Sydney was trapped in the same nightmare that had haunted her now for weeks. She was in the same claustrophobic, white-walled room as always, lying on a gurney. Sitting up, she checked the jagged scar on her stomach to find it open and oozing blood. Touching the gash, she feels rubber tubing and begins to pull on it. Faster and faster, Sydney pulls more and more rubber tubing out of her stomach, her crimson blood spattering the walls, becoming more and more frantic by the second.
Sark was struck by how beautiful Sydney looked, asleep in bed with a sliver of moonlight illuminating her face. The serenity of the moment was destroyed by her constant tossing and turning, her distressed, sweat-sheened face, her breath coming faster and faster until she was moaning and gasping for air in her sleep. Tentatively at first, then more boldly, Sark brought his hand forward and allowed his fingers to gently trace the planes of her face, so softly that she would have barely felt it, had she been awake. In any other man, his touch might have been considered a caress.
"Sydney," he breathed, "Sydney, wake up." Sydney's only response was to become even more frantic, tossing so wildly that Sark feared she would fall off her bunk, especially since the cheap beds had no safety rails to keep the unwary sleeper from falling.
Sydney's breathing escalated into short, quick gasps until finally she sat up in bed with a cry and tumbled off her bunk, straight into Sark's arms. Sark easily caught her and cradled her in his arms, sitting down on his bunk. Sydney, disoriented and terrified from her dream, instinctively latched onto the only thing that was real to her right now, this man cradling her so carefully in his arms, her anchor to reality. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, deep, wracking sobs shuddering through her body.
Warily, Sark tightened his arms around her and ran a comforting hand through her hair. When no negative response ensued, he stroked her back with his other hand, whispering to her softly.
"Shh, Sydney, it's over now…" Sark well knew what kind of dreams their lifestyle inspired and the terror they could inflict. Sydney didn't respond, crying as hard as ever, her breath coming in short, hiccuping gasps.
Sark felt a pang in his chest, of a kind that he hadn't felt for a long time. Sydney was so strong, and yet it seemed that even she was vulnerable at times. Feeling protective and not knowing quite why, Sark slowly laid the two of them down on his bunk, his arms still wrapped around her and her face buried in his neck. Whispering to her comfortingly and stroking her soft skin, then her hair, Sark couldn't help but notice how good she smelled.
Like…spicy vanilla, he thought and sighed. Sark started, suddenly. What was he thinking? What was he doing? This was the kind of thing little Boy Scout was for. Still, as he felt her sobs slowly begin to subside and the shaking of her body begin to diminish, he knew that there was no where else that he would rather be.
So this is what it feels like to be the ‘knight in shining armor' type, for once, he thought. Feels…good. Sark pushed the thought away. Sydney would be no good on their op if she got no sleep.
Sleep, Sark thought, sounds good right about now, his eyelids getting heavy. Craning his neck to look at her face, Sark saw that Sydney was asleep, all worry lines smoothed out of her face, her breathing slow and regular. Knowing that if he stayed with her it would make things awkward in the morning, Sark couldn't bring himself to move, indeed didn't even want to. She looked so peaceful. Resting his cheek on her hair, Sark gave in to sleep, closing his eyes and drifting off.
~~~~~ *~*~* ~~~~~
When Sydney woke up in the morning, she was alone in Sark's bed, confused.
Why am I in Sark's bed? She wondered bemusedly, still dazed by sleep. I don't remember sleeping that deeply since…wait…why am I in Sark's bed?!? Wide awake now, Sydney turned over to see Sark sitting in a chair, fully dressed in his usual crisp, black suit, studying her. The almost contemplative look on his face was quickly replaced with his trademark smirk.
"Ms. Bristow, so good of you to wake up in time for our op." He said, looking amused. Bewildered, Sydney blinked at him, only slowly remembering the events of last night and vaguely remembering having a nightmare and falling out of bed…to be caught by Sark.
Strange, she thought, but I almost remember being comforted after that, feeling…safe. Nah…she dismissed the thought. Must've still been dreaming…, peeking at Sark from beneath her lashes.
"If it's not too much trouble, perhaps you might consider getting up and dressed instead of trying to look like some coquettish flirt." Sark said coolly from his chair, still watching her.
Right, Sydney thought, definitely dreaming. Throwing off the covers she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and prepare for the day.
~~~~~ *~*~* ~~~~~
Much later, Sydney stiffly walked into the cramped apartment, careful to move her arm as little as possible. She'd really done a number on her shoulder this time. Thankfully, it wasn't broken, or even dislocated, but she knew that she had pulled and possibly even torn many of the muscles through her right shoulder and upper back. Now, hours later, she was so stiff that she could barely move her right arm without severe pain.
Firing a gun tomorrow should be interesting, she thought. Sark walked into the apartment behind her and made as if to offer to take her coat. Sydney glared at him fiercely and he shrugged nonchalantly as if to say, suit yourself then. Sark sat down in his chair to watch her, a smug grin on his face. Carefully, Sydney inched the coat off her body, trying not to wince in pain. After several agonizing minutes, she succeeded and hung her jacket on a hook.
"This is ridiculous," Sark commented from the corner, now standing up. "At least allow me to help you get some mobility back so you can aim a gun tomorrow."
