Alias/Sydney Bristow & Julian Sark/Left Unsaid
Title: Left Unsaid
Fandom: Alias
Characters: Sydney & Sark
Prompt: #39 - Father
Word Count:
Rating: G
Summary: "If only he knew what you saw when you looked at him.”
Author's Note: Post-Finale; Written for 100_situations. My table is here.
“So let in the light
Turn me to dust
If it don't end in bloodshed, dear
It's probably not love”
- Tom McRae, My Vampire Heart
Left Unsaid
It’s another mission. Just another mission. It’s another just this once and one more time. Another for old time’s sake and it might even be fun. And it just might have been. Oh, what just might have been.
The same old pitch, and you fall. Oh, how you fall and have fallen and will fall, but only once more.
And it’s not because Dixon’s so convincing, or because you miss the work, but you’re itching for something and hungry for someone - and eager to see if you’re not the only one up to their old tricks.
It’s only when the whole thing goes to hell that you realize that’s where the two of you have been heading all along. And where you belong, you fear.
You risk a glance at him in the darkness, and you watch a grin emerge. If only he knew what you saw when you looked at him. And maybe he does because the smile changes, fades, and in the dark his hand finds yours with a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes widen but you nod in agreement - with what, you’ve no idea, but you’re making dangerous deals with him again, you’re sure - and he nods in return. And so it ends.
You can hear the footsteps: closer, closer, and then they’re here. It’ll take them a minute - maybe two if they’re totally inept - to catch you.
When they’re done with you, you doubt anyone will ever find you again. If they do, it would only be right, be fitting - be punishment but never enough - to find the two of you together.
You know you’ll never see him - alive - again.
But you can’t see him now, so with your hand still resting in his, you find a way to tell him.
You pull all your fingers together - save one - and drag your pinky up his heart line: I.
Two fists, only changing by the subtle sweep of your thumb: back and forth: S
Only there is not going back from this: A.
Your thumb is crossing every line, while your other fingers extend up toward him; Sark has that effect on you: B.
But just as quickly the digits retreat. So close now: E.
Sharp lines like his hipbones, his scars, his tongue. Right hand, right angle, and so wrong, wrong, wrong: L.
And wrong again: L.
His mouth on yours, and you’ve kept your promise: you’ve never said a word. His hand on your hand, creating the last letter - E - as the two of you had created her: together.
As the two of you will leave her.
Voices grow louder, the door falls away, and the harsh light of the outside world falls ever so briefly upon you both. Together.
When the darkness comes a moment later, it is not unfamiliar. You have trouble recognizing him in any other light.
Only later - much later - will it strike anyone as strange that instead of drawing your weapons, you kept your hands clasped. Together.
Fandom: Alias
Characters: Sydney & Sark
Prompt: #39 - Father
Word Count:
Rating: G
Summary: "If only he knew what you saw when you looked at him.”
Author's Note: Post-Finale; Written for 100_situations. My table is here.
“So let in the light
Turn me to dust
If it don't end in bloodshed, dear
It's probably not love”
- Tom McRae, My Vampire Heart
Left Unsaid
It’s another mission. Just another mission. It’s another just this once and one more time. Another for old time’s sake and it might even be fun. And it just might have been. Oh, what just might have been.
The same old pitch, and you fall. Oh, how you fall and have fallen and will fall, but only once more.
And it’s not because Dixon’s so convincing, or because you miss the work, but you’re itching for something and hungry for someone - and eager to see if you’re not the only one up to their old tricks.
It’s only when the whole thing goes to hell that you realize that’s where the two of you have been heading all along. And where you belong, you fear.
You risk a glance at him in the darkness, and you watch a grin emerge. If only he knew what you saw when you looked at him. And maybe he does because the smile changes, fades, and in the dark his hand finds yours with a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes widen but you nod in agreement - with what, you’ve no idea, but you’re making dangerous deals with him again, you’re sure - and he nods in return. And so it ends.
You can hear the footsteps: closer, closer, and then they’re here. It’ll take them a minute - maybe two if they’re totally inept - to catch you.
When they’re done with you, you doubt anyone will ever find you again. If they do, it would only be right, be fitting - be punishment but never enough - to find the two of you together.
You know you’ll never see him - alive - again.
But you can’t see him now, so with your hand still resting in his, you find a way to tell him.
You pull all your fingers together - save one - and drag your pinky up his heart line: I.
Two fists, only changing by the subtle sweep of your thumb: back and forth: S
Only there is not going back from this: A.
Your thumb is crossing every line, while your other fingers extend up toward him; Sark has that effect on you: B.
But just as quickly the digits retreat. So close now: E.
Sharp lines like his hipbones, his scars, his tongue. Right hand, right angle, and so wrong, wrong, wrong: L.
And wrong again: L.
His mouth on yours, and you’ve kept your promise: you’ve never said a word. His hand on your hand, creating the last letter - E - as the two of you had created her: together.
As the two of you will leave her.
Voices grow louder, the door falls away, and the harsh light of the outside world falls ever so briefly upon you both. Together.
When the darkness comes a moment later, it is not unfamiliar. You have trouble recognizing him in any other light.
Only later - much later - will it strike anyone as strange that instead of drawing your weapons, you kept your hands clasped. Together.