Sark was tired as he unlocked the door to his house. He threw his keys on the small table by the door and walked into the kitchen. Irina was sitting by the window. As if she lives here.
"She got away." Irina said. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.
He wasn't in the mood to argue. "What should I do? She's at the fountains-"
"I know." She interrupted. "That's all she knows right now." She turned to look at him. "So this is what you do. You find her there, she'll be sleeping on a bench. Take her back to the hospital, and leave her there."
Sark walked to the window. "You expect me to just leave her there again?"
Irina fixed him with a steely glare. "Yes. That's exactly what I expect."
He turned on his heel and walked upstairs, passing by his son's bedroom, and stopped. It was still dark, with closed blinds and the night light with the stars and moon unplugged. Sark stepped inside and opened the blinds, daylight spilling onto the bedspread with his son's favorite cartoon characters on it.
He closed his eyes for a moment, forgetting everything, his amnesiac wife, his infuriating mother-in-law. But he opened them and left the room, continuing down the hallway to his own. The window was open and Sark went to shut it, but instead, looked out into the backyard.
There it was. The swing set that he and Sydney had picked out as a surprise for their son's return home. Of course! He raced out of the room and down the stairs. He threw open the door, picking up his keys simultaneously. Sark jumped into his car and sped down the drive.
He found her just as Irina had said, curled up on a park bench by the abandoned fountains, sleeping, rather peacefully as he looked at her. Carefully maneuvering his arms around her, he lifted her up, propping her head against him. Sark laid her in the back seat and quickly drove back up to their house.
There's no way I'm taking her back there. She'll never remember there. Sark hoped Irina wouldn't be there when he arrived. He parked in the drive and carefully, so as not to wake her, carried her into the house and up to their room. Sark laid Sydney on the bed and sat by her for a few moments.
He reached out a hand to touch her face but resisted. Instead, he got up and looked again out with window. Not yet, I can't let her see it yet. Taking the shade strings, he tied them down to the window latch. Then he left the room, locking the door behind him and walked downstairs to sit and think as what to do next.
Irina was still in the kitchen to Sark's dismay. He spun on his heel before she spotted him and stalked to the den. But he found he couldn't sit still, so he began to pace back and forth. Then he heard rustling from upstairs. His heart jumped and he dashed up the stairs to their room. He quietly unlocked and opened the door.
She had crawled under the covers and seemed to be asleep. "Are you awake?" He whispered. There was no answer.
"Julian?" He heard Irina call. Damn it. She better not come upstairs. He walked back to the door and closed it. As he passed by his son's room he paused, and closed that door as well. Then he proceeded downstairs.
But what if seeing Brandon's room would be a good thing? He turned to go back upstairs and almost ran right into Sydney. He caught her arm as she turned to run back upstairs. She swung around at him and her fist collided with his jaw. On impulse, he punched her as well. Stop being so stubborn!
His wife sank to the floor and started to cry. "Why? Why am I here? She asked. "How did I get here?"
How many times must you break my heart, Love? "You've always been here." He simply stated.
Sydney shook her head in what Sark took to be disbelief. He lifted her up and gently touched her face with his fingers. She didn't struggle, only stared off into space. What is she thinking? Is she finally remembering? She was quiet for quite some time.
"I remember..." Sydney finally said shakily. She looked at him, with the first recognition in weeks. "But why? Why here?"
Sark didn't have the chance to reply because Irina came storming in from the kitchen. "What are you doing?" She yelled. "Do you think bringing her here will solve anything?"
Irina then moved towards Sydney, Sark didn't know why, but didn't want to know. He pulled his wife close to him, but Sydney struggled against him. This seemed to amuse her mother because she stopped and smirked. "If you think this will work, you certainly have your work cut out for you." Irina turned and walked back into the kitchen.
I'll show you. You're wrong. Sark relaxed his grip on her arms but he didn't let go.
"Sark" Sydney spoke. He let her go and she turned to face him. He didn't know how to feel. She remembered his name, but she hadn't called him Sark since, well… I'm still the enemy, she just knows my name again. "Will you let me go?
His eyes darkened. "You still don't understand!" He yelled as he grabbed her arm again. For a second he considered taking her to the car again, but decided against it. Instead, he dragged her, struggling in vain, up the stairs and to their room.
He shoved her forward, intending to lock her in again, but stopped. He looked at her. His wife, his broken, confused wife. He loved her so much. "Sydney…" He pleaded and walked towards her. But she stepped back, away from him, until she bumped into the bed and fell on it.
She held up her hand. "Don't" She trembled.
Sark stopped. Have it your way. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door, then locking it. He dreaded going downstairs. She would be there, waiting to lord her predictions over him. He was seething as he entered his kitchen. Sure enough, Irina was sitting there by the window. As if she owns the place.
"She didn't remember the bedroom." It wasn't a question. She turned and met his eyes. "Did you show her Brandon's room?"
Sark mentally hit himself. "No."
"Good." She replied.
Why good? Sark left the kitchen without another word, but as he approached the stairs, he could hear Sydney crying. He paused, his hand on the railing. No. No don't go up there. He walked through a side room, one that was Sydney's favorite, with big, wide windows that looked out onto the lawn.
Sark opened the door and stepped out onto the deck. There it was. The swing set. He and Sydney had bought it a few days after Brandon left for camp. In the few days before she was admitted into the hospital, she would sit on the swing, every morning. And Sark would watch her from the kitchen, afraid to join her, afraid to leave her, and so he watched, always watched, only watched.
Sighing, he went back into the house and to the couch, ignoring the fact that his mother-in-law may still be in his kitchen. For hours he lay awake, unable to focus, unable to sleep. He thought that bringing her home would make things right, but it had only confirmed Irina's statements. Sydney didn't remember her husband, only the man who used to be her rival.
