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Foul-Weather Friend, Chapter Fourteen


Title: Foul-Weather Friend
Author: waking_epiphany (Jamie)
Rating: HARD R (NOTE THE RATING CHANGE), for language and sexy situations
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me; they belong to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot.
Pairings: Sark/Sydney, implied past Sydney/Vaughn, implied past Sark/Lauren, implied past Sark/Alison.
Timeline: Estimating that the end of season 4 ended in the month of May, consider this to start in July of that same summer.
Summary: After suffering series of debilitating headaches and blackouts, Julian Sark takes a doctor-recommended leave from the second oldest profession in the world, espionage, only to be pulled right back into the thick of things at the arrival of a strange, scarlet envelope at his home. It contains intel concerning his longtime mentor, Irina Derevko, and there is only one other person who can help him find her. Sydney Bristow has left her life as a CIA operative to start a new life in anonymity after her sister, Nadia, is left in a coma and her fiancé, Michael Vaughn, is killed by Prophet 5, a mysterious terrorist group. She is trying to pick up the pieces of her shattered existence when a familiar enemy and sometimes associate crashes back into her life. Reluctantly, they must work together to save something invaluably important to the both of them and in the in the process, maybe even save each other.
Author’s Note: Chapter 14 of 15 total chapters. I'll save the schmoopy stuff for the actual, FINAL chapter to follow. Chapter 14 soundtrack at the end of this post with the last chapter and the last soundtrack in the next. *Sniff, sniff*

 

"Hello, Sydney."

The voice that met Sydney's ears brought both comfort and pain. He knew just how to say her name to make her feel as small and vulnerable as a child. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment before her whole world changed.

"Hi Dad."

She turned and saw him there, looking the same as he ever did. The suit he wore was like any other she had ever seen him in since she could have memories about her father. The expression he wore, a mixture of regret and stoicism, was one she recognized, too. He was going to hurt her but he would hate to do it. 

"You look...good." His voice raised a bit at the end, and she thought he might be losing his edge, because she knew immediately that he was lying.

"You're a better liar than that," Sydney said tiredly. She stood outside what could only be one of her father's storage facilities. A solid, remote building in the middle of Midwestern nowhere; a blight against the cold, beautiful background. The nondescript, windowless structure no doubt held something she did not want to see or dwell on, like the Dead Sea Scrolls or Jimmy Hoffa's body. 

"I am a better liar than that," Jack replied. The cold air blew around him, ruffling his gray hair. "But after everything I've put you through, I feel that I shouldn't lie to you anymore."

Sydney looked down at the frostbitten ground. The dirt was hard and cold and she dug the toe of her boot into it, feeling a hollow sort of comfort in its unyieldingness. She would be as unyielding as the wintery ground, exhibiting the cold hardness she felt in her heart. "I received intel that there was a high-ranking Prophet 5 operative at this location. Are you going to tell me what's really behind that door?"

"Like I said, Sydney, no more lies," Jack said in the sad, yet earnest way that was uniquely his own. "So I'll come clean. I've been stonewalling you the past two months. Hiding your location, hiding his, all so you wouldn't find each other until...until now. There is a high ranking Prophet 5 operative behind that door. It's the one you've been looking for."

Sydney felt the wind blow bitter cold against her face, drying the angry tears that threatened to spill down her face.

"Why do you think you can do things like this, Dad?" Sydney wanted to be furious, she was furious, but when the accusation passed her lips, she could only think of how tired she was. How sad and small and exhausted her mind and body felt. "Haven't I proven to you that I can take care of things myself? This is my life and my problems. You can't fix things for me anymore. Everything about me hurts and I just want it to stop."

"I can help," Jack said, looking away from her. He recalled Sark saying something akin to that before. I love everything about her that hurts. That only made this whole thing more difficult. It killed Jack, hurting her so. His intentions were always golden when it came to her, even if his methods were anything but. "And you hate me for it. You might never forgive me. I don't expect you to. But Vaughn is in that room. I expect you know what to do with him."

Sydney exhaled, letting out the breath she had been holding. "And what if I don't? What if I don't kill him? What if I let him walk out of there and let him live out the rest of his life?"

Jack's mouth set into a grim line. "I'd have to kill him myself. You wouldn't leave me much choice. He is too dangerous to be kept alive. I could've done it already, many times over, but I thought this was something you needed to do yourself. Don't make me do this for you."

Jack held out a gun to her. It looked dull and lifeless in the hazy, winter light. She shook her head and took out her own weapon. Despite the chill the gun was warm and almost comforting in this, the hour of her greatest triumph and her biggest regret. 

There was no steeling herself for this. There was no preparation. When she thought she had killed him in the fire that consumed the whole church, it was an impulse, a cleansing, a cathartic and unholy burning of everything he had burned out of her. But now, when the task lay ahead of her, killing the man she still, somewhat masochistically, loved, she was not filled with anger as she should be. Sydney felt...sad. Sad but resolute. She knew how this would go. She could see it now, what she would say and do, and it felt right. He would die. 

Not looking at her father, Sydney unclipped the magazine and started pushing the bullets out. One by one they fell lazily onto the ground until there was only one bullet left. She pushed the mag back into the gun.

She held her hand out to him.

"Give me the key to his cuffs."

Jack looked at his daughter with incredulity. 

"You can't be serious."

"I don't think I could be more serious, Dad. Do more than you do for me and just...trust me. And give me the key."

Jack hesitated but, after a moment's hesitation, gave in to his daughter and handed her the small key. She turned from him and steeled herself for a question she didn't want to know the answer to but needed to ask before she broke apart.

"Sark was with him," Sydney says, the hand holding the key against the steel door. She caressed the cold metal, not wanting to face either her father or the task that lay ahead of her. "After he was shot..." Sydney's voice trailed off and her voice trembled, threatening her already thin cover of composure. "After Sark was shot, his body disappeared. I believe Vaughn had him abducted. Have you seen Sark? Do you know...is he alive?"

Jack was glad her back was to him so he wouldn't have to omit the real truth to her face after he swore not to lie to her anymore. He couldn't possibly tell her what he'd done with Sark. Just as he knew it had to be Sydney to be the one to bring an end to Vaughn, he knew he had to be the one to end Sark's treachery. Sydney did not have the foresight to see what Sark would become if left to his own devices. So Jack had taken it upon himself to put an end to Sark's sycophantic and sociopathic existence. He knew she would find out, sooner rather than later. He suspected Nadia would be the one to break it to Sydney; she would have the delicacy to break it to her softly. Jack did not.

"I think those are questions you should ask Vaughn", Jack answers, neither confirming or denying his involvement with Sydney's partner. "I think he'll have all the answers you'll need."

Sydney exhaled a long held breath, reached down, and opened the door. She nudged a rock with her foot and placed it in between the door and its frame, giving her an escape route when she needed it. A bare light flickered and stayed on, lighting the bare room in its sickly pallor. Bare except for the broken and bloody man at its center. The man she called friend. The man she called lover. The man she called fiancé. The man she called the father of her child. The man she called Michael. The man she would call dead in a few minutes time.

He looked up at her, bathed in the pale, ghostly light, and he looked dead already. 

"God, you don't know how much I missed you," Vaughn whispered, his eyes hungrily drinking her in. His hands moved reflexively (to hold to to hurt her Sydney doesn't know) even though he was handcuffed to a chair that was cemented into the floor. "There are so many times that I wanted to find you, to explain..."

"Don't," Sydney interrupted, her voice surprisingly steady. "Don't try and explain."

"Why?" Vaughn asked, hope creeping into his voice. "Does it make it harder for you to kill me?"

"No," Sydney answered truthfully. "It makes it easier."

"Then I won't sit here and justify myself to you," Vaughn replied hoarsely. "I will tell you why it had to be you I chose, all those years ago. Why my father sent me infiltrate the C.I.A. and become close to you."

"I don't want to know," Sydney said numbly. "There was a time I did want to know, needed to know.  It doesn't matter now."

"Would it matter to you if I said I fell in love with you?" To his credit, he sounded sincere. But to Sydney, who had heard that sincerity for years and now knew it to be a lie, it meant nothing. 

"I was supposed to be watching you, studying you, performing experiments on you, because you were the archetype, the true Project Christmas child, and if you could be broken, with all your father's provisions against brainwashing, all of the Christmas kids could be exploited," Vaughn explained, his eyes earnest and bright.  

"But I found ways around that, Sydney. I protected you from my father. When I asked you to marry me it was real. I was cutting ties with my father, I sent an assassin to kill him, so we could be together. But he knew, he knew, and he created the car crash. In my comatose state he even buried me, to keep up appearances that I was dead. He dug me up, eventually, but I was in a coma for months. Only when he used the Rambaldi serum on me did I finally come back...came back and shot Sark."

He knew he had hurt her with that. His words cut like broken glass against her already fraying self-control. She didn't answer, for fear she would snap and crush his windpipe with her bare fists before she could find out what he knew. 

"How could you?" Vaughn's voice sounded disgusted, yet held a tinge of morbid fascination. "You think me some kind of monster and yet you fuck that sociopath? You'd defend him to me, after only months of screwing him and years of loving me."

"I won't," Sydney answered, clear and strong. "I won't defend him. He's done things...terrible things that I cannot justify. But I've come to a point in my life where I feel I can be selfish. In the end, he has done horrible things...but not to me. He's never lied to me, which is more than I can say for anyone else in my entire life. I don't expect you to understand it because, in the end, you never understood me. And he did. And that's all I ever wanted."

Vaughn stared at her like she was the stupidest, most pathetic woman in the world. 

"You're not the woman I fell in love with," he intoned venomously.

"I think it's pretty obvious you're not the man I fell in love with," Sydney replied with some semblance of her solid, steady self. 

"Let's not belabor the point of this meeting," Vaughn said in a low voice. His eyes were hooded and resolute. He was fading, Sydney could see. He looked gaunt and sickly and she could tell the blood stains on his shirt were spreading as she stood here talking to him. "Why don't you just kill me and get it over with. You and I both know you want to."

"I'm not here to kill you," Sydney said quietly. "I should. I know that. No one would deny me my revenge. But even after everything you've done to me, I won't have your death hang over me for the rest of my life. But I will let you go out on your own terms. I will give you this gun. It has one bullet in it. It'll break your handcuffs but it won't get you out of this room. You could shoot me but my father would be waiting for you outside. If you do the smart thing, the right thing, you could kill yourself and do the world and me a favor. In the end, this is your funeral. Consider this your eulogy. How you die is up to you."

Vaughn considered this. "What would it take to make you kill me?"

"Don't answer the one question I came here to ask you."

"And if I answer it, you'll let me do this myself?"

Sydney nodded, pointing the gun at him now. It felt surreal, knowing this was the last time she would look upon Michael's face. But her aim never wavered and her eyes were dry. There were bullet holes were her compassion used to be and anger in her heart. "Is Sark alive?"

"We were in Prague," Vaughn began, his eyes on Sydney's weapon. "My associates had brought him there at my behest and I was...interrogating him at my leisure. I had him doing odds and ends in the name of Prophet 5 until...your father came."

If Vaughn hadn't known her as well as he did, he might not have noticed that he broke her. Something inside her had been crushed and beaten at the mention of her father. Her face might made of stone but inside her heart was breaking. 

"I passed out from loss of blood but before I did...," Vaughn trailed off. "Sark was pretty much dead. So, I guess the answer to your question lies with how well your know your father. Would he be the type to rescue Sark and nurse him back to health? Or...not. It might not be the answer you were looking for, Sydney, but I did answer your question. I think you owe me something."

"Right," Sydney said, blinking back tears. "Right. I did make a promise." Sydney approached her former lover and put the small key into the lock, freeing one of his hands while keeping the other safely bound to the chair. 

"What would you have named it?" Vaughn asked, his hand reaching out, not to the gun, but to rest on her abdomen.

It was too much. Sydney felt the tears begin to fall in earnest now, but she did not slap his hand away, nor become angry. She simply stepped away. 

"If she had lived, she would've been the only thing that would've saved you from me," Sydney whispered. "But she's long gone and there is nothing redeemable left in you. But I can still save you...the only way I know how." She held the gun out to him.

"I do love you, you know," Vaughn said very softly. He was crying now; it was the first and last time she had ever seen him cry. "It might not meant anything, but my love for you is true and it was the only real thing in my whole damn life." Before she could give him the gun he took her other hand. It wasn't a power play or a murder attempt. Vaughn held her hand in his, his thumb caressing her palm. It was a familiar and strangely comforting feeling. Slowly, painfully, Sydney pulled her hand away and replaced it with the gun.

"I know," she sighed, tears obscuring her last look at him. "Goodbye, Michael."

She backed away from him and stood in the doorway and stared at the man she knew as Michael Vaughn. He smiled his sad, knowing half-smile that Sydney knew so well and only then can she shut the door behind her. 

The wind blew cold against her, drying the tears to ice on her cheeks. She pulled the collar of her coat around her neck to shield herself from the oncoming storm. Fat, white snowflakes fell heavily from the sky and already covered the ground in a soft blanket. Sydney knew she is painfully and utterly alone now; her father had left during the few minutes she spent in his storage facility. He must have known Vaughn would tell her of his betrayal and fled to face her another day. The only sign Jack Bristow was ever there was a gun placed gently onto the snow-strewn ground and heavy footprints leading out into oblivion. 

Sydney walked over to the weapon and picked it up with shaking hands. She pointed it toward the door, where Andre Michauex was contemplating the last moments of his life. Sydney knew she should be thinking about Michael, in these last few moments they were both together, breathing in the air the other let out. But there was too much betrayal to think, too much heartbreak to feel. Everything about her was numb, except the part of her hands that held on to the gun, her only lifeline keeping her from breaking apart.

Then, through the cold and deadness, Sydney heard the crack of gunshot fill the air. Slowly, as if in a dream, she trudged through the thin layer of snow back to the door. The gun hung limply at her side as she opened it and looked inside.

Bits of skull and brain matter wallpapered the stainless steel interior but somehow she could look past the blood and gore. She could see past Andre Michauex and see past the baby she lost that had been his. When she opened the door and saw him there, he was just Michael, and he could hurt her no longer. She tracked snow into the room and left her footprints in the blood of a man she had loved with all of her heart. 

There was no bracing herself for looking into his dead eyes. They were empty and devoid of any spark or life. She did not feel the need to rush this, taking in the last glimpse of this ruined shell of a man. She let the memories of Vaughn roll over her, not backing away from them for once, but truly reliving them and then, as quickly as they came, letting the recollections fade away until there was nothing left to remember. 

Sydney shucked off one of her gloves and, with no hesitation, trailed her fingers over her former lover's eyes and shut them forever. The gun she had been holding clattered to the floor and she left it there as she turned away from the man she knew as Michael Vaughn.   

She walked blindly into the snow. It was falling heavier now until she waded into a sea of infinite whiteness. She sobbed; inhaling great, cold lungfuls of frostbitten air to try and stop the pain. Somehow there wasn't enough oxygen between the dense snowflakes and she felt dizzy and stumbled, crashing down into the thin blanket of snow covering the ground. For a few moments, Sydney reveled in the stillness, the simplicity of just lying here, feeling the cold wash over her. It would be so easy just to lay here until...until what

No, she thought to herself. 

"No," she said it aloud now, and it helped, hearing her own small voice amongst the loud gales of wind. She'd allowed feeling sorry for herself for one moment, but not one moment more. "Get up."

Sydney slowly picked herself off the freezing cold ground. She would walk. Hell, she would run. She would keep running until there was something other than a tiny cabin with her ex-lover dead inside. She wouldn't stop until she found the only person left that would run with her. 

She'd find Sark. Alive or dead, she'd run to him. 

*           *           *

"Hey Syd! It's Marshall. Um, I don't know if you check your secure work voicemail all that often. I know I don't check mine often, but that's only because I get like, one voicemail every week, and it's usually Carrie, telling me to pick up diapers for Mitchell or something. I think we're this close to getting him potty trained. I know it's a bit early for him but he's a genius, I'm sure of it, so the potty thing will be a piece of cake.

 I know it's been awhile since we talked, ever since we met at the al-may and I ate a yro-gay and I helped you track down Ark-Say. That's Pig Latin, if you didn't know. Do you know Pig Latin? I mean, you know, like, a million different languages so I'd assume you'd be fluent in Pig Latin. Anywho, I just wanted to say...uh, I'm not sure. I guess I just wanted to know you were okay. You were all weird and cryptic the last time we met, I mean, more than usual. Just because we don't work together anymore doesn't mean we don't all think about you. Everyone is worried about you, Syd. Carrie is always asking about you and I don't know what to tell her. Dixon looks like he's lost his best friend well, uh, because he has and poor Eric...you should really call him, Syd. He's in rough shape since Nadia...since Nadia passed. 

I don't know if you'll even get this and even if you did, if you'd even call back. I guess I just wanted to say...hi. And don't be a stranger. And if you want to have dinner at de casa de Flinkman, you only need to stop by. And work just isn't the same without you. And if you decide you don't want to come back, just know that...you've been a great friend and I miss you. 

Bye, Syd.

*           *           *

To: SBristow@APO.net

Subject: Employment Opportunity

Ms. Bristow,

I know it has been many months since you worked for APO and, probably even longer that you've checked your work email. I realize that due to certain personal issues, have expressed no desire to return to our fold. Contrary to popular belief, I sympathize with your situation and understand why you had made this decision.

However, in light of an unfolding international situation, I must plead my case for your return. It involves an organization called The Noble Sword, and we are in need of your particular set of skills, Ms. Bristow. Not only that, we feel you may be a target and are concerned for your safety. APO can offer protection you would not be able to maintain on your own. 

If you feel like this might be a ruse, you will undoubtedly recognize APO protocol in this encrypted email. Also, to cement the fact that it is me writing this, I forced to reveal that out Marcus' children, only Steven calls me Hayden. Robin still calls me Director Chase. I don't know if she'll ever warm up to me. Oh well, she wouldn't be the first or last person to find my demeanor a bit cold. I'm sure you would probably agree.

At any rate, I strongly urge you to consider my offer. At the very least, I recommend you fortify yourself against the oncoming danger. And try checking your voicemail every once and awhile. Your friends are worried about you. I'll be in touch.

Dixon says hi.

Sincerely,

Director Hayden Chase, APO.

*           *           *

Hey Sydney. It's Nadia. I know I'm supposed to be keeping a low profile but I guess I just needed to hear a familiar voice. Even though this is a secure line and you use an encrypted voicemail, it's risky. Our mother would be very disappointed in me, I'm sure. 

I just wanted to let you know I'm coming out of hiding. There's a new threat forming around the Project Christmas kids. The Noble Blade has redoubled their efforts in taking out all the Christmas kids and APO is looking for capable agents to eliminate the fringe group. I figured being a Christmas kid myself I'd be perfect, and Dad agrees. APO would help protect us and bring down the Blade. Dad's already cleared it with Director Chase and I'm set to come back from the dead in about a month. You know how that goes. I can't wait to see Eric. As long as he hasn't shacked up with some evil blond, am I right? I'm sorry, that was in bad taste. I'm just so starved for social interaction I've become inappropriate. But I won't be isolated for long and I want you to be there when I come back. Please think about it. Other than tha -

*           *           *

Sorry about that, voicemail cut me off. It's Nadia again. As I was saying, other than what I just said, I just felt like I needed to talk to you, knowing what happened that day on the beach. Dad's kept me informed on certain things. I know about Vaughn...and about Sark. I don't even know what to say. Especially since I know what you'll do about it. I know what I would do if it were me and I just want to say please don't. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. 

Revenge is important. I understand that more than anymore. With Roberto Fox, I was consumed with revenge and I let that get to me. Everything I did was just to fuel my vengeance and retribution. You've already been down that road, Syd. I know Vaughn can't get away with what he's done but it's not something you need to do on your own. You have me, you have your parents, and if you let them, you have your friends at APO. We all can help you bring Vaughn to justice. We could help you find Sark. About tha -

*           *           *

You have the shortest voicemail in the history of man, you know that? I feel like it's a double agent working against me. Ok, what was I saying? Right. About Sark. Look, this whole Sark isn't normal. I can't pretend I understand what the two of you have and, to be honest, I can't pretend I necessarily approve of it, either. He did stand by and watch me get tortured, you know. Yeah, I know it was all just for money but still, he's not my favorite person. That being said, what I can't get out of my head is  how that man looked at you that day on the beach and, more importantly, how you looked at him. You seemed more like yourself than you had in a really long time and that's a good thing. You owe it to yourself to be happy and if that psychopath makes you happy and treats you well, then, fuck everyone else, Syd. If he's alive, you're obliged to be in one piece when he comes back. Not only that, you owe it to me, too. We've lost so much time together, I don't want to lose any more time being your sister. Think about it. You can throw me a "Welcome Back From The Dead" party. We'll make margaritas. 

Love you.

Sydney hit the "delete" button and erased all the built up voicemails from the past few months. She had already purged her email account but it hadn't helped. It hurt, listening to the voices from her past but not as much as she thought it would. Before, after she lost the baby and after Vaughn's betrayal, the idea of going back to APO hurt like a fresh wound. But now? 

Sydney paced back and forth across the hotel's plush carpet. The idea of returning to APO wasn't totally appalling. Even though it had been months since Vaughn's death, she had made zero headway in finding her father or Sark. Even if Sark was dead, even if her father had killed him, she just wanted to know. She could imagine her father, huddled in some cave or Eastern European hostel somewhere, still stonewalling her search. She was at a standstill. She couldn't, and wouldn't, move on until she had some sort of closure. But Sydney had come to the unfortunate conclusion she could no longer get to that place without some help. 

Prophet 5 had folded, it's organization crumbling under its lack of leadership and the power struggle of its lesser members for control, but the Noble Blade had amped up its protocol, having already killed hundreds of Project Christmas kids in the past few months. Sydney could see no other alternative to bringing down the Blade, finding her father, and discovering Sark's ultimate fate than joining APO. She was good, the best even, but by herself she simply did not have enough resources to do it all. She could use APO to further her own mission. She should use the government organization to help her out and not the other way around for once.

And she would have Nadia. And Dixon and Marshall and Eric. If Sark was gone...God, it hurt to think that. If Sark was honestly and truly gone, she would had her friends at the very least. She might not tell them how much it hurt not having him here, like a phantom limb that still ached after its been lost. How even with Vaughn dead she had no peace, knowing Sark had died waiting for her to rescue him. They wouldn't know they were helping her get past his death by simply just...being. But there was something she had to do first, before she could go back to APO. A promise she had made she had to keep. This last show of faith was the least she could do for him, even if he wouldn't be there to see it.

Sydney stood in front of the French doors of her hotel room overlooking the Irish landscape at dusk. Tomorrow it six months since that day on the beach.

"I will wait 6 months, the time we spent together, for you to come to me. After that, I won't wait for you anymore.

 "Sark...don't..."

"I will. I will wait. Just not forever."

He wouldn't be there. Deep down, Sydney knew this. She had shut him down, shut him out of her heart for so long and now he was dead in a ditch somewhere. He wouldn't be there to see her, waiting for him, like he had bid her to do, all those months ago. The gesture would be for naught, but she would do this for him. It would be the one thing she could still do for him, to show him that she actually cared for him, wanted him, loved him even, that she couldn't do when he was alive. Not only for him, but for her

She stared out at the cold, dark town of Galway and waited.

*           *           *

 

Foul-Weather Friend Soundtrack, Chapter Fourteen

 

1. Other Lives, "Black Tables". Listen to when: Sydney and Jack have a little talk.

Lyrics: When the life in your eyes wants black
Things return
You've come back
With your body and mine raised up
It's good to see you once more

Download: http://www.mediafire.com/?kae62zkufeecc66

2. AFI, "Prelude 1221". Listen to when: Sydney and Vaughn find each other.

Lyrics: This is what i brought you.
This you can keep.
This is what I brought,
You may forget me.
I promise to depart,
Just promise one thing,
Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

Download: http://www.mediafire.com/?lom8hvlcxlx6e3l

3. The Civil Wars, "Poison and Wine". Listen to when: Sydney and Vaughn say their final goodbyes.

Lyrics: I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back
The less I give the more I get back
Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise
I don't have a choice but I still choose you
Oh I don't love you but I always will

Download: http://www.mediafire.com/?r0d2cjsjcwf2tpg

4. Andrew Belle, "The Ladder". Listen to when: Sydney hears from old friends.

Lyrics: Woe is me
Faithless you and selfish me
I will leave a key for you outside my doorway

On a ladder from there to here I'll climb
All this clatter between my ears I find
Does it matter if I can’t clear my mind?
There’s a right and a wrong time

Download: http://www.mediafire.com/?9pm4iclp81cvc9e

5. Brandi Carlile, "Before It Breaks". Listen to when: Sydney gazes over Galway.

Lyrics: Say it's over
say I'm dreaming, say I'm better than you left me
Say you're sorry, I can take it
Say you'll wait, say you won't
Say you love me, say you don't
I can make my own mistakes
Learn to let it bend before it breaks

Download: http://www.mediafire.com/?64f948bcye9r57b

 

 


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