It's always nice to look out the window
And see those very first few flakes of snow
And later on we can go outside
And create the impression of an angel that just fell from the sky
- "Always Winter" Relient K
Creating the Impression of an Angel
They laid her down with ease. Her weightless body seemed to float just above the bed. She was beautiful. Her light brown hair, flowing down off the edge of the bed, shone in the dim lighting. Her lips were white – or more so, a void of colour. She was pale; her face was drained of the bright colour it usually flourished with. She looked skinny, as if she had been on an anorexic diet a few months ago. But even so, she was beautiful.
The coroner declared her time of death as the 18th day of July at 0300. The cause: hypothermia. And who could have guessed? In the middle of summer. It was just a few weeks ago when I last saw her- walking away from me, her eyes fiery from anger, her cheeks red with fury, her vehemence brown hair sashaying behind her. Her way of saying she didn't want to see me again. I didn't really think she would leave me after that conversation, and in some sick, sadistic way, I was right. She's back, laid on the bed that held her and that would hold her till the end.
The past months with her seemed like a dream. Maybe I did dream them, but the feelings I hold for her remain true. During the first week after she left me, I spent hours revisiting that day, revising our conversation to prevent her from leaving in the first place, or successfully convincing her to stay by my side. And every time, these daydreams would lead us to a nice motel room, where I would then fall asleep with her in my arms, but then to only wake up alone again on the floor of my penthouse, or maybe, if I was lucky, in an armchair. It was painful. The second week, I spent looking out my window, waiting for her to show up at my door, to tell me that she wanted to stay with me. But being the kind of person she was, I knew she wasn't going to come to me. Stubborn, refusing to believe that she was wrong, because it just so happened that she often isn't.
And so the next week, I went to look for her. She wasn't home, Will didn't know where she went, "probably another business trip for the bank", and the CIA files opened no new trail- declaring her as 'MIA'. But Irina would know. She kept tabs on her. She always knew where her daughter was. And I was right, sort of. Irina's information led me into a small office – Jack's, his personal office, where he held his own agenda, and prepped the new field agents after he left the CIA. It was a small office - a bit too small for my tastes, but it was impeccably clean. There was a layer of dust covering the bookshelf, indicating the absence of its owner for at least a week. Contrary to the shelves, the large, mahogany table remained untouched by the dust around it. His files were organized by date, the older ones put in stacked boxes alongside the shelf. The more recent ones sat on his shelf, and what I assumed were the most important were locked inside his table drawer - the most important files being all those that related to Sydney. Everything about Sydney was in there. Her Project Christmas results lay at the bottom of the drawer. All her reports dating back to her SD-6 days were there. I flipped through them until I found the report where she first mentions me, "… the man that they caught single handedly bringing down Kershin Mitowaski's organization was there. They called him 'Sark', which I assume to be an alias. He is well trained and is, in my mind, my equal- not just in hand-to-hand combat, but I believe also to be in leadership, intelligence and marksmanship. …". It was a nice report and compliment, considering all the times she kicked my butt afterwards. It was a really nice report.
The most recent report on Sydney was found in Jack's diary, dated 2 weeks earlier. Sydney Bristow was on vacation with her father in Toronto, Canada. Why anyone would want to go there for holiday blows my mind, but maybe people like the city feel. I would like places more like Venice or Italy. But maybe Sydney just wanted to get away from me and her memories of me, and going to places where we traveled together wouldn't be the greatest help. Next destination for Julian Sark: Toronto, Canada.
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A/N: please review, because my friend always tells me how much my writing style sucks, and she fixes all my errors in my english homework etc. And I want to be a better writer, so please heeeelp me .
Anyways, this isn't going to be a regularly updated story, mostly because this was creating on the spur of a moment. So currently, it will be a one shot... untill I decide to add stuff..