Here's the requirements for storydivagirl
Timeline: set during
Up to two things you want to see in the fic: banterific Sarkney!!! and
Up to two things you don't want to see in the fic: no pregnancy or really out
of canon characterization.
The was, the is, and the will be
No one knows.
And no one ever will.
X. "Do you know
who I am?" she said. "I'm the one who taps you on the shoulder when
it's your time.”
It’s her last link to her life. This life. She goes to him because she doesn’t care and when she leaves, she will still not care.
She arranges for the meeting to take place on an island off
the coast of
When the van pulls up, he’s hauled out with a pillow case over his head. He’s dressed in an orange jumpsuit and his ankles are shackled in chains. The agents toss him in front of her inside the cottage. She nods to them and they leave. The prisoner keeps still even though he has no idea where he is or if he is alone.
She takes the sheet off his head and he blinks several times. Then, he sees her.
“
She looks at
“Am I dead?” he asks, still whispering.
“Is this your idea of heaven or hell?” She folds the pillow case into a neat square and puts it down on a table.
His eyes move in a slow circle as he scans the simple
arrangements of the cabin: a bed,
“I thought you were—”
She cuts him off. “No,
His smile falters. “Then, what am I doing here?”
“You rather be in that jail cell?” she says.
“Sneaky. I like that,
She takes off her jacket and drapes it over a chair. She notices him noticing her. Again, she thinks this will be too easy. Is it supposed to be this easy? She licks her lips and she can almost taste the salt of her perspiration clinging on her upper lip and chin. Her white tank-top clings to her body and her jeans have suddenly become unbearable.
Soon, she thinks.
“Would you like some water?” she asks, gesturing to the cooler in the middle of the room.
He takes a moment to answer as if he’s wondering if she is asking a trick question, but he nods his head. “Please.”
She takes out a bottle of water and twists open the cap. “Sit down.”
He sits down at the edge of the bed and she stands over him. He opens his mouth and tilts his head back. She pours the water into his thirsty lungs and he swallows gratefully.
“If you won’t tell me what I’m doing here, then at least tell me what you’re doing here,” he says.
She takes a swig of the water bottle. “Research.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Research?”
She doesn’t say anymore.
“Does it have to anything to do with Sloane or your mother?”
“Yes,” she says, “you do.”
He rolls his eyes. “Anyone else besides myself?”
“No.”
“Not even your father?”
“No.”
He’s puzzled at this revelation. He sits up on the bed. “If you won’t even go to your own father, why come to me?”
“Because to him, Sydney Bristow is gone,” she says in a faraway voice.
And she needs to stay gone.
But she does not say this. Not out loud.
She looks over at the former assassin. His blue eyes are just as penetrating and his face just as innocent. She raises the water bottle. “More?”
He tilts his head back again.
She pours the water into his mouth and he closes his mouth just as a few scattered droplets trickle down his chin. She presses her mouth against his wet skin, capturing them with her tongue.
He flinches, caught off guard with her act. And for a moment, his blue eyes soften.
She sets the bottle down and kneels down next to him. She keeps her gaze on him. He doesn’t look away.
“More?” she says again.
He opens his mouth.
They meet in a collision of tongue, of lips, of teeth.
X. I must see if
she'll keep her alive
When
Just the way she wants him.
He’s eager for vengeance. And he delivers it with his mouth and his hands.
He rolls her over onto her back and positions himself in between her spread legs. He looks up at her as if he is waiting for permission. She pulls him to her and he answers her with a hard thrust.
He cradles his face into her neck and whispers in her ear.
“There’s no going back. There’s no going back.”
She knows.
X. Don't be afraid I
promise that she will awake
Morning creeps in.
He gives her a lazy smile. “You mean you won’t be giving me one this morning?”
She ignores the aching in between her thighs. “Get dressed.”
He complies and watches her as she checks the window. “Are you going to give me an explanation?”
“For what?”
“For attacking me last night.”
Her eyes widen. “I did not attack you!”
“What do you call ripping my clothes off my body and having your way with me while I was in handcuffs?”
“I call it pleasure.”
They share a smirk.
She pulls out the handcuffs.
“So, you do want an encore.” He raises his wrists. “Are you going to read me my rights?”
She cuffs one wrist. “You have the right to remain silent—”
“Of course.”
“—you have the right to shut the hell up—”
“I think that qualifies as ‘remain silent.’” He grunts when she twists his arms behind his back. He hears the click of the lock and he glares at her. “What are you doing?”
“You’re going back to jail,
He looks at the unmade bed. “But…”
“I told you I’m here for research.” She checks the time on her watch. “You were my guinea pig.”
“I fucked you,” he spits out.
“And I fucked you over,” she says without a beat.
“Why?”
And she wants to tell him everything. Why she chose him. Why she was able to make the arrangements to transport him here. Why he had to go back. Why she couldn’t go back with him.
But all she says is, “You didn’t fuck me,
“What are you—” He pauses as everything falls into place. “Sydney Bristow is dead, isn’t she?”
She slips a pair of black sunglasses over her eyes just as a van pulls up in the driveway. “Time to go.”
Agents enter the cottage and he’s escorted back to the van. He turns back to her.
“I won’t forget this,” he says, “and neither will you.”
She is emotionless as he is whisked outside. She hardly feels the agent beside her hand her the duffel bag.
“Here are the items you requested, Agent Bristow,” the man says.
She opens the bag and sees the passport, the change of
clothing, and the blond wig. In one more hour, she will be on a jet bound for
The agent starts to leave and she grabs his arm. “Make sure Sark gets to
He nods and shuts the door on his way out.
She hears the van pull away and she makes her way to the bed filled with twisted sheets. Stained with sweat and sex and imprints and desperation.
“I won’t forget this and neither will you.”