Chapter 5: Chicago

(Sydney)

When I came back from being 'dead' I had nothing. Every material possesion was gone, my boyfriend had moved on with his life, Francie was dead, and Will was in witness protection.

I had a clean slate. I could do whatever I wanted. Become someone else, become myself.

Bullshit.

I had more history than ever on my shoulders, a two-year gap in my memory, and probably a price on my head, because I'm sure the Covenant have loved to get their hands on me again. Then they could either kill me, or actually turn me into Julia Thorne. I wonder which would be more painful? I told Kendall not to tell me about the conditioning. I asked Kendall to spare me the pain.

But pain I can deal with. Pain is real, visceral. Pain reminds you that you are alive.

Instead I have nothing, just this void. I can only imagine what they did to me.

That is why my desire for vengeance went so deep. That I why I was willing to work with my sworn enemy, deceive the CIA, and kill as many people as needed. The Covenant inflicted some unthinkable pain on me, so terrible that I was willing to forget, that I wanted to forget.

A long and twisted road led me to where I am today, sitting next to Sark, with half of his fortune under my name, on a quest to disappear. Sark, who however miserable and complicated his life has been, seems always to be holding the reins.

(Sark)

She's thinking again: her head resting against my shoulder, staring vacantly out the plane's tiny window. Bright sun filters in and sets her hair aflame with red and gold streaks.

"Enjoying the view?"

"I wish we could hurry up and get there," she replied, still resting against me.

"Savor it."

Savor everything. Life is too short, especially for people like us, not to live fully. She sighs, and repositions herself along my right side. Minutes later she sits up and tries to rest an elbow along the woefully inadequate windowsill.

"I don't like this seat."

"You can have mine," I offer.

"Don't be sarcastic."

"I wasn't being sarcastic."

"It's the same damn seat!" she hisses.

"Sydney," I try for calming.

"What? What the hell do you expect from me?"

"You're making a scene."

"You're not helping!"

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry."

"That's the problem. You never do anything. You never get mad. You have it all under control, it's all stuffed away behind that mask," she sneers. At least she's keeping our argument to a whisper now. If you can label it an argument. It seems rather one-sided.

"This is neither the time nor the place to lose my temper. But I promise you, once we reach the hotel you can try to make me angry uninhibited the hundred on people aboard this plane."

She opens her mouth to speak, but apparently decides against it. Her arms are crossed, her body angled away from me towards the window. I hope she finds it interesting. It will be another hour until we arrive in Chicago.

(Sydney)

As soon as we make through the door to our barely adequate hotel room I turn on him.

"You are so fucking calm! I'm not a mission, I'm not a mark. So just wipe that smirk off your face and talk to me for once?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Do you ever feel anything? I mean really feel?"

"I feel things all the time. I just don't always show it."

"You treat me like a child. You lead me by the hand. You can't drop the façade for two seconds to talk me about anything that matter."

(Sark)

"You want me to show you how I feel?" Now I'm the one speaking through clenched teeth. "You want me to show you my temper?"

I step towards her and she takes a single step back.

"Is this better? Have you forgotten that we're running, Sydney? That we're fleeing for our lives? You act like this is a pleasure cruise. You treat this like a vacation."

"I'm fleeing with you. I'm not fleeing with the operative, or the strategical mastermind, the assassin," she almost pleads, her voice small.

"Sydney, I am those things."

(Sydney)

His voice is gentler, but laced with regret. He takes my hands in his, kneels when I sit down on the bed. And I am suddenly ashamed for how I behaved. I spent months looking for my history, and months more avenging its loss, and I ask him to leave behind everything he was. For me.

"I'm sorry."

"So am I."

He lets go of my hands, stands, and paces the small room. A vast fortune between us, and we're staying in a dump like this. He stops in front of the dresser and starts to speak again.

"Sydney, we don't have to do this together. We can split up. Maybe it would be best if we travelled separately for awhile. It would reduce the chances of either of us being found."

I blink back tears. I am slowly ruining the best thing that has happened to me since waking up in Hong Kong. His voice is steady and carries no sign of his earlier outburst. I wonder if he's serious. I can't read his eyes.

"I'd rather keep going with you."

"If that's what you want."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

(Sark)

She nods, but is silent. Her jaw clenches and a crease appears between her eyebrows.

"It's okay if you need some time alone."

I'm giving her every chance to escape. I have been dreading this moment since our first night together, but it is not entirely unexpected. I'm surprised she's stayed this long. I love every moment with her: the feel of her body against mine, the trust she places in me, waking up at her side, travelling with her towards our future. But I always suspected it was a brief dream brought about by extraordinary circumstances, that would end when our interests no longer coincided. I knew that the proverbial honeymoon would end when the Covenant fell.

"I just need a nap. I'm too strung out right now."

She hadn't slept through the night in weeks.

"I'll give you some privacy."

Her voice stopped me halfway out the door.

"Stay here. Please."

I crawled on the bed beside her: her arm flung over my chest and her breath against my shoulder.

The guillotine has yet to fall.