched him shed his cloak of shadows and drape it over a chair before he turned to her, his face obscured by the patchy gloom. He began to undress slowly, as if he were well aware of her scrutiny. There's something so familiar about him, she thought, sitting up and allowing the sheet to drop away. Night came towards her then, divested of his dark raiment.
"Take me through the darkness to the break of the day," she whispered to him, holding out her hand.
He took it, sweeping the sheet aside completely and sitting before her on the edge of the bed. Still holding her hand, he lifted it and placed it on his shoulder. Without needing any further encouragement, Sydney smoothed it over the surprisingly warm skin of his arm and neck. She let her fingers trace a strongly defined jaw and cup it as it came closer to her. Two hands came up to gently cage her own jaw just as two soft, warm lips brushed hers. Bringing her other hand up to rest on a rock-hard chest to steady her, Sydney let herself get drawn into the kiss.
He eased her back without her even knowing it, until she was on her back with him hovering above her. He broke the kiss then, deliberately brushing his torso against her to force her to concentrate on the sensation of flesh touching flesh. Arching against him, Sydney locked her arms around his neck and tried to pull his head back to meet hers, to reunite their tongues and lips. He held himself away, capturing her arms and anchoring them above her head. 'Submit', the action seemed to say, so Sydney did. She parted her legs and allowed him to settle between them and only then did he lower his head towards hers for another all-consuming kiss.
Waves of fiery pleasure swept over Sydney, making her shiver in their feverish grip. One large hand caressed her from her ankles to her thighs slowly, driving her insane with its leisurely pace. At her hip, a finger traced the protruding bone before the hand returned to squeeze, urging her pelvis closer to her lover's. The contact was maddening when all he would allow was kisses; her hands still locked above her head and held easily by one of his. He used the other to hold her still while he ground against her strategically with his hardness. She whimpered, unable to help herself, and struggled to free her hands.
"Don't fight me," he whispered hoarsely against her ear.
She ceased her fight for dominance and was rewarded. That frustrating palm settled over her breast and began to knead in time with the rhythmic surges of his hips against hers. She curved her spine back almost instantly, forcing her breast harder into the palm. There was a rough chuckle before the palm moved away, coasting down the soft, heated skin of her stomach. She moaned as it flattened over her navel, a finger probing her belly button in a peculiarly personal gesture.
"Please," she begged, unable to withstand much more.
There was another guttural laugh and the finger drew a line to her pubic mound. The thrusting pelvis eased away from hers and the palm came down to cup her an instant later. One questing finger eased inside her gently, tensing in anticipation of its reception. Sydney was ready to fracture into a million pieces at the intimate contact, having been on edge too long.
"Not yet," she was told, the finger retreating.
She groaned in impatience and it returned, less bold this time. The slow wiggle of that lone finger coupled with the drugging kisses made Sydney want to cry in frustration. The pressure of his erection against her made her want to sob. He increased her torture abruptly by easing the head of his tumescence slowly inside her. He left it there, riding low inside her, while he began to nudge her chin up with his; teasing her with playful nips below her ear. He sucked at the spot then licked it, surprising a climax out of her when he surged inwards suddenly.
"I didn't tell you to come yet," he growled, stilling.
The inaction didn't bother her, lost as she was in a sea of molten stars, until he began to slowly pull out. She'd been about to protest when he thrust back in, and then all thoughts of objection were driven out of her head. His uneven pace made it even harder to follow a trail of thought- a slow, hard thrust followed by a fast, shallow grind, then fast and hard once or twice before a short shallow push- he just rode her as he pleased. She came once more, waiting for signs of his tiring or nearing his own pinnacle, but his technique was too unpredictable to know anything other than that he appeared to have very good stamina.
So on and on it went until, at last, she noticed that his thrusts were getting faster, his withdrawals shorter and his breathing more uneven. She held herself back, waiting for him to catch up.
"Now," he panted needlessly
With one last savage plunge, he forced her over the edge for the third time. He pulled out just in time, spending himself on her thigh. He collapsed onto her, his remarkable strength having deserted him. Under his comforting weight, Sydney dropped off again.
She woke up alone, which was no big surprise. It had been just a dream after all, she mused, taking in the sight of the extremely rumpled bedclothes in amusement. It had been some dream though. Looking at the alarm clock, she was pleased to note that she'd woken five minutes earlier than usual. She had thought from the late hour she went to bed that she'd oversleep, but it seemed that her body could remember her usual routine even when exhausted.
After a shower, Sydney walked in her towel to the kitchen to turn the coffee maker on. Walking past the glass door, she noted with surprise that it was locked. She dimly remembered coming in from the courtyard the night before, but thought she'd left the door unlocked on a silly whim. Shrugging, she went to get dressed. It was then that she noted the black men's overcoat hung over the chair.
Somewhere not too far away, the morning sun glinted off his blonde hair shorn short as the man remembered the events of the night before. His crooked lower lip lifted at the memories.