Title: Hole In The World (Chapter 3)
Author: Agent Otter
Rating: R
Summary: There are, believe it or not, consequences to disobeying that many orders. Syd and Vaughn are just going to have to live with them.
Spoilers: Vague references to "Endgame", but I wouldn't say there's anything terribly spoilerish here.
Disclaimer: If Eric Weiss were mine, I'd be takin' him home every night for a good snuggle.
Author's note: I tried. I really did. But I'm just not very good at smut. Maybe I'll give it another go later, but for now you'll just have to live with this. Hope it's okay, but it is completely unbeta'ed and not guaranteed coherent.
"Where you used to be, there's a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell." - Edna St. Vincent Millay
One week turned into two, and then two into three, and all Vaughn had to tide him over was a rushed phone call from God knows where, which had gone something like, "Hi! I really, really love you, and I'm really sorry but I have no idea when I'll be able to call again. Did I mention I love you? Got to go!" He hadn't gotten a word in edgewise, but he'd been very certain that the grumbling voice in the background had been Jack Bristow. Vaughn had resisted the urge to pitch his phone against the wall, but only just.
In the fourth week, he received the postcard in his mail at home. The picture on the front was all puffy white clouds and sparkling blue water, and looked suspiciously like Chesapeake Bay. The flowing script letters laid over the picture said "Virginia" He flipped the card over and let his eyes drift over the familiar handwriting on the back. It said only, "Wish I was here." It wasn't signed, but Vaughn knew who had sent it. The postmark was from Montana. Vaughn wished like hell that he knew what was going on.
He taped the postcard up on the refrigerator door, and he liked to stand and stare at it every morning as he nursed his pre-work cup of coffee. Occasionally he'd be caught unawares in the kitchen, wandering in to ponder that perpetual question of what to eat for dinner, and finding himself looking at the postcard instead. That was when he was doing in the fifth week when the doorbell rang. He blinked, looked up, frowned, and finally shook off his daze long enough to propel himself toward the front door. His forearm brushed against the pistol clipped at his hip, and the little jostle felt reassuring. It was dark outside, and he was not expecting company. A peek through the peephole revealed a red baseball cap and a box of pizza. He eased open the door.
"Pizza?" the delivery driver said.
Vaughn frowned. "I didn't order a pizza. Sorry, you must be at the wrong address."
The driver frowned, too, though Vaughn could barely make out the motion in the shadows under the hat. "Sure you did," the kid said. "Large pepperoni supreme, breadsticks, and a side-order of Sydney."
He blinked, not sure he'd heard right. "I beg your pardon?"
The kid tipped his hat up a fraction, enough for Vaughn to see the wide I-know-something-you-don't-know smile, and shoved the boxes into his hands. "Large pepperoni supreme, breadsticks, and a side-order of salad," he said, but Vaughn was quite sure now that he had indeed heard something different the first time. "Compliments of Gino's," the kid continued, "and Gino says sorry about the mix-up with your last order. This one's on the house. Have a good night, sir, and hey… you ought to open those balcony doors. It's a beautiful night out here." He turned and swaggered away without another word, toward the idling car at the curb with the "Gino's Pizza" sign on top.
Vaughn found himself smiling - the kind of wide, delighted smile that's impossible to erase - as he carried the pizza into the dining room and sat it down on the table. He paused to unlock and sweep open the balcony doors, admitting night air that was almost painfully warm and humid, then turned and beat a hasty retreat into the bedroom. He swept the few dirty clothes strewn on the floor into the hamper, and set new speed records in stripping off his suit and easing into a worn pair of jeans and an old t-shirt.
By the time he dashed back to the dining room, the balcony doors were closed to the heat outside, and Sydney was sitting at the table, her bare feet up on another chair, and a half-eaten slice of pizza in her hands. She glanced up at him as though it was not at all unusual for her to be there, and gave him a very self-satisfied grin.
"It's about time," she drawled. "Pizza's getting cold."
She looked healthy and fit, with her long hair drawn up in a ponytail and her own long-limbed body clad in jeans and a tank top. He stood still and silent long enough to take her in, sitting there at his table as if she hadn't a care in the world. Then he crossed the distance between them, plucked the pizza from her hands and tossed it back into the open box, leaned in with one hand braced on the table and the other curled around the back of her neck. He pressed a kiss to her lips, hard and ferocious, demanding an answer. Her mouth opened under his, her tongue skimmed across his teeth, and her fingers clutched his t-shirt, keeping him there. She tasted like tomato and pepperoni.
When they finally broke apart, he managed to draw back with a nonchalance he definitely wasn't feeling; he picked up her feet and slid under them to sit on the chair she'd been using as a footrest, then put her feet in his lap so she could use him, instead. He leaned over and tugged his own slice of pizza from the box.
"What's up with the delivery kid?" he asked, as if he cared about anything other than getting her completely naked as quickly as possible.
"I didn't want to come in through the front door," she answered, with a shrug, reclaiming her own rudely discarded food. "Difficult as it is to believe, I've been strictly forbidden from leaving my hotel room tonight."
Vaughn frowned, thinking all sorts of not-helpful thoughts of what he could do with Sydney and a hotel room. "Forbidden? By who?"
"Dad," she replied, with the kind of put-upon sigh produced only by over-protected daughters. "Supposedly it's a security thing, you know? Can't be seen here. But it's stupid, right? I mean… we're in Virginia. Flight layover. He can't possibly think I'd be this geographically close to you and not come over here."
"I wouldn't call him a stupid man, no," Vaughn replied. "Not to his face, anyway." His smirk was one hundred percent self-satisfaction. Of course Sydney would come to see him. Wild horses couldn't drag them away from such an opportunity. "Which means he knows very well that you're here."
She nodded, and mumbled around a mouthful of pizza. "Which means we're okay as long as we don't rub his nose in it; if he was going to haul me back there'd be a task force breaking down your door by now. So. I'm thinking we probably shouldn't waste any more time."
He raised an eyebrow and polished off his crust. "Hot wild sex?" he inquired, politely.
"Yes, please," was her reply, and then she was diving practically across the table, hauling him to his feet, and manhandling him all the way to the bedroom.
***
He wasn't quite certain how they'd ended up in the bathtub. Their course through the apartment had been anything but linear; they'd broken in the bedroom first, then stepped into the kitchen for a drink and ended up making out against the counter. The living room couch offered up a softer venue, but the dining room table had been messier than he'd imagined it would be. He supposed it was after they'd rolled themselves off of the forgotten pizza box - now soaked through with grease and juices where it had been crushed by her back - that they'd opted to clean themselves up. The warm water was soothing against his newly-strained muscles, and Sydney's weight draped over him, her breath flowing over his shoulder, would've sent him to a satisfied sleep, if only the tub hadn't been way too small.
"Your bathtub sucks," Sydney murmured sleepily against his skin, echoing his own thoughts on the subject.
He ran a hand down her back; it was cold and a little clammy, her wet skin exposed to the air by a tub that was at least a foot too short for real comfort and not nearly deep enough to submerge them both. "I know," he murmured back, into damp strings of her hair. "But I have to say, I've got a whole new appreciation for my apartment now. I'm thinking you were just what I needed to really Feng Shui the place."
He felt her smile against his shoulder, and then she was pushing herself up, one hand braced on the edge of the tub, the other exerting a fierce pressure against his chest, making him grunt as air whooshed from his lungs. She stood over him for a moment, ankles caging his hips, then she stepped delicately out of the tub, snagging his towel from the rack on the opposite wall. "It's nice," she decided, as she rooted through his medicine cabinet, emerging somewhat deflated with a comb in hand. "Quiet. Though it is the kind of house where I'd expect kids and a dog and cookies baking in the oven."
Vaughn grunted again, this time a slight noise of agreement, and painfully levered himself out of the tub, pulling the plug to let the water drain away. He snared the towel that she'd wrapped around her body, whipping it out of her grasp and using it to ruffle his hair dry, soak up the water streaking down his chest. "I'll take care of the dog part," he offered. "We'll do the kid thing together and you can handle the cookies."
She glared at his image in the mirror over the sink, completely unconcerned with her nudity. "That sounded suspiciously like an offer to get the little woman barefoot, pregnant and playing house."
He sidled up behind her, tossed the towel away, and wrapped his arms around her waist. "It was more a play for free cookies," he disagreed. "But you know my feelings on the barefoot issue. And pregnant might be… nice. Don't you think?"
She couldn't hold back the flutter of a smile, and turned her face toward his, pressing her lips against the damp, cool flesh of his cheek. "Maybe when we've given up the whole 'life of danger' thing," she agreed. "Besides, all that would signal moving into the 'boring committed relationship' phase. I'm really happy with where we're at right now."
He nuzzled at her jaw and nipped her earlobe, feeling wonderfully fuzzy and content. "You mean the 'crazy sex like rabbits on speed' phase?"
"Yeah, that one," she said, with a decisive nod. "Speaking of which…"
She snagged his hand as she spun out of his arms, and tugged him once again toward the bedroom. He smiled and followed, stumbling sleepily over his own feet. And that was when they heard the aggressive buzzing sound from the next room.
They both froze, then broke apart, collapsing against opposite walls, thinking and assessing. Weapons locations, escape routes, threat scenarios…
"Oh, for God's sake," Sydney suddenly huffed, straightening and striding out confidently toward the living room. At the end of the hall, she stooped and snagged her jeans from the floor, tugging her cell phone from the back pocket. "Sorry," she sighed, making big disappointed eyes at him as she answered the buzzing phone.
Vaughn slumped against the wall and tried to get his hammering heart under control. It was nice to know, at least, that his time wasting away in the hallowed halls of Virginia's biggest paperwork factory hadn't dulled his reflexes too much.
"No way," Sydney was saying into the phone. "I'm a big girl, it's not like I - yes. No. For God's sake, Dad, would you stop? No. No." A long pause, and Sydney looked over at him long enough to roll her eyes, mouth a 'blah blah blah', and smile. Michael smiled back. "I'll be there. Yes. Thirty minutes? Come on, Dad. Yes, okay, fine. Yes. I'll be there. I will." She snarled as she stabbed viciously at the 'end call' button. "He's going to pay," she promised.
"I have no doubt," Michael replied, with another grin. "Where do you have to be in half an hour?"
"Airport," she replied. Her eyes were twin pools of misery. "I should quit. Not only that, but I should quit in a really spectacular way. Like I should get up in the middle of a briefing and do a striptease and have 'I QUIT' written on my ass."
"No, you shouldn't," he disagreed mildly. He circled her wrists with his fingers and pushed her back gently against the wall, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. "And by that I mean that you shouldn't quit, but also that I completely veto the striptease idea and any other concept that involves you getting naked for anyone but me."
She smiled back, good mood momentarily returned, body pressed along the length of his. "You've got to live a little, Agent Vaughn," she breathed. "Besides, Weiss would love it."
"Of course he would," Vaughn countered. "You're beautiful. Of course, this body is classified. You could show him, but then I'd have to kill him. I guess the least I can do for such a good friend is let him die happy."
She gave his lips a last, affectionate nip, then slipped away, picking up her scattered clothes from the floor and retreating into the bedroom.
"We're finally done with the operation," she said, as he followed more slowly behind her, enjoying the view. "So when we get back to LA I should be able to call you again."
He leaned against the door frame, watching her squirm into her jeans. "When will I see you?" he asked.
She grimaced as she hooked her bra, her eyes darting around in search of her abandoned tank top. "I'm not sure," she answered, distractedly. "Maybe not until you're back in LA."
He grimaced, too, and shifted his weight. "Yeah, about that," he sighed. "My supervisor out here is making noises about keeping me here longer. I guess I'm doing too good a job. Not surprising considering a trained monkey could do it. But you don't think they'd leave me out here, would they?"
Sydney paused, frowning deeply and staring at him, then gave up on the missing tank top. She swiftly crossed to his closet and pulled out his LA Kings jersey, tugging it over her head, and he bit down on his lip to stifle the moan that tried to escape. A thirty-minute deadline hung over their heads, and it would take her at least that long to make the airport and get to her terminal. There was no time to truly enjoy the sight of her in that jersey, or to indulge himself in stripping it back off.
"You're too valuable to the Rambaldi thing," she assured him.
"Not too valuable to ship me off for six months," he reminded.
"They miss you, they just won't admit it," Sydney said. She tugged on her shoes and efficiently tightened the laces. "There's this new guy, Stephens, who's having a lot of your old duties handed to him. He seems to have a knack for screwing things up. I'd be surprised if they last six months without you."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better," he accused, feeling downright petulant at the sight of all that beautiful skin unjustly covered.
"Nah," she disagreed. "If I wanted to make you feel better, I'd probably tell you how terrific you are in bed. Then I'd move on to detailing exactly what I'm going to do to you the next time I get my hands on you."
He slumped against the wall again, feeling a little weak-kneed, and muttered, "Jesus. You know, your dad's going to see that jersey and know exactly where you've been."
"That's the idea." She smiled brightly as she bounced up from her seat on the edge of his rumpled bed. She tucked the phone back into her pants pocket and crossed the room in a few swift strides to catch him in a hard, hungry kiss, ran her hands down his chest, dug her fingers into his hips. "I'll call you," she promised him, breathless as she pulled away.
"Love you," he called to her vanishing form, as she disappeared down the hallway.
"You have no idea," she hollered back, then there was the sound of the balcony door sliding open and shut, and he was alone again.
Vaughn sighed, scrubbing his face with the palms of his hands and moving into the dining room to secure the balcony door. He looked out at the night through the clear glass, but Sydney had already disappeared from sight. With a frustrated huff of breath, he slumped back to the bedroom and collapsed, falling into sleep.
In the morning, he got up the second time the alarm went off, took a two-minute shower, shaved, dressed for work, and wandered into the kitchen. He looked at the postcard on the refrigerator as he sipped at his hot coffee, and then he rinsed the mug, left it in the sink, and went to work. He was smiling as he left the house, and he couldn't seem to shake the expression for the rest of the day.
Author: Agent Otter
Rating: R
Summary: There are, believe it or not, consequences to disobeying that many orders. Syd and Vaughn are just going to have to live with them.
Spoilers: Vague references to "Endgame", but I wouldn't say there's anything terribly spoilerish here.
Disclaimer: If Eric Weiss were mine, I'd be takin' him home every night for a good snuggle.
Author's note: I tried. I really did. But I'm just not very good at smut. Maybe I'll give it another go later, but for now you'll just have to live with this. Hope it's okay, but it is completely unbeta'ed and not guaranteed coherent.
"Where you used to be, there's a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell." - Edna St. Vincent Millay
One week turned into two, and then two into three, and all Vaughn had to tide him over was a rushed phone call from God knows where, which had gone something like, "Hi! I really, really love you, and I'm really sorry but I have no idea when I'll be able to call again. Did I mention I love you? Got to go!" He hadn't gotten a word in edgewise, but he'd been very certain that the grumbling voice in the background had been Jack Bristow. Vaughn had resisted the urge to pitch his phone against the wall, but only just.
In the fourth week, he received the postcard in his mail at home. The picture on the front was all puffy white clouds and sparkling blue water, and looked suspiciously like Chesapeake Bay. The flowing script letters laid over the picture said "Virginia" He flipped the card over and let his eyes drift over the familiar handwriting on the back. It said only, "Wish I was here." It wasn't signed, but Vaughn knew who had sent it. The postmark was from Montana. Vaughn wished like hell that he knew what was going on.
He taped the postcard up on the refrigerator door, and he liked to stand and stare at it every morning as he nursed his pre-work cup of coffee. Occasionally he'd be caught unawares in the kitchen, wandering in to ponder that perpetual question of what to eat for dinner, and finding himself looking at the postcard instead. That was when he was doing in the fifth week when the doorbell rang. He blinked, looked up, frowned, and finally shook off his daze long enough to propel himself toward the front door. His forearm brushed against the pistol clipped at his hip, and the little jostle felt reassuring. It was dark outside, and he was not expecting company. A peek through the peephole revealed a red baseball cap and a box of pizza. He eased open the door.
"Pizza?" the delivery driver said.
Vaughn frowned. "I didn't order a pizza. Sorry, you must be at the wrong address."
The driver frowned, too, though Vaughn could barely make out the motion in the shadows under the hat. "Sure you did," the kid said. "Large pepperoni supreme, breadsticks, and a side-order of Sydney."
He blinked, not sure he'd heard right. "I beg your pardon?"
The kid tipped his hat up a fraction, enough for Vaughn to see the wide I-know-something-you-don't-know smile, and shoved the boxes into his hands. "Large pepperoni supreme, breadsticks, and a side-order of salad," he said, but Vaughn was quite sure now that he had indeed heard something different the first time. "Compliments of Gino's," the kid continued, "and Gino says sorry about the mix-up with your last order. This one's on the house. Have a good night, sir, and hey… you ought to open those balcony doors. It's a beautiful night out here." He turned and swaggered away without another word, toward the idling car at the curb with the "Gino's Pizza" sign on top.
Vaughn found himself smiling - the kind of wide, delighted smile that's impossible to erase - as he carried the pizza into the dining room and sat it down on the table. He paused to unlock and sweep open the balcony doors, admitting night air that was almost painfully warm and humid, then turned and beat a hasty retreat into the bedroom. He swept the few dirty clothes strewn on the floor into the hamper, and set new speed records in stripping off his suit and easing into a worn pair of jeans and an old t-shirt.
By the time he dashed back to the dining room, the balcony doors were closed to the heat outside, and Sydney was sitting at the table, her bare feet up on another chair, and a half-eaten slice of pizza in her hands. She glanced up at him as though it was not at all unusual for her to be there, and gave him a very self-satisfied grin.
"It's about time," she drawled. "Pizza's getting cold."
She looked healthy and fit, with her long hair drawn up in a ponytail and her own long-limbed body clad in jeans and a tank top. He stood still and silent long enough to take her in, sitting there at his table as if she hadn't a care in the world. Then he crossed the distance between them, plucked the pizza from her hands and tossed it back into the open box, leaned in with one hand braced on the table and the other curled around the back of her neck. He pressed a kiss to her lips, hard and ferocious, demanding an answer. Her mouth opened under his, her tongue skimmed across his teeth, and her fingers clutched his t-shirt, keeping him there. She tasted like tomato and pepperoni.
When they finally broke apart, he managed to draw back with a nonchalance he definitely wasn't feeling; he picked up her feet and slid under them to sit on the chair she'd been using as a footrest, then put her feet in his lap so she could use him, instead. He leaned over and tugged his own slice of pizza from the box.
"What's up with the delivery kid?" he asked, as if he cared about anything other than getting her completely naked as quickly as possible.
"I didn't want to come in through the front door," she answered, with a shrug, reclaiming her own rudely discarded food. "Difficult as it is to believe, I've been strictly forbidden from leaving my hotel room tonight."
Vaughn frowned, thinking all sorts of not-helpful thoughts of what he could do with Sydney and a hotel room. "Forbidden? By who?"
"Dad," she replied, with the kind of put-upon sigh produced only by over-protected daughters. "Supposedly it's a security thing, you know? Can't be seen here. But it's stupid, right? I mean… we're in Virginia. Flight layover. He can't possibly think I'd be this geographically close to you and not come over here."
"I wouldn't call him a stupid man, no," Vaughn replied. "Not to his face, anyway." His smirk was one hundred percent self-satisfaction. Of course Sydney would come to see him. Wild horses couldn't drag them away from such an opportunity. "Which means he knows very well that you're here."
She nodded, and mumbled around a mouthful of pizza. "Which means we're okay as long as we don't rub his nose in it; if he was going to haul me back there'd be a task force breaking down your door by now. So. I'm thinking we probably shouldn't waste any more time."
He raised an eyebrow and polished off his crust. "Hot wild sex?" he inquired, politely.
"Yes, please," was her reply, and then she was diving practically across the table, hauling him to his feet, and manhandling him all the way to the bedroom.
***
He wasn't quite certain how they'd ended up in the bathtub. Their course through the apartment had been anything but linear; they'd broken in the bedroom first, then stepped into the kitchen for a drink and ended up making out against the counter. The living room couch offered up a softer venue, but the dining room table had been messier than he'd imagined it would be. He supposed it was after they'd rolled themselves off of the forgotten pizza box - now soaked through with grease and juices where it had been crushed by her back - that they'd opted to clean themselves up. The warm water was soothing against his newly-strained muscles, and Sydney's weight draped over him, her breath flowing over his shoulder, would've sent him to a satisfied sleep, if only the tub hadn't been way too small.
"Your bathtub sucks," Sydney murmured sleepily against his skin, echoing his own thoughts on the subject.
He ran a hand down her back; it was cold and a little clammy, her wet skin exposed to the air by a tub that was at least a foot too short for real comfort and not nearly deep enough to submerge them both. "I know," he murmured back, into damp strings of her hair. "But I have to say, I've got a whole new appreciation for my apartment now. I'm thinking you were just what I needed to really Feng Shui the place."
He felt her smile against his shoulder, and then she was pushing herself up, one hand braced on the edge of the tub, the other exerting a fierce pressure against his chest, making him grunt as air whooshed from his lungs. She stood over him for a moment, ankles caging his hips, then she stepped delicately out of the tub, snagging his towel from the rack on the opposite wall. "It's nice," she decided, as she rooted through his medicine cabinet, emerging somewhat deflated with a comb in hand. "Quiet. Though it is the kind of house where I'd expect kids and a dog and cookies baking in the oven."
Vaughn grunted again, this time a slight noise of agreement, and painfully levered himself out of the tub, pulling the plug to let the water drain away. He snared the towel that she'd wrapped around her body, whipping it out of her grasp and using it to ruffle his hair dry, soak up the water streaking down his chest. "I'll take care of the dog part," he offered. "We'll do the kid thing together and you can handle the cookies."
She glared at his image in the mirror over the sink, completely unconcerned with her nudity. "That sounded suspiciously like an offer to get the little woman barefoot, pregnant and playing house."
He sidled up behind her, tossed the towel away, and wrapped his arms around her waist. "It was more a play for free cookies," he disagreed. "But you know my feelings on the barefoot issue. And pregnant might be… nice. Don't you think?"
She couldn't hold back the flutter of a smile, and turned her face toward his, pressing her lips against the damp, cool flesh of his cheek. "Maybe when we've given up the whole 'life of danger' thing," she agreed. "Besides, all that would signal moving into the 'boring committed relationship' phase. I'm really happy with where we're at right now."
He nuzzled at her jaw and nipped her earlobe, feeling wonderfully fuzzy and content. "You mean the 'crazy sex like rabbits on speed' phase?"
"Yeah, that one," she said, with a decisive nod. "Speaking of which…"
She snagged his hand as she spun out of his arms, and tugged him once again toward the bedroom. He smiled and followed, stumbling sleepily over his own feet. And that was when they heard the aggressive buzzing sound from the next room.
They both froze, then broke apart, collapsing against opposite walls, thinking and assessing. Weapons locations, escape routes, threat scenarios…
"Oh, for God's sake," Sydney suddenly huffed, straightening and striding out confidently toward the living room. At the end of the hall, she stooped and snagged her jeans from the floor, tugging her cell phone from the back pocket. "Sorry," she sighed, making big disappointed eyes at him as she answered the buzzing phone.
Vaughn slumped against the wall and tried to get his hammering heart under control. It was nice to know, at least, that his time wasting away in the hallowed halls of Virginia's biggest paperwork factory hadn't dulled his reflexes too much.
"No way," Sydney was saying into the phone. "I'm a big girl, it's not like I - yes. No. For God's sake, Dad, would you stop? No. No." A long pause, and Sydney looked over at him long enough to roll her eyes, mouth a 'blah blah blah', and smile. Michael smiled back. "I'll be there. Yes. Thirty minutes? Come on, Dad. Yes, okay, fine. Yes. I'll be there. I will." She snarled as she stabbed viciously at the 'end call' button. "He's going to pay," she promised.
"I have no doubt," Michael replied, with another grin. "Where do you have to be in half an hour?"
"Airport," she replied. Her eyes were twin pools of misery. "I should quit. Not only that, but I should quit in a really spectacular way. Like I should get up in the middle of a briefing and do a striptease and have 'I QUIT' written on my ass."
"No, you shouldn't," he disagreed mildly. He circled her wrists with his fingers and pushed her back gently against the wall, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. "And by that I mean that you shouldn't quit, but also that I completely veto the striptease idea and any other concept that involves you getting naked for anyone but me."
She smiled back, good mood momentarily returned, body pressed along the length of his. "You've got to live a little, Agent Vaughn," she breathed. "Besides, Weiss would love it."
"Of course he would," Vaughn countered. "You're beautiful. Of course, this body is classified. You could show him, but then I'd have to kill him. I guess the least I can do for such a good friend is let him die happy."
She gave his lips a last, affectionate nip, then slipped away, picking up her scattered clothes from the floor and retreating into the bedroom.
"We're finally done with the operation," she said, as he followed more slowly behind her, enjoying the view. "So when we get back to LA I should be able to call you again."
He leaned against the door frame, watching her squirm into her jeans. "When will I see you?" he asked.
She grimaced as she hooked her bra, her eyes darting around in search of her abandoned tank top. "I'm not sure," she answered, distractedly. "Maybe not until you're back in LA."
He grimaced, too, and shifted his weight. "Yeah, about that," he sighed. "My supervisor out here is making noises about keeping me here longer. I guess I'm doing too good a job. Not surprising considering a trained monkey could do it. But you don't think they'd leave me out here, would they?"
Sydney paused, frowning deeply and staring at him, then gave up on the missing tank top. She swiftly crossed to his closet and pulled out his LA Kings jersey, tugging it over her head, and he bit down on his lip to stifle the moan that tried to escape. A thirty-minute deadline hung over their heads, and it would take her at least that long to make the airport and get to her terminal. There was no time to truly enjoy the sight of her in that jersey, or to indulge himself in stripping it back off.
"You're too valuable to the Rambaldi thing," she assured him.
"Not too valuable to ship me off for six months," he reminded.
"They miss you, they just won't admit it," Sydney said. She tugged on her shoes and efficiently tightened the laces. "There's this new guy, Stephens, who's having a lot of your old duties handed to him. He seems to have a knack for screwing things up. I'd be surprised if they last six months without you."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better," he accused, feeling downright petulant at the sight of all that beautiful skin unjustly covered.
"Nah," she disagreed. "If I wanted to make you feel better, I'd probably tell you how terrific you are in bed. Then I'd move on to detailing exactly what I'm going to do to you the next time I get my hands on you."
He slumped against the wall again, feeling a little weak-kneed, and muttered, "Jesus. You know, your dad's going to see that jersey and know exactly where you've been."
"That's the idea." She smiled brightly as she bounced up from her seat on the edge of his rumpled bed. She tucked the phone back into her pants pocket and crossed the room in a few swift strides to catch him in a hard, hungry kiss, ran her hands down his chest, dug her fingers into his hips. "I'll call you," she promised him, breathless as she pulled away.
"Love you," he called to her vanishing form, as she disappeared down the hallway.
"You have no idea," she hollered back, then there was the sound of the balcony door sliding open and shut, and he was alone again.
Vaughn sighed, scrubbing his face with the palms of his hands and moving into the dining room to secure the balcony door. He looked out at the night through the clear glass, but Sydney had already disappeared from sight. With a frustrated huff of breath, he slumped back to the bedroom and collapsed, falling into sleep.
In the morning, he got up the second time the alarm went off, took a two-minute shower, shaved, dressed for work, and wandered into the kitchen. He looked at the postcard on the refrigerator as he sipped at his hot coffee, and then he rinsed the mug, left it in the sink, and went to work. He was smiling as he left the house, and he couldn't seem to shake the expression for the rest of the day.