TITLE: Surprise Delivery
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: Aug. 7, 2004
SUMMARY: An unexpected letter.
DISCLAIMER: Read
NOTES: Follow-up on Seeing Stars and Spy Girl written to cheer up Ellen.
The third most improbable thing that could ever happen to her happened that afternoon. It happened because the mail was delivered. Actually, Sydney thought as she glared at the letter lying on the counter, it happened because she opened the mail.
When she heard the snick of the front door lock, she thought about balling the letter up, tossing it in the sink, and running the disposal. That would work. Even if the blades didn't tear the paper into tiny, tiny shreds, the water would blur the words beyond comprehension. Probably.
"It's paper, so I don't believe it could be a bomb."
Sydney slowly transferred her glare from the letter to Sark. "Not funny."
His eyebrows went up and he placed his jacket carefully on the back of the other high chair before settling into the seat and mirroring her chin-in-hands position from the opposite side of the island. "Indeed?"
"It's a letter," Sydney told him. He didn't bother holding back a smirk. "From my mother," she continued. That wiped any trace of humor away, really fast.
"Irina?" The name was almost hissed as he pushed away and out of the chair to pace from the island to the refrigerator and back in sharp, economical movements, even if they were bizarre and unnecessary action. Sark stopped in front of her, hands deep in his pants pockets, and pinned her with cold eyes. "What does she want from you?"
Watching his agitation, hearing the tight control he kept on his tone, something loosened within her, as if he had drawn all of her nerves and fears into himself. Taking a deep breath, Sydney said, "From us. For us, first of all."
That startled Sark even more, she saw from the slight flinch, an instinctive withdrawal from the idea of something offered by her mother. His attention went back to the single sheet of paper next to the flat standard letter envelope on the counter. "What?" he asked, suspicion narrowing his eyes.
Pushing aside curiosity, she drew the letter closer to her and traced the handwriting with her fingers. "Her best wishes." Sydney looked up at Sark from beneath her lashes, trying to gauge his reaction to that. But it was hard to tell what exactly could come from that thin smile -- a slicing curse or a lethal bite.
"I won't ask how she knew," he finally said. "That would be almost as pointless as not asking, again, what exactly it is that she wants."
Figuring that it couldn't hurt, Sydney came around the end of the island to step into Sark, putting her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his. After a silent pause, his hands slid up, then down her sides, resting finally with fingers spread firm on her back. Turning his face into her hair, he said, "You don't have to soften me up for it."
She closed her eyes against the feel of his lips on her ear and sighed. "I know. But..." Taking a deep breath, she brought her hands up and placed them on his face, turning her own toward his until they were nose-to-nose, his light eyes blurred, they were so close. "...she wants us to name our first daughter 'Laura.'"
Sark blinked, once, his only movement. He didn't even breathe for four heartbeats. Sydney counted.
"Name?" He jerked his head out of Sydney's hands. "Daughter?" He started to take a step back, but she caught his hands as they slipped from around her, keeping them on her hips with a grip hard enough that he would have to hurt her to break the hold. Sark shook his head, confusion twisting his face in a way she would never have expected. "First?"
At that, a giggle burst out of her before she could stop it. He stared. "You're laughing," he accused, his voice only slightly less scandalized than when he'd focused on Irina's emphasis on multiples.
Helpless, she felt the giggle expand into a laugh. "I-I'm sorry," she said, dropping his right hand to bring her left up to cover her mouth.
"This is not funny!" he declared, pulling away far enough to snatch up the letter and read it himself, muttering.
"That's what I said," Sydney pointed out, with only a slight hitch in her voice, she was proud to note.
"Christ." The paper crumpled in Sark's hand as he fisted it, although the hand on her hip stayed loose, thankfully. "And I thought your father was bad."
"What?"
Mouth tight, he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. "Don't ask. I would, however, ask you for a favor."
Baffled, and more than a little concerned, Sydney tried to nod. He stopped her with a hand on her chin, pulling back enough to meet and hold her eyes. His own were so serious that she was afraid to even blink. What could he--?
"May we please never leave this house. Ever. Again." A stray huff of laughter escaped her and he sighed, then brushed his lips against hers. That didn't hide his reluctant smile, though, especially when he went on, "Despite what you'd think, my life was much easier when you were all attempting to kill me."
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