Well, I'm afraid this is it, everybody. More of an epilogue than anything else . . . I would like nothing better than to have enough inspiration left to write a good sequel, but I can't promise anything. We'll see. For everyone who shared your thoughts and support during Rivalita's creation, I can't thank you enough. I hope you've all enjoyed the ride as much as I have. With any luck, you haven't seen the last of me!
Title by R.E.M.; the song at the end is from the movie Pierrot le Fou. And one last time, thank you all SO, SO MUCH for reading.
XX. It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)
2 months later.
"Oh my god," Sydney mutters as soon as the door is closed behind her. "I feel like a corpse."
As Sark watches his partner and official handler, bemused, she goes to the hotel room's queen-sized bed and collapses on the mattress with her feet dangling off the edge. With short, angry, movements, she kicks off her shoes and then begins to flex the arches of her feet, moaning softly. "And my feet hurt from wearing those ridiculous shoes all day," she adds, running a hand over her face.
He closes the laptop and approaches. He got back to the hotel about an hour ago, since his part of the operation had been more straightforward and bloody and hadn't involved cozying up to one of the Covenant's cell leaders to steal information.
"May I?" he asks dryly, as if she isn't practically begging him.
Sydney lifts one long leg to the level of his hands. "Do," she orders, in her uncanny impression of a pouty and spoiled heiress.
The noises she makes as he massages her feet border on the obscene, to say nothing of when he moves on to her painfully tense calves. It would be a very effective form of foreplay if he didn't know, without question, that in a matter of minutes she would be out like a light. Still, he places a kiss on the inside of her thigh, on the off chance that he might be wrong. "Mmm," she hums, reaching down for him. "Baby . . ."
No. It's a lost cause. If there's one thing he's learned over the past months, it's that only on the brink of a deep sleep resembling death will Sydney Bristow ever refer to him as 'baby.' Which is perfectly acceptable, because only when she's too exhausted to be held responsible will he ever permit it.
If he thought it would make any difference to her in her near-comatose state, he would hold her. Instead, he brushes Sydney's hair from her eyes, returns to his computer and continues his research, only occasionally glancing at the sleeping woman on the bed with an almost imperceptible smile on his face.
oh, my love
you never promised to adore me all your life
we never exchanged such promises
knowing me, knowing you
we never thought we'd be caught in love's web, fickle as we were
but gradually, without a word between us, bit by bit
feelings arose between our bodies mingled in delight
then words of love rose to our naked lips, bit by bit
heaps of words of love mingled gently with our kisses
so many words of love
I never thought I'd want you—oh, my love—
we never thought we could live together and not grow tired of each other
to wake up every morning,
surprised to still be so happy in the same bed
and want nothing more than the ordinary pleasure
of feeling so at ease with each other
but gradually, without a word between us, bit by bit
our feelings bound us tight in spite of ourselves, never to let go
feelings stronger than any words of love
known or unknown
feelings so wild and strong
that we never thought were possible before
don't ever promise to adore me all your life
let's never exchange such promises
knowing me, knowing you
let's keep the feeling that this love of ours
is a love with no tomorrow.