TNLTL 11~14
We live in a beautiful world,
Yeah we do, yeah we do,
We live in a beautiful world
Oh, all that I know
There's nothing here to run from,
'Cos yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on...
ELEVEN: “Don’t panic”
Nicolaya brought over a tissue box. “You might need it.”
Sydney took a deep breath, leaning forward and lifting the lid of the wooden box.
Looking inside, she nearly felt like laughing at the simplicity of the items inside.
She saw a small leather bound book, possibly a journal, a key, a small velvet box and a small bottle of what looked like perfume.
Sydney glanced at Nicolaya, unsure about how to proceed.
Nicolaya lightly tossed her long hair over her shoulder and reached in the box, pulling out the leather bound journal and holding it out to Sydney.
“Start with this one,” Nicolaya told her, “And try to clear your mind, go wherever it takes you.”
Sydney let out a long breath, doing her best to clear her mind of everything as she reached for the book.
She expected to get a flash or something as soon as she touched it, but as it fell into her hands and nothing happened, she began to wonder if this was all some kind of sick joke. She lifted her eyes to protest to Nicolaya when she found that Nicolaya was no longer sitting beside her. In fact, she wasn’t in the suite in Rome at all.
Not sure if this was what was supposed to happen, Sydney decided not to fight it, and just take in her surroundings.
She was in a large room, sitting at a desk late at night. It was her apartment, she realized. She glanced out the window into the night, hearing the occasional passing of a vehicle on the street some floors below.
She was sitting at a desk, in her room, the leather journal sitting open to the first blank page in front of her…
Sydney blinked again and found Nicolaya staring back at her.
“Is it working?” she asked quietly.
Sydney let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I think it is.”
She looked down at the journal that was now resting, closed, in her lap, and gathering her courage, she lifted the cover.
Staring back at her on the first page was a drawing, a drawing of designs that looked like a circle with twelve spaces around them with names attached to each space. She didn’t recognize anything but the symbol in the middle, the thing she’d learned to dread: the mark of Rambaldi.
“What are you still doing awake?”
The sound of his voice coming from the book way caused her to slam the book shut, though the ink from her drawing was still fresh upon it. She still wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she felt like no one else should know about it.
She turned in her chair to face him. “What are you, my father?” she asked him, covering her surprise with anger, her eyes narrowing at him. “I’m a big girl, Sark. I don’t need to be coddled.”
Sark met Sydney’s glare, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I apologize, it’ll never happen again,” his voice dripping with icy sarcasm.
Sydney sighed, bringing her hand to her temple where a headache was taking gathering strength.
They’d been working together for almost two weeks already, and the situation which they found themselves in often made Sydney’s head spin.
They had agreed that it would be best for their safety, and her cover, if they lived in the same apartment. But living with each other, especially in their current circumstances, caused tension that hung between them, both of them trying to do their best to overcome it. The truth was that they weren’t the same people they used to be. Sydney even admitted that half the time Sark wasn’t bad company. But he wasn’t used to living with a roommate, and he sometimes stepped out of line in what was or was not his business.
“Sark…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Sydney apologized, suddenly not having the energy to get into an argument. “Have you eaten?”
Sark glanced down for a moment, his demeanor changing from annoyance to one of exhaustion.
“I had something before,” he told her.
Sydney nodded.
“I talked with Kendall today,” she said, mostly just wanting to fill the silence between them. “I have to leave tomorrow morning to Argentina. I should be back in a couple of days.”
“I’m not going with you?” he asked, sounding…was it disappointed? No, he was probably just relieved.
“No, you don’t have to,” Sydney answered.
“Would it be much trouble if I did?” Sark asked.
Sydney blinked at the question.
“I don’t think so…” she said, a bit hesitant in her statement, wondering his intentions.
“Then I’ll go,” he stated with a shrug. “What time is the flight?”
“Uh…seven.”
Sark nodded and turned as if to leave.
“Sark,” Sydney called after him. “Really, it’s not a big deal, you don’t need to go. Stay home, get some rest or something.”
“It really isn’t any trouble, Sydney. Besides, there isn’t much that I really could do if I stayed,” he stated plainly. Catching the look on Sydney’s face, he added, “Don’t be so suspicious of me, Sydney.”
“I never said I was,” she defended herself.
“You don’t have to. But I don’t blame you, since I’d do the same thing,” he answered. Then he threw her one of the smirks she used to find so infuriating. “Or who knows, maybe all I really want to do is spend time with you.”
Sydney didn’t want to think about whether he was just trying to throw her off balance or if he’d really meant that, so rolled her eyes at him, “I’ll see you in the morning, Sark.”
“Good night, Sydney,” he said, closing the door to her bedroom as he exited.
Sydney turned back to her desk, running her hands over the leather in the journal. With a light sigh, she closed her eyes and rested her head in her hands, suddenly not being able to get Sark out of her mind.
Finally she opened them again, shocked to find herself back in the present, Nicolaya staring at her calmly.
Sydney smiled slightly at her as she felt more things begin to return to her.
The trip to Argentina had been purely reconnaissance and was done faster than she’d thought it would. She and Sark had spent a day wandering the city together, taking the rare opportunity to relax. But underneath all that, Sydney had been in turmoil. Whenever she had a fun moment, or smiled at something, she found herself thinking she’d like to share it with Vaughn, or she should mention it to her father. It would always hit her hard to know that there was probably going to be no way she would ever speak to them again.
Sydney looked back down at the journal in her lap and turned to the next page, curious to learn to rest of it.
1 3/4 c. defatted chicken broth
2 tbsp. chopped garlic
4 tbsp. chopped shallots
4 tbsp. chopped Italian parsley
1/2 lb. dry angel hair pasta
1 lb. peeled & deveined shrimp, tail shells left on
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
It was a recipe, she realized. She took a deep breath, feeling the scent of the sauce come to her as she closed her eyes, identifying other smells…red wine…and his cologne.
“Don’t tell me that you made this yourself,” he said a joking tone she was beginning to like.
“Yes, and all by myself, I might add,” she said, placing his plate in front of him.
He looked down at it for a moment. “I thought you said you hated cooking.”
Sydney shrugged. “Usually I do. Mostly, because I don’t think that I’m any good. But lately I’ve been getting a lot of practice, so…”
Sark nodded, picking up his fork and digging into the food she’d made, while she waited for his response.
He paused in his chewing, glancing up at her while trying to keep his face neutral. He swallowed quickly and have her a small smile.
“Very good,” he said, Sydney knowing he was lying right through his teeth.
She smiled back at him, turning back to the kitchen and pretending not to see him nearly dive for the glass of wine to wash it all down with.
She wasn’t really surprised that it was bad. While she was able to break a man’s neck ten different ways and still keep her makeup flawless, she had always been a terrible cook.
In a way it was sweet that Sark was putting up with something that was not at all what he was used to.
But this was going to be fun to play with.
“So, you really like it?” she asked, innocently taking a sip of her own wine.
“Yes, I do,” he answered quickly, making Sydney want to burst out laughing.
“Well, then I suppose you’ll want seconds,” she said evenly.
When he nearly choked on his wine, Sydney couldn’t hold back her amusement any longer.
“Sark, you don’t have to pretend. I’ve never been a good cook,” she said between giggles.
He frowned at her, “You knew,” he said accusatorily, “And you actually made me eat it? Is this some new torture method you’re trying out?”
“Well, I knew that you didn’t really like it,” Sydney explained. “But it can’t really be that bad.”
As proof, she picked up her own fork and dug into the plate in front of her.
It was worse than she’d thought.
“On second thought, maybe I should consider it as a new torture method,” she said, making a disgusted face.
“Well, to your credit, the wine excellent,” Sark told her.
Sydney shook her head clearing it of the most recent scene playing in her mind. That night hadn’t had monumental events, nor had it anything truly out of the ordinary happened. But it marked a beginning, a change in the relationship she thought she had with Sark. Anyone watching them would never have guessed their past or their current lifestyle. It was the first time that Sydney hadn’t thought about Sark’s dark persona, the cold-blooded killer that she often pictured him as. That night, she began to see him as a real person, with emotions, concerns, and feelings. It was then she’d also began to realize that she could still have the normalcy she thought had been lost to her forever.
She began to see Sark as a friend.
Sydney was started at the realization, but only for a minute. Then it all made perfect sense to her.
Like someone wanting to get to the next chapter of a novel, Sydney turned to the next page in the journal.
She was surprised not to see her own handwriting in the book, but one she didn’t recognize.
Frowning, she ran her fingers over the letters, reading the lines written in Russian, finding beauty in the poem.
As she finished, she glanced up, looking at him as he played with the pen in his hand, trying to keep up a mask of indifference.
Sydney was speechless for a moment, letting a smile pull on her lips.
“This is beautiful,” she told him honestly, moved by what he had written.
He shrugged, not looking directly at her, and Sydney recognized the front he was trying to put up. It must have taken a lot out of him to share something like this with her.
“Really, Sark, it’s truly moving,” Sydney said, lightly touching his arm. “Thank you.”
He finally allowed his eyes to meet hers, reading them in search for some sign that she was joking. When he found nothing but pure sincerity, he let the mask drop a bit.
Silently, he took the book from her and scribbled something else just beneath what he had just written. Then he closed the book, handing it back to her and standing up.
“Good night, Sydney,” he said, before moving into his room and shutting the door closed behind him.
As soon as he was gone, Sydney flipped to what he’d just written:
“For Sydney, from Julian.”
Sydney bit back the tears that came when she returned from that memory.
Vaughn had never written her a poem. He’d never really ever let her get close to him. Sydney remembered thinking long and hard about what their relationship had really been. He’d known everything about her, she’d often spilled out everything that was within her to him, letting him into her life without any hesitation, not holding anything back. When had he ever done that for her? In all the time that they were together, he’d never once talked of their future together, never mentioned just what he felt about her. She’d never met his family, she didn’t really know any of his friends, she’d never even been to his apartment.
“Micheal Vaughn is just a little boy, who was never good enough for you anyway,” her father had said.
When she’d heard it, she didn’t want to believe that. But now…now she was beginning to see things differently.
How was it that she had felt closer to Sark when he revealed his first name to her than she’d ever felt with Vaughn?
Sydney pushed down the lump forming in her throat, realizing for the first time just how difficult remembering could be.
_____________________________________________
this time all I want is you
there is no one else
who can take your place
this time you burned me with your eyes
you see past all the lies
you take it all away
TWELVE: “Take Me Away”
Sydney looked back down at the book in her lap, opening to the next revealing page.
What she saw surprised her. She saw her own handwriting, in several languages, an angry scrawl, large, messy, emotional words.
Anger, disgust, corruption, betrayal, injustice, fury.
She felt herself becoming upset, and angry even.
The sound of glass shattering against the wall in front of her made her head snap up.
She saw as the liquid that had been in a glass bottle dripped down the far wall. She was standing in the middle of her trashed apartment, breathing hard, panting as the initial rage began to leave her, leaving her feeling drained. She slumped down to the ground, staring off into space for who knows how long.
She was now, sitting in the dark when the front door opened.
A light flicked from the single lamp left undamaged and heard him pull out his gun.
He came into her line of vision briefly, looking around the trashed the living room. he paused to look at her before moving into the other rooms to check for intruders.
A few minutes later, he came back, putting his gun down and looking directly at her.
“Sydney,” he said shaking her shoulder slightly, “Sydney, what happened?”
She didn’t respond. His face faltered, his eyes getting a look akin to panic.
“Sydney!” he said, more forcefully, shaking her a bit harder.
Finally, she looked directly at him, but still said nothing.
He looked down at her hands, which were resting in her lap.
He sighed deeply. “What happened?” he asked quietly, gently grabbing her wrists, inspecting the blood on her hands. He looked around and found the broken glass responsible for her injuries. By the looks of it, she’d squeezed it in her hands.
“You did all of this, didn’t you?” he asked with a small frown.
She continued to look at him, silently answering to the affirmative.
He sighed again. He pulled her into his arms, holding her for a minute before kissing her forehead lightly.
“Come along,” he said, pulling her up off the ground, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She allowed him to lead her into the bathroom, to run her hands under the warm water, washing the dried blood off her hands.
She laughed then, a hollow, hoarse, mirthless laugh at the irony of it the action.
Sark paused to look at her for a moment, by the look on her face, he was thinking she’d gone mad.
“Kendall sent me an intra-office memo today,” she told him. “It’s on my dresser drawer.”
He understood that she meant for him to go see it. Taking one last look at her before moving out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, Sydney knew what Sark would find there. The words written in black-and-white would be imprinted in her brain forever, she was sure.
Arvin Sloane, of previous Alliance affiliation, has been granted a full pardon by the President of the United States.
She couldn’t begin to imagine Sark’s reaction. And in truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know just yet. That’s why she’d sent him off.
She listened for him. Surely by now, he would have read the memo. Read it twice probably. But everything was deathly silent.
Then she heard some loud noises coming from the living room and then the unmistakable sound of a gun shot, followed by silence.
Sydney panicked a bit, wondering what on Earth Sark had done.
She moved into the living room where Sark wordlessly tossed his gun aside.
He brought his eyes to meet hers and she understood. He felt nearly as betrayed as she did.
He led her back to the bathroom, pulling out bandages and ointment and began to gently tend to her wounds.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
She knew he wasn’t just referring to her physical injuries.
“It’s better, now,” she says, not wanting to tell him that his presence was helping. “It still stings a little though.”
Sark nodded as he tied off the last of the bandage.
Then he took her wrist gently and led her through to the kitchen. Sydney looked around her destroyed living room.
“You shot my couch,” she observed with a hint of surprise, her eyes falling on the gaping hole in the pillows, stuffing pouring out like blood.
Sark glanced in the direction of the couch and raised an eyebrow at her.
“You broke my favorite bottle of sherry,” he said, jutting his chin towards the far wall, stained with the liquid. “I’d say we’re even.”
Sydney felt herself smirk a bit as Sark rummaged through the kitchen. He put down a plastic cup in front og her and poured a bit of Scotch into it.
“There isn’t a single glass around here,” he muttered.
Sydney let out a shaky laugh. “Another thing we have Sloane to thank for,” she quipped before swallowing part of her drink. Then her face became serious as she put the cup back down on the counter and turned away.
After the shock, after the anger, the tears of grief were finally ready to come out, having Sydney’s body be racked with sobs. She moved into the living room, dropping into a chair and covering her face with her hands.
Her sobbing had subsided by the time he sat down on the couch just to her right. She dropped her hands from her face to that he was handing her a handkerchief.
She took it gratefully, wiping away her tears.
“I just can’t believe it, y’know?” she said, for once wanting to say exactly what she was feeling.
“After what he did to Danny,” she continued, twisting the piece of cloth in her bandaged hands, “All I wanted to do was bring the sonofab!tch down and I did it the CIA’s way, thinking that they’d get me the justice that I wanted for Danny, for Noah, for Will, for Diane, for Emily, for Franice…for me.”
She let out a short breath. “It’s just that…after everything, after all the hell that I put myself and everyone I knew through…after all the bastard’s done,” Sydney went on, “Sloane ends up winning.”
Sark sighed deeply and they both sat in silence for a while.
“Sydney,” Sark calling her name brought her eyes up to his. Their blue depths were icy and determined.
“Sloane is not someone I would consider to be a human being. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of us, in my opinion.”
He paused for a minute to lean just a bit closer to her, “I don’t plan to just leave this be. I believe that bureaucracy is a punishable crime on occasion. This is one of those occasions. Arvin Sloane will pay. For that I give you my word.”
She was holding her breath for what was coming next.
“The CIA…Sydney, are you sure that you still want to do this? To keep working with them?” he asked, completely serious. “I’ve asked you before, and I’ll do it again now. Would you want to work with me and do what should have been done from the beginning?”
Sydney dropped her gaze from his and took a steadying breath. No, it wasn’t the first time that Sark had offered to have her work with him and she’d never considered it as even an option. But now…after everything that had happened, and feeling his heat from where he was sitting, resting his hands on her knees, and using his penetrating gaze. It took everything in her to refuse.
“I can’t,” she whispered, bringing her eyes to his again, “Not right now…not when I’m in the middle of all this, with the Covenant.”
Sark frowned a bit, but nodded, sitting back again.
“I’m not saying no,” Sydney heard herself speak again, “I’m saying not now.”
At this, Sark nodded, letting a small smirk play on his lips.
Sydney felt herself tearing up again. She groaned and wiped away the tears fiercely. The time for crying was over now. She sighed, letting a chuckle escape.
“I’m sorry, she said with a shaky laugh. “We seem to be doing this a lot, don’t we?”
“What?” Sark asked lightly.
“Me, falling apart. You coming over here and picking up the pieces.”
Sark frowned, reaching over and gently wiping away a rebel tears still coming down Sydney’s cheek.
“I don’t mind,” he told her softly.
Sydney brought her eyes to meet his. Carefully, she drew towards him, her face coming only inches from his.
“Sydney,” he managed to get out as she touched his face gently and his eyes glazed over.
“Shh…” came her answer just before she brought her lips to his in a desperate kiss.
Her lips coaxed his to react and he kissed her back fervently, sliding his hands into her hair to pull her closer as the kiss deepened.
Pent up emotions and desires kicked into gear as Sydney slipped out of her chair and into his lap, pushing him back onto the couch without ever breaking their connection.
Her hands pushed his jacket away, and she pulled her mouth from his, both of them gasping for air. But Sydney moved her attentions to his neck and collarbone as he slid his hands down her sides to her hips which were carefully balanced over his.
“Sydney,” he panted out her name, “Sydney, wai--“
She didn’t respond, instead lifting her head to placeher mouth over his while her fingers undid the buttons of his shirt.
But he grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her up.
“Stop, Sydney,” he said, licking his lips and gasping a bit while still holding her at arms length. “I don’t think you want to do this.”
Sydney furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”
Sark brought his eyes to meet hers. “You’re…emotionally distraught right now. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“That’s not it at all…”
“Yes, it is,” Sark insisted, standing up and steeping away from her.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Please, don’t misunderstand me,” he explained, “I want this. Believe me, I do.”
His blue eyes locked with her brown ones once more. “But, Sydney, please understand…I would like for us to be together, just not…I want you to come to me because you, in all clarity of mind and spirit, truly want me. Not because I’m the only one here.”
Sydney stared back at him, stunned, not knowing how she should respond.
A few minutes of awkward silence followed. Finally, Sark walked back over to the couch and picked up his jacket.
He was about to turn away when Sydney caught his hand. She looked up into his eyes and offered him a tearful smile, silently giving him thanks.
Sark smiled back at her, leaning down to gently kiss her forehead.
“Good night, Sydney.”
“Good night.”
With that, he turned and walked into his room, letting the door click shut behind him.
______________________________________________________________
Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in
Don’t be surprised if I collapse down at your feet again
I don’t want to run away from this
I know that I just don’t need this
Cause I cannot stand still
I can’t be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening
Cuz I’m waiting for tonight
Then waiting for tomorrow
And I’m somewhere in between
What is real, and just a dream...
THIRTEEN: “Somewhere in between”
Sydney came back to the living room in Rome, noticing that Nicolaya had left her alone.
Other things began to come back. She’d changed. She hadn’t been the same person she used to be. Whether she liked it or not, being Julia had changed Sydney. Which was why she’d stopped denying her attraction for Sark. In truth, it had always existed between them; that rush whenever they faced each other, that nearly flirtatious banter. They constantly would push each other’s limits out in the field, each struggling to stay on top, a rush for victory. She’d never had any of that with Vaughn. Vaughn had been her rock, her guardian angel, but he’d never tried to understand her. Sark did. He understood her without her having to explain anything, understood her better than she sometimes understood herself, he somehow knew her pain. He also knew that she could never go back to who she used to be, unlike her father and everyone else who used to be her friends who thought she hadn’t changed. Sark had not only accepted, but welcomed the changes in her.
It meant that he wouldn’t have to be alone anymore. Mr. Sark, the man who needed no one, had been lonely.
That, in itself, was a startling discovery.
Blinking away some fresh tears, Sydney moved onto the next page of the notebook.
This time, the rush of information caught her off guard. Before, she seemed to be re-living her memories, but this time, they all came at her at once, with such a force that left her struggling to breathe.
Vaughn.
Her father.
Dixon.
The ocean.
Oleg.
Ashes.
Drugs.
Images.
Julia Thorne.
August 2nd, 1973.
Hunger.
Hopelessness.
Born in London.
Pain.
A contract killer.
Brainwashing.
So much pain.
She was gasping for breath as it all washed over her in an endless stream of the worst possible feelings in existence. Her time in captivity by the Covenant, everything they did to her.
And then came the gist of it all.
They wanted her to complete Rambaldi’s work for them. They wanted her to find things no one else could. They wanted her to provide them with the Second Coming.
Sydney dropped the book form her hands where everything she knew about Julia Thorne was written, practically flinging herself as far away from it as she possibly could. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she had to support herself against the wall, she was shaking so violently. Her first thought was wondering why the hell she’d allowed Sark to leave. Secondly, why had Nicolaya chosen this of all times to leave her alone?
She didn’t want to do this anymore, she couldn’t go through with the rest of it, not if the memories threatened to kill her like that.
After a few moments, her rational mind kicked in and she realized that somewhere, her memories had unlocked, all of them. But there were still many that were still hazy and unclear. They would haunt her forever if she didn’t finish this.
Gathering her courage, she walked back to where the notebook had fallen open on the floor. Gingerly, she picked it up and settled herself on the couch once again, flipping to where she’d left off.
There was a simple phrase in the middle of the page: “Friend.”
Sydney frowned at the word, wondering what it could possibly mean. The sound of the bedroom door opening drew her attention away from the book in her lap.
Nicolaya entered gracefully, absently tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. Sydney watched as Nicolaya moved towards her, with a small smile on her lips. But she wasn’t looking at Sydney, rather at the person sitting beside her.
That’s when Sydney noticed that Sark had stood up from the couch beside her, in some other suite or apartment, in another city. Sicily, her mind automatically filled in.
Sark moved to meet Nicolaya who gave him a peck on the lips. When she pulled back from him, her face was serious and she gave him a resounding slap.
Sark blinked in surprise, his head having turned from the impact.
“You know you deserved that,” Nicolaya spat in Italian.
Sark faced her again, and Sydney fully expected him to slip on his usual mask. To her further surprise, he only laughed.
“You would have done that whether I deserved it or not,” he answered in the same language.
Sydney watched in confusion as Nicolaya returned his smile with a sigh.
“In any case, I’m glad you’re alive,” she told him.
“Me too,” he quipped. He glanced back at Sydney, calling her over to where he and Nicolaya were standing.
“Nicky, this is Julia Thorne,” he said in all seriousness.
Nicolaya took one look at Sydney and quirked an eyebrow at Sark.
“I’m not an idiot, Julian,” she told him, her use of his given name telling Sydney volumes about the woman already. She was someone Sark was close to. And Sydney wasn’t about to admit that she was jealous.
“This is Sydney Bristow,” Nicolaya said, settling her dark eyes on Sydney. “Am I right?”
Sydney’s first instinct was to panic. But then she was calm. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“You look just like your mother,” Nicolaya answered in a soft tone, but Sydney prickled anyway.
“My name is Nicolaya Cournelli,” she continued, “I am the daughter of Giovanni Cournelli and Elena Derevko.”
Sydney didn’t hide her shock at the news. Derevko? As in…no, that was impossible.
“Who is Elena Derevko?” Sydney found herself asking.
Now it was Nicolaya’s turn to be surprised. “You mean you don’t know?”
She glanced at Sark and he shrugged. Nicolaya pressed her lips together and her eyebrows furrowed together. “Your father never told you?”
Sydney set her jaw. “Didn’t tell me what?” she asked, getting a bit angry. Another secret from Jack Bristow. She didn’t know why she was surprised.
Nicolaya bit her bottom lip slightly. “My mother and yours are sisters.”
Sydney knew her mouth had dropped open. Sisters? Admittedly, when she was younger, Sydney often wondered about her extended family. She only had one aunt on her father’s side, who was a widow with no children. Sydney had only met her twice. As an adult it had never crossed her mind to think about her mother’s family.
“I’m sorry to lay this on you so suddenly,” she heard Nicolaya apologize in her heavy Italian accent. “I honestly thought you knew that you had other family.”
Sydney struggled to maintain focus. She hadn’t even noticed when she’d grabbed onto Sark’s arm for support. “Wait, so, my mother has a sister? And she’s your mother? That makes us…”
Nicolaya nodded with a small smile. “Yes, that’s right. We’re cousins, on our mothers’ side. And then there’s my brothers, Roberto and Isaac. And Irina’s sisters are Elena, my mother, and Katya. She has no children. There’s also Ivan, our uncle who has a twelve year old girl named Tasha. And Tata is still alive although Nanun passes away four years ago. You would have liked her, though and I’m sure she would have liked you.”
Now Sydney’s head was really spinning. “I need to sit down,” she mumbled and felt as Sark led her to a chair.
All her life, all Sydney had ever wanted was a family, big like Francie’s and caring like Will’s. But she’d accepted the fact from early on in her life that she was alone. Now, in one fell swoop was received what she’d always longed for, only to find out she’d had it all along. It had just been kept from her.
Sydney glanced at Sark, her eyes holding a question he quickly read.
“I wanted you to meet Nicolaya because I trust her,” he said simply, “More than I trust anyone in the world. And I know that especially with what we’re doing now, there aren’t many people that you can deem trustworthy.”
“We both thought,” Nicolya continued for him, “That it would be helpful to know that you have another ally. One bound even by blood.”
Sydney nodded slowly, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief and gratitude, first to Sark for knowing just what she needed, and secondly to the woman offering her friendship. Lord knows she needed someone to trust.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, giving Nicolaya a small smile. Then she grew serious once again.
“Does my mother know I’m alive?” she asked suddenly.
“Not yet,” Nicolaya answered, “In all truth, it is risky for me to have too much contact with Irina. My papa would not approve. ‘Conflict of interests’ he would say.”
Sydney frowned at this new bit of information, but made a mental note of this to ask about it later.
Nicolaya went on, “But Katya does contact Irina regularly. Would you like for me to arrange for you to tell Irina all about it yourself?”
At this, Sark’s eyes darted quickly from Sydney to Nicolaya, the former not noticing the warning glare in them and the latter ignoring it.
Sydney was stunned for a moment.
Could she really meet with her mother again?
“No,” she surprised herself by answering with conviction. “I don’t think that would be the best idea. She shouldn’t know. Not yet.”
Nicolaya nodded her approval just as Sydney’s cell phone went off.’
It was Kendall.
She excused herself to speak on the phone and Nicolaya ushered her into another room.
“We’re ready to move,” Kendall told her, skipping the pleasantries. “You should move in immediately.”
“I have a meet scheduled for tomorrow,” Sydney told him. “I’ll have the information for you as soon as I’ve reviewed it.”
She finished up the call and moved to open the door to return to the living room when her hand paused over the doorknob, hearing the sounds of an argument on the other side.
“I don’t care!” she was surprised to hear Sark, sounding very angry, nearly shouting in Italian. It startled Sydney. Sark never lost his cool.
“For Sydney to go see Irina is dangerous, and I can’t believe that you didn’t think of that before plunging on, offering to have them meet!”
“Sydney’s old enough not to be treated like a child, Julian,” Nicolaya countered, “I’m sure she knows the dangers and the risks involved. But she should have the option to choose to see her own mother or not! You can’t make those decisions for her.”
“You know what would happen if the Covenant, or the CIA for that matter, ever found out that Sydney has seen Irina,” Sark continued. “I won’t let you put her in that kind of danger.”
“Quit with the bullsh!t, Sark,” Sydney heard Nicolaya sneer his name. Then she dropped her voice so much that Sydney really had to strain to hear it.
“Admit it, Julian, you’re just afraid.”
Sark made no audible answer.
“You are deathly afraid,” Nicolaya went on, “that if Sydney was reunited with Irina, she wouldn’t need you anymore, that you’d lose her because you know Irina would never let you near Sydney again. But you can’t lose her, can you? Because you need her now, and she’s all you want.”
There was a heavy pause.
“Because she’s all you’ve ever wanted,” Nicolaya finished in a tone Sydney believed to sound nearly bitter.
Sydney strained to hear Sark’s response, but he was silent for a full minute.
“You are not to offer Sydney anything that would put her in unnecessary danger, ever again,” he said in a deadly cold voice Sydney knew all too well. Whatever part of Julian had been around earlier was wiped away and Mr. Sark had emerged, fully expecting to be obeyed and feared.
“Your façade won’t work, Julian. Mr. Sark doesn’t scare me,” Nicolaya said in anger thinly veiled with humor. Then her voice became deathly serious. “And don’t think that you can tell me what to do. I’m not your wife anymore.”
Sydney was stunned by the revelation, so much so that she nearly didn’t register the footsteps coming towards her until a second before the door in front of her opened, revealing Nicolaya’s nearly flushed face.
Thinking quickly, Sydney smiled at her and stepped back into the living room.
“That was Kendall,” she told Sark, casually noticing he looked as collected and calm as ever. “We have to go.”
Sydney turned back to Nicolaya who had also recovered quickly and was now giving Sydney an enigmatic and familiar stare. “It was very nice to meet you,” Sydney told her honestly.
Nicolaya smiled, slowly walking over to Sydney and kissing both her cheeks.
“We will see each other again soon, karina,” she said in a soft voice. “I have other business to attend to also.”
Then she gave Sark a challenging look Sydney didn’t miss.
“You know your way out, Julian,” she said to him in an overly sweet voice. Smiling once again at Sydney, Nicolaya calmly sauntered away into the next room.
“Shall we go, then?” Sark asked, moving towards the door without making any eye contact with Sydney.
The ride back to the airport was a quiet one.
“I’m have a meet tomorrow,” Sydney said quietly.
Sark nodded, continuing to look straight ahead.
“I have to go alone,” she continued.
At this, he glanced at her for a moment with an inquisitive look in his eyes. As of late, he had accompanied her on all her missions.
“I’m meeting with Allison and Simon,” Sydney clarified.
She noticed his grip on the steering wheel tighten a bit before relaxing once again. “I see,” was all he offered as a response.
There was more silence to drive Sydney crazy, especially since she was bursting with a million questions. She settled for fidgeting in her seat.
“Sydney, if there’s something you want to know, you should be aware by now that you are free to ask me whatever you’d like,” Sark told her flatly.
The ability Sark seemed to have of reading her mind used to be one of his more irritating qualities. She’d forgotten just how irritating it was.
“How long have you and Nicolaya known each other?” Sydney decided to start fishing for information, being careful not to reveal just how much she’d overheard earlier.
Sark sighed before smiling a bit. “We’ve known each other for as far back as either one of our memories go. We grew up together, you might say. She’s…well, like my family. At the risk of sounding sentimental, she’s the sister I never had.”
Sydney’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She turned away from him and then frowned at the scenery out the window.
“Sister is not the word I would have used,” she mumbled, not noticing that she’d said it loud enough for Sark to hear.
“Why are you scoffing?” he asked.
“No reason,” Sydney answered automatically. “It’s just…well, it’s just that the two of you don’t act like siblings.”
“Don’t we?” he asked quietly.
And if she thought about it, he was right. They did argue like siblings. But she knew better.
“But I suppose you’re right,” Sark continued. “And that’s probably because I know her in a way most siblings wouldn’t.”
Sydney glanced at Sark, who had a small smirk on his face. He tore his eyes off the road and gave her a look that made it very clear that he knew she’d overheard the earlier argument.
Sydney’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before turning away from him and looking out the window again, bringing her hand to her mouth.
“What do you mean?” she asked innocently. If all else fails, deny, deny, deny.
Sark laughed openly then, the sound startling her somewhat.
“Please, Sydney. Denial doesn’t suit you,” he said easily. “I know that you couldn’t miss the argument Nicolaya and I had earlier. She tends to have a short temper, and quite frankly, when she gets like that, I lose my temper almost as quickly. One of the many reasons that living with each other was nearly impossible.”
“You two have a history,” Sydney said simply. “Like Vaughn and I do.”
Sark frowned at the mention of the former CIA agent. “You can hardly compare the two, Sydney. Nicky were married, and as far as I know, you and Agent Vaughn never went nearly that far.”
“Are you still in love with her?” Sydney asked quietly.
“Yes,” Sark answered. When he caught sight of the mixed emotions flying across her features, he hastened to further explain himself.
“It took me many, many years to realize that the kind of love I felt for her was what it is: fraternal, one which made us completely and utterly loyal to each other,” he said simply. He glanced over to her. “That’s all it is now, Sydney.”
There was silence in the car as Sydney assimilated what he was really trying to say: that she needn’t worry about his heart.
“How long were you two married?” she asked, voicing one of her many questions.
“Five years,” he answered.
“Five years?!” Sydney exclaimed in surprise. “How is that possible? You’re both so young!”
Sark gave her a sharp look.
“What I mean is that it’s a long time,” she amended. “Were you married when I first knew you?”
Sark looked back the road while shaking his head. “No, by the time of our first meeting, I had been divorced for several years.”
Sydney’s eyes narrowed at him. “Just how old are you anyway?”
His lips twitched in a small smile. “Twenty-six.”
“We’ve known each other for three years, you had been divorced for, I’m guessing ‘several’ means three years, and had been married for five years,” Sydney calculated out loud. “That’s impossible, Sark, because it would mean you got married at…”
“Sixteen?” he supplied.
Sydney stared at him, dumbfounded. “You got married at sixteen?!”
“Please, Sydney, you sound like my grandmother,” Sark muttered.
She skipped over the reference, “At sixteen you should be worried about learning to drive and first dates! Not getting married!!”
“Sydney, you should know, that unlike you, my childhood was virtually non-existant,” Sark said in a tight voice, “This business forces one to grow up rather in a hurry. At sixteen, both Nicky and I thought we were ready to take on something like marriage.”
Sydney caught the bitterness in his tone and she kept from commenting right away. She hadn’t stopped to think about how lucky she’d been to be sheltered from the espionage world (well, mostly) until she was a young adult. Sark, and Nicolaya it would seem, had not been as lucky. Sydney briefly wondered how they had managed to keep themselves from going completely insane.
"Of course, you aren’t the first person to have this type of reaction," Sark mentioned, as he merged lanes and turned into the airfield where they would take a plane back to Rome.
Once they were in the air, Sydney picked up their conversation again.
"So, they just…let you get married?" she asked.
"Irina…well, she knew enough to let me make my own mistakes," Sark said with a grim smile. "Nicky’s father, on the other hand, was less enthusiastic about his only daughter was getting permanently attached to someone affiliated with Irina Derevko."
Sydney raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He proceeded to explain that Nicolaya’s mother, Elena, had left her husband and taken a very young Nicolaya in Irina’s care. Don Cournelli was able to stay in contact with his daughter, especially since he planned for her to take over the "family business." The way Sark said it, let Sydney know that it wasn’t exactly the local pastry shop, but more than likely some sort of underworld crime ring. It wouldn’t surprise her if that were the truth.
"I believe his exact threat was to send my body home in pieces. And to tell you the truth, Nicky is probably the only thing that’s keeping me alive. I’m sure Don Cornelli has been itching to put out a hit on me."
Sydney smirked at him as she tucked her legs in underneath herself. "What? Your charm and good looks didn’t pull through for you that time?"
He frowned at her. "I quickly discovered that the methods of persuasion that work for that daughter rarely have a positive effect on the father."
At this Sydney laughed, feeling an immense amount of relief.
She sat back, leaning into the pillows of the couch, considering the latest memory she’d recovered.
She realized what, at the moment, she hadn’t wanted to admit, even to herself. She was jealous of Nicolaya.
Jealous that she had shared more of a life with Sark than anyone. And for some reason Sydney wanted to have the knowledge that came with knowing Sark so completely.
Of course, Sydney knew that she already knew a lot more than many people could ever hope to know. Not that it would matter to anyone else. But it mattered to her that she knew that he hated the fact she drank coffee in the morning or that he liked to lounge around the house in sweats and an old t-shirt. That he pouted when in deep thought, or that when he smiled, a dimple would appear on his right cheek. She know the beauty of his poetry, his favorite food, the texture of his hair, his sense of humor, the timbre of his laugh.
But it wasn’t enough. She wanted all of it, she realized. That’s why she’d been so jealous of Nicolaya. Nicolaya knew every inch of his skin, knew every nuance. She knew his tells, knew the change in his eyes with emotion, their exact color when in the haze of passion.
Sydney wanted it all and more.
Then she wondered when it was exactly that he’d stopped being a friend and became the object of her affection and desire.
"So what happened?" she asked.
She heard him heave a deep sigh, back in the plane with him sitting across from him. She knew he didn’t like where this was going, since he wasn’t one to just come out and spill his guts about the details of his life. But she also knew that he’d already said too much to her to back out now.
“It was…a series of different things, I suppose,” he said at length. “The reality was that we were too young, lacking experience rather than maturity. Not to mention that Nicky and I had a way of bringing out the worst in one another. We loved each other but…it wasn’t what a husband and wife should have been. We tried to make it work for five long years. In the end, however, we just decided that it couldn’t continue any longer. And that was the end of it.”
He leaned back in his chair with a shrug, fully prepared to drop the subject.
But he should have known better.
“Do you regret it?” Sydney inevitably asked.
He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not pleased with her pushing, but willing to comply anyway. “Regret?” he asked. “Regret what? The divorce or marriage in the first place?”
Sydney shrugged. “Both, I guess.”
“Marriage…marriage I won’t regret. I had meant it when I asked her to marry me and I would never take it back. The first years were something I would never want to give up, since they were happiest I’d ever been.”
He seemed to be searching for how to continue, so Sydney stayed quiet.
“The divorce,” he continued, pausing a bit after the first words, “I don’t think anyone can be happy admitting they made a mistake. And at first, I did regret it, wondering if I simply should have tried harder. But later, I realized it was probably the best course of action since afterwards my relationship with Nicky became stronger and better than it had ever been. And that’s something I wouldn’t give up for anything now.”
Sydney returned to her reality, her mind processing as much as she could right then. She would need time to further assimilate the everything she was remembering.
But she glanced back at the box with the other items still inside, waiting to unlock her memories.
Sighing, she turned to the next page of the notebook in her lap.
_______________________________________________________________________
I'm starting to panic
remember she asked you
remember to breathe
and everything will be okay
okay...
Fourteen: “Remember to Breathe”
Sydney was surprised to find a strip of white paper stuck to the next page. In her own handwriting she read: “The perfume.”
Sydney was surprised to find a strip of white paper stuck to the next page. In her own handwriting she read: “The perfume.”
She understood that she had to pick up the bottle of what she now knew to be perfume sitting in the wooden box on the table in front of her.
Curious at this change of pace, she put the notebook aside and picked up the delicate glass bottle, briefly wondering if Sark had given it to her.
She nearly dropped it when she realized that it had not been Sark who’d given it to her…it had been Allison.
She was repulsed for a moment before curiosity got the better of her. Why would she keep something that had been given to her by her archenemy? Why would it be important to solving the mystery of her memories? Why would Allison give it to her in the first place?
Urged forward by her questions, she held the vial in her hands and opened it, taking in the scent that she was all too familiar with.
It was her perfume, she realized. The one she had kept on her dresser since she was seven, holding the scent her mother had always used. Sydney had kept that old bottle of perfume and had been so afraid to use it that she went out and bought the same scent for herself when she was older. She wanted to preserve it the way her mother had left it. She wore it when she had felt especially lonely for her mother, thinking that it somehow made Laura Bristow seem near again just by the scent. Even when Sydney found out about Irina, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of the old bottle of perfume belonging to her mother.
But that, and all the other keepsakes she’d cherished, had been lost in the fire of her apartment.
Now, she held a different bottle, but the same scent in her hands.
“Sydney!” Nicolaya’s accent rang through the hallway as she walked over to greet her guest.
“I didn’t expect to have you back in my home so quickly,” Nicolaya admitted, gracefully placing herself in the couch, inviting Sydney to take the spot beside her. “So, on the phone you said you wanted to talk about something important. What can I do for you?”
Sydney tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “I just met with Allison Doren,” she said flatly. “Do you know her?”
Nicolaya paused, a shadow falling over her features for a second. Then she frowned, tossing her hair over her shoulder and clearing her throat. “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Sydney fidgeted a bit, unsure how to proceed.
“What do you know about her?” Sydney asked tentatively, knowing that Nicolaya’s answer would guide the rest of the conversation.
Nicolaya did not look happy with the topic of conversation, reminding Sydney very much of Sark’s own expression of discomfort.
“Allison is not favorite person in the world,” Nicolaya proceeded cryptically. “I know that she does whatever she has to do to further herself, not caring who she has to bring down along the way.”
She gave Sydney a sympathetic look. “I know that she imposed herself in your life.”
So, Nicolaya did know about Francie. Well, that made things a lot easier.
“The Covenant had working with her for a while, to prove that their brainwashing techniques had really started working. I’ve come so close to putting a bullet in her brain it makes me crazy,” Sydney admitted. “But today was just the strangest thing, and I can’t wrap my head around it.”
Nicolaya nodded, urging her to continue.
“After I met with her, and handled the business we were to do, she turns around and drops this in my hands,” Sydney explained, showing Nicolaya the bottle of perfume. “Then she said: ‘I hope he enjoys it’ and walked away.”
“Let me see it,” Nicolaya requested, and Sydney handed her the bottle.
Nicolaya opened it and took a whiff of it. Then she frowned again and glanced at Sydney. “Do recognize the scent?” she asked.
“Yes,” Sydney answered. “It was my mother’s. And sometimes I’d wear it too.”
“It’s Julian’s favorite,” Nicolaya carefully mentioned, handing the perfume back to Sydney. “Allison would know that. Which might mean that she know that Julian is with you.”
Sydney didn’t let herself panic. “It’s possible. It’s pretty common knowledge that Sark is back in the game. The Covenant knows he could possibly get involved with me, since we made look like he’d kidnapped me to prove his point to them.”
Nicolaya leaned back into the pillows of the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at a nearby wall. “Then this is probably just Allison’s sick little way of having the last word. How disgustingly typical.”
Sydney raised an eyebrow at Nicolaya, which caused the other woman to explain. “If anything, Allison is predictable. If she knows that you’re with Julian, she’ll no doubt be jealous, though she doesn’t want him anymore. She’s like a child who doesn’t like other people playing with what she thinks are her things. Julian made colossal mistake getting involved with her in the first place.”
Sydney wasn’t sure what was with her sudden fascination for Sark’s exes, but she found herself asking, “Why were they ever…together?”
Nicolaya paused, trying to find the right words.
“Julian…as you might know, is the type of person that tries to give off the impression that he’s something that he isn’t.”
“You mean it’s as if Julian and Sark were two different people?”
“No. They can’t be. They have to be the same person. There is a lot of Julian in Sark, and more of Sark within Julian than he’d like to admit. Sark is basically the wall that Julian builds around him to be able to do what it is he does. I never really understood the reason behind it, but that’s just the way things are.”
Nicolaya sighed and rubbed her temples for a second before continuing. “I don’t know how, but somehow, Allison got behind those walls, and got Julian to care for her. And he did take care of her. I’d seen him with only a couple of girls before, out for maybe a night or two. It was always the same, he never let himself get close because…But Allison…well, let’s just say that Julian and I did not see eye to eye about her. He’d actually been willing to move heaven and earth for her. I’d never seen him be that way with anyone. But everything changed after Allison volunteered for go through that program. And then I think that she just…” Nicolaya shrugged. “She just might have gotten tired of Julian. She moved on, even though he clung to her. Allison is just being possessive with Julian now. She just wants to get under your skin. I think you might have just given her another reason to hate you and envy the life that you had.”
Sydney nodded, and they both sat in silence for a while.
“Why wasn’t he with anyone after you and before Allison?” Sydney found herself asking.
It seemed to catch Nicolaya by surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Before…you stopped yourself from saying why it was hard for him to get close to anyone,” Sydney clarified.
Nicolaya’s eyes shifted and her jaw tightened and she stood up from the couch and moved to the kitchen. After a moment of hesitation, Sydney followed. When she had asked the question, she’d merely been curious. But now, with Nicolaya’s reaction, she really wanted to know.
Nicolaya glanced at Sydney as she stepped into the kitchen, but continued going about fixing herself some tea. Sydney didn’t say anything, even as the water boiled and two cups of tea were poured. She kept quiet as Nicolaya stared into the liquid in her cup.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” Nicolaya began. “There’s hardly anyone who can get close to Julian for one reason, and I blame Irina entirely for this one.”
She stared at Sydney intently, seeming to trying to be choosing the right words but finding that she was better off being blunt.
And blunt she was.
“It’s because of you, Sydney.”
“What?” Sydney blanched.
“Because of you, Julian never gets close to anyone. You’re the one person that will always stand in the way of him being with anyone else.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s always loved you. Unconditionally. And he won’t give that love to anyone else.” Nicolaya’s sigh carried a much deeper meaning. Sydney caught it.
Nicolaya had lost Julian because of her.
~*~
Sydney paused as she opened her front door and saw Sark sitting on her living room couch, reading. He glanced up and gave her a small smile of welcome before returning to his book.
Carefully she removed her coat and walked towards her room, dropping everything on her bed and kicking off her shoes. She pulled back her hair as she padded back into the living room, feeling the relief of letting go of Julia completely and slipping back into Sydney.
She paused for a moment, staring at Sark as the afternoon sun filtered in through the window, highlighting the gold in his hair and giving him a sort of glow.
She bit her lower lip as she moved to sit next to him on the couch, folding her legs up to her.
She could tell that he’s stopped reading long ago since he’d not turned a page and the book was held loosely in his hand.
“How did it go?” he finally asked, without looking at her.
Sydney sighed, not wanting to go into details. “Fine, I guess. I have to leave again in two days.”
Sark nodded slowly and finally gave up on the book, closing it with a snap and putting it aside.
“You’re leaving too, aren’t you?” she asked.
He nodded.
“When?”
“I have to meet Agent Kendall in Prague tomorrow at 0600 hours,” he informed her, finally turning to look at her.
She looked away; nodding slowly and having them both fall into silence.
“Be careful,” his soft voice brought her gaze back to his face, his eyes piercing into hers.
“You too,” she responded.
He smirked at her. “Please,” he scoffed. “I don’t need to be careful. Unlike you, I always have complete control of any situation.”
Sydney’s eyes narrowed and she punched him in the arm. “I hope you get shot in the ass just for being such a cocky bastard.”
Sark just laughed. “Why? Would you like to tend to my wound?”
Sydney threw him a glare. “Dream on, Sark.”
“I’ll do that,” he responded with a chuckle. Then he leaned a bit closer to her, catching her by surprise.
“Are you wearing perfume?”
Sydney stiffened. “A little,” she said cautiously, remembering the earlier conversation with Nicolaya. “Why?”
Sark backed away from her again. “It’s just odd that’s all.”
“What’s so odd about it?” she asked, suddenly feeling defensive.
“Nothing. I just suppose that I never really thought you should wear any,” he told her honestly. “There’s no need. It’s almost…overkill.”
She hadn’t been expecting that. It caught her completely off guard and deflated the sense of dread she’d felt building up. Her eyes became teasing again. “Well, for your information, Mr. Sark, I can choose to wear whatever I want to wear without any input from you or anyone else, thank you very much.”
“Well, isn’t someone crankier than usual?” he said dryly. He stood up from the couch. “I’m assuming it’s from malnourishment. I’ll make you something to eat. I’m sure that whatever you had on the plane ride over was ghastly.”
Sydney moved over to the kitchen counter and sat on one of the stools, watching as Sark made his way around the kitchen. He was better at cooking than she was. “What are you offering me?” she asked.
Sark paused in front of the open refrigerator door. “A sandwich. Some bread and cheese…and a sandwich.”
Sydney laughed at him. He wasn’t really that much better than she was at the whole cooking thing. It didn’t come as part of the standard spy package.
“A sandwich is fine,” she told him.
It struck her then how familiar this whole situation was. It could have just as easily been Will asking her all that and not Sark. It could have been Francie taking care of her after she got home from a mission. It could have been Vaughn handing her that glass of wine. It could have been Danny giving her such a caring look.
All at once it was too overwhelming.
Because all of that was gone. And it was all her fault.
She felt terrible because despite all that, here she was, with someone still looking out for her.
“Sark?”
He glanced over at her, giving her his attention.
“I never thanked you,” she said quietly.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “For what?”
Sydney made sure that she held his gaze, conveying all her sincerity into telling him. “For being my friend.”
A shadow of a smile passed over his features. “I should be the one thanking you.”
Sydney looked away then, shrugging, suddenly shy about the whole thing. “What I mean is…that in spite of everything that’s happened between us, and this whole thing that’s happening now…well, I’m glad you’re here with me.”
This time he really did smile, nodding in agreement before turning back to his task.
He didn’t see her carefully wipe stubborn tears from her eyes.
She didn’t see the look of remorse and utter guilt he allowed to pass over his face. Because it was his own fault that she had no one left.
TBC…
okay, so this story isn't finished, and i do have part of Ch. 15 found here!
cheers.
--Lex