Title: A Quiet Night In
Pairing/Characters: Don/Ian, Amita, OCs
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humor
Disclaimer: I don't own.
Summary: Alan and Charlie are out of town and all Amita wants is a little alone time, away from the stress of work, school, and wedding planning. What she gets is something else entirely...
A/N: Diva!Ian... I don't even know. Mostly just cause it's fun. May or may not be continued.

Amita balanced the half gallon of fudge ripple ice cream she was carrying on top of the pizza box in her other hand so she could unlock the front door of the Craftsman. After a second of fumbling with her keys, the door swung open and she was entering the house with a sigh.

"Charlie? Alan?" she called out with a small grin.

As she hoped, no one answered. Charlie had been asked to speak at a conference in Berkeley and Alan made plans to go on a fishing trip. Amita's grin widened. Clearly both men had already departed. Just as well. She had her own plans for the weekend. Big ones. Involving her comfiest pair of sweatpants, the pizza she was carrying, and the new cheat codes she learned for her favorite video game.

This was her first weekend alone in months and she was determined to make the most of it. She stayed late at CalSci all week grading papers and getting ahead on her research projects so she felt no guilt whatsoever in her plans to turn her cell phone off, avoid her email, and generally shut out the world for the next two days. She needed it. Ever since getting engaged, she felt as though she'd had no alone time at all. She loved Charlie. She really did, but she needed a break.

That in mind, she set the pizza box down on the coffee table, stashed her ice cream in the freezer, and headed upstairs to change into her sweats.

Once dressed down sufficiently in a pair of Charlie's old Princeton sweatpants and a CalSci Physics department t-shirt, she settled in on the couch downstairs, grabbed her first slice of pizza, and flicked on the television, unsurprised to find ESPN blaring. She flipped through channels rapidly before settling on a Lifetime movie she never would have gotten away with watching with any of the Eppes men in the house. She sighed happily and sank further back into the couch cushions. She was all set for her lazy weekend.

Hours later found Amita in nearly the same position, though she had swapped out the pizza for ice cream and traded soppy romance films for Call of Duty.

She was just about to beat her current opponent when a loud knock disrupted her focus. "Dammit!" She cursed as she died onscreen. She glared at the door. The knocking got louder.

"Amita!" a loud, feminine voice shouted over the banging. A different voice giggled. "Open up! We know you're in there!"

Amita contemplated ignoring the voices briefly, but paused her game and slowly made her way towards the door, finally shouting out at her insistent, unrelenting visitors. "All right! I'm coming!"

The knocking stopped.

Amita unlocked the door and opened it, finding her two old roommates from her early grad school days dressed for a night on the town.

"Angela. Rachel. What are you doing here?" Amita questioned.

"Amita! We told you! We're taking you out. Bachelorette party. Why aren't you dressed?" Angela questioned, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder as she strolled into the house.

Rachel followed hot on her heels, flashing a minute wave at Amita as she crossed the threshold.

"Because I already told you both that I don't want a bachelorette party." Amita explained, trying not to let exasperation creep into her voice.

Rachel smiled guilelessly at her. "That's why this is perfect, see? Just the three of us. It won't be a party. Just a fun girls night out. Just like old times."

Her face was so genuine, Amita didn't have the heart to tell her that those 'old times,' to her sucked. She hated clubbing. She didn't want to go out.

"Look. Ladies, I really appreciate the thought. I do. But I think I'd much rather have a low key weekend here, than go out to a bunch of clubs filled with guys just trying to get into girls' pants." Amita explained, herding her uninvited guests towards the door.

"Amita, come on girl. Live a little." Angela protested. "It's only going to be a little while before you're married."

"Out." Amita replied, opening the door and gesturing for her two friends to leave.

Angela only got two steps out before stopping short causing Rachel to crash into her. "Oh. My. God."

Amita frowned, peering out into the darkness, trying to see what had caught her friend's attention. All she saw was a cab pulling out of the driveway. Her frown deepened. Strange. Why was a cab here?

"Amita! Are those your neighbors?" came Rachel's stunned voice.

"Jackpot." Angela breathed.

"What?" Amita questioned confused. Her neighbors were all either older couples or families. Nothing to write home about. She pushed past Rachel to join them on the porch and followed their line of sight to the front lawn.

She let out a soft gasp as she caught a glimpse of her soon-to-be brother-in-law, his lips fused in a passionate kiss with Ian Edgerton. Don was staggering slightly, clearly trying to move towards the door without breaking the kiss. His efforts seemed to be quite hampered by Ian, who looked to be a little unsteady on his feet and leaning heavily against Don, hands roving up and down his backside.

Amita and her friends watched as Don took one step back too many and tripped, falling backwards and bringing Ian down with him. Don let out a loud "oof," but Ian just let out a cackling laugh before dropping his head to Don's neck, lips and teeth seeking out sensitive skin. Don let out a strangled groan and Amita suddenly noticed just where Ian's busy hands were located in relation to Don's unfastened jeans.

"Uh Don?" she called out, color rising high in her cheeks. She stepped back and flicked on the porch lights, flooding the front lawn in light.

"Killjoy," she heard Rachel mutter. Angela made a noise of agreement as well. Amita ignored them both, eyes instead meeting Don's own. He looked just as shocked as she felt, squinting against the harsh light.

"Um. Hi." Amita said awkwardly.

Don stared back blankly, face rapidly turning the reddest she'd ever seen. "You… But… Conference? Berkeley?"

Amita bit her lip, fighting a grin at the less than coherent response. She shook her head slowly. "Just Charlie. I'm still here all weeken-"

"Ian!" Don exclaimed suddenly, in a sharp, scandalized voice. If possible, his face turned even redder. Amita watched as Don grabbed the hand still making its way inside his unzipped jeans. "Really not the time."

"But-"

Don cut off the protest with a short kiss, then mumbled against Ian's lips. "Later. Promise. Without an audience though, okay?"

Amita couldn't make out Ian's huffed reply, but whatever the reply was made Don smile and he pushed himself up to his feet, discreetly zipping his fly as he went. He turned and pulled Ian up as well, keeping a firm grip on his belt to steady him once he was on his feet.

Angela then coughed pointedly.

"Amita. Aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?" Rachel added.

Amita rolled her eyes at both of them. Introductions indeed. One unwelcome visitor to another. "Angela. Rachel. This is Don. Charlie's older brother and Ian, his…" Amita trailed off, not really knowing where the two men stood with each other. Well, beyond the obvious, that is.

"Lover? Boyfriend? Willing sex slave?" Ian offered in a light tone, before giggling.

Amita's eyebrows rose to her hairline. She couldn't believe those words had just come out of the sniper's mouth. Her friends tittered behind her.

Don snorted. "Now I really know you're drunk. I better get you inside before you puke on my shoes."

"I'm not drunk!" Ian protested, twisting in Don's arms.

"Of course not." With that, Don gripped Ian more firmly and pulled him towards the door, tipping an imaginary hat at Amita and her friends as he passed them. "Ladies."

Ian offered his own drunken wave.

Amita stared after bewildered for a moment before following the pair inside, Angela and Rachel hot on her heels.

"That's Charlie's brother?" Rachel asked in disbelief. "He's hot."

"Mmhmm." Angela murmured in agreement.

"Yeah…" Amita replied uncertainly, eyes trailing after Don as he forced Ian into the kitchen. It looked like Don at least.

Before Amita had too long to contemplate the likelihood of body snatching or partial lobotomies as an explanation for the two federal agents strange behavior, Don was pushing his way back into the room, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Uh. Think your friends would mind keeping an eye on Ian? I think he needs some water and food to soak up all the alcohol in his system." Don asked, nodding towards the kitchen door.

Angela and Rachel both nodded their assent after glancing at Amita and made their way into the kitchen, leaving the pair to talk.

"I'm really sorry about this," Don began contritely. "I really thought you were going with Charlie this weekend. We were out in Old Town and I just thought it'd be easier to crash here. I was banking on the house being empty."

'So was I,' Amita wanted to say. She refrained however, noticing the genuinely apologetic look on Don's face. However, she wasn't above a little teasing. "So what? An empty house is your excuse for coming over and breaking obscenity laws on the front porch?" she questioned, glancing pointedly at his now zipped fly.

"Hey!" Don protested. "I would have dragged him inside before anything happened."

"Oh really?" Amita teased. "Because it looked like he was about to short-circuit your higher brain function."

Don blushed. "Well I—"

His reply was cut off by a loud squeal coming from the kitchen, followed by the sounds of cabinets banging, then the whir of the ice machine.

Amita frowned in confusion, but Don seemed to already know what was happening and was hurriedly making his way towards the kitchen. "Oh no…"

Amita followed after, mystified by the state of the kitchen once she entered. It looked like something straight out of a frat party. The counter top was covered with ingredients for mixed drinks. Rachel and Angela were holding highball glasses filled with colorful beverages. Amita hadn't even known there was this much alcohol in the house.

In the center of the strange scene was Ian, whom Amita was more used to seeing with a gun at his hip and an intense, almost angry expression firmly etched into his face. This… imposter… in her kitchen was smiling somewhat goofily and pouring pink liquid from a shaker into martini glasses.

Next to Amita, Don sighed in exasperation. "Ian? What the hell are you doing?"

"Don!" Ian looked up and flashed him a brilliant grin. "We're making drinks."

"I see that," Don replied indulgently. "Why? I thought we were done with the drinking for tonight…"

"Did you know this is Amita's bachelorette party?" Ian asked, handing them both glasses of whatever concoction he made.

Don arched a brow in Amita's direction as he tossed back the pink drink. "Is that so?"

Amita stared at him in disbelief, glancing down at her own drink. Ian Edgerton, badass sniper, just made her a Cosmo. She was pretty sure this might be one of the signs of the apocalypse. She shook her head, setting the glass back down on the counter, ignoring the kicked puppy expression on Ian's face.

"No. There is not going to be any bachelorette party," she said firmly. "It's not happening."

"But Amita, it will be fun!" Rachel protested once again.

"No!"

Don cocked his head to the side in question. "Why not?"

Amita couldn't believe she was having this conversation again and with Don of all people. "It's a stupid tradition. Going out for one 'last night of freedom.' I want to marry Charlie. I don't think I'm missing out on anything by not clubbing, or having a male stripper give me a lap dance, or drinking myself into oblivion, or doing any of the other stupid things people do for their bachelorette parties."

"Charlie is having a bachelor party." Don stated.

Amita shook her head in denial. "No he isn't. We both agreed. He doesn't want one either."

"Charlie is having a bachelor party." Don repeated.

Amita eyed him skeptically. "But-"

"He might not know it, but he is." Ian added. "Granger and Sinclair have been planning for weeks."

Amita just looked at them.

"He's having a bachelor party." Don said again, sensing her disbelief.

"Okay! Okay! I get it. He's having one. That still doesn't mean that I have to." Amita said, getting annoyed.

Don gave her a skeptical look. "Why not? What else are you going to be doing?"

"I have other plans." Amita said primly.

Don eyed her sweatpants. "Is that so? Eating pizza and playing video games really doesn't count as 'having plans' "

She blushed as Rachel and Angela both flashed her triumphant looks.

Don just rolled his eyes and laughed. "You really are a nerd."

Amita's eyes narrowed. "I am not."

"Oh yeah?" he countered. "Prove it."

Amita met his challenging gaze and picked up her glass, downing the beverage in one go as her friends cheered her on, not missing the conspiratorial wink Don tossed in Ian's direction. She had a feeling they were just attempting to get her out of the house. "Okay? Now what?"

"Well, we know you hate the clubs we normally pick out so we thought it might be fun to go dancing at one of the gay clubs in WeHo." Rachel said in a rush. "We can dance all night and not worrying about any guys groping us or trying to get our numbers. It will be perfect!"

"And there will be plenty of eye candy!" Angela chimed in.

Amita looked between her two friends, wondering just what she was getting herself into. She chanced a glance at Don and Ian. Both were wearing amused grins. She shrugged. "What the heck. I'll go."

Twin squeals greeted her ears, but she wasn't finished. "But only if you convince these two to come with us." Amita said, confident that Don and Ian would refuse.

"Oh we're definitely in." Ian replied immediately.

And with that proclamation, Amita's last chance for a quiet night in was crushed. Don looked momentarily put out and Amita smirked, flashing back to what she witnessed in the front yard. She felt a vindictive sense glee knowing that her plans weren't the only ones derailed for the evening.

As if sensing her thoughts Ian caught her eye and frowned slightly. Amita's smirk faded as a calculating expression stole across his face. Suddenly he looked a lot less drunk.

"You do realize you're going to need to change before we go, right?" he asked, tone bordering on condescension.

Amita huffed and was tempted to snap back at the man. Of course she knew she couldn't go clubbing in sweats. And where did he get off commenting on anyone else's clothing, if it wasn't made of Kevlar or camouflage?

However, then she took a good look at his clothes for the first time that evening and was surprised that she hadn't already noticed that he wasn't dressed in his typical utilitarian fashion. Still head-to-toe black, but the boots were shiny and fashionable rather than scuffed and military standard. The pants were tailored, tighter than usual, and missing any of the usual cargo pockets, tears, rips, or hammer loops. His shirt was silky, half open down his chest and cut in a way that looked designer.

She was further thrown when she noticed jewelry; little silver accents that match the stitching on his shirt, a chain with a pendant dangling around his neck and a few rings on each of his hands. A glance over a Don, who was dressed to kill in what she mentally dubbed "The Jeans" – were those diamonds in his ear? – and her two friends, one sporting a slinky dress and the other a fancy skirt and top, left Amita feeling horribly out of place and underdressed in her own kitchen.

"Is tonight some kind of special occasion?" she questioned, half genuinely curious and half just wanting to stall.

Don gave a little endearing half-smile, throwing a side-long glance in Ian's direction. "It's sort-of our anniversary."

Rachel and Angela cooed. Ian smirked.

"Yeah, yeah" Don waved them off, blushing. He glanced back at Amita and arched a brow. "Shouldn't you be changing?"

"Yeah. I'll go throw something else on," Amita said finally, feeling defeated. Her statement was met with three disbelieving faces.

"Throw something on?" Rachel repeated in horror.

"Have we taught you nothing?" Angela lamented.

"Do you even own anything that doesn't make you look like a grad student?" Ian questioned skeptically.

Don just buried his face in his hands before leveling a pleading look at Ian. "Try not to take all night?"

Before Amita could dwell on her outrage at Ian's comment or question Don's more cryptic one, Ian was herding her upstairs and towards the walk-in closet, her friends following closely behind.

Twenty minutes later and she was ready to pull her hair out in sheer frustration. Apparently every article of clothing she owned was in some way inadequate, ugly, or just plain unflattering in ways she'd never even considered.

"What about this?" she questioned; walking out in what felt like the hundredth outfit she'd tried on. She glanced mournfully at her discarded sweatpants.

"Oh no." Rachel protested, taking a sip of her refilled drink. Don had come up briefly, armed with more alcohol, but took one look at the closet and Amita's pleading expression, and hurriedly retreated with a smirk. Bastard was probably downstairs watching hockey.

Angela downed a shot and blew a raspberry at her. "Thumbs way down."

"Honey. That dress didn't even look good in the nineties when it was still in style," Ian informed her.

Amita was past even feeling hurt by the comments at this point, since between the three she'd already had her entire wardrobe torn apart. According to Angela, her favorite shirt made her look pregnant, her sexy jeans were tacky and juvenile in Rachel's opinion, and Ian loudly proclaimed that her favorite color was something only a colorblind 87-year-old cat lady had any right to be wearing.

But she was past all of that. She was. Now she was focusing on other things. Like how Ian seemed to be getting progressively more flamboyant with each drink. It was getting surreal. Angela and Rachel were treating him like they wanted to adopt him as their new best gay friend.

She wondered what they'd think if they knew the man they were discussing the latest runway trends with killed people for a living. That aside…

"Did you just call me honey?" she questioned Ian incredulously.

The sniper took no notice of her question, instead pushing past her into the closet, rifling through her clothing himself. "No… No… Definitely not. Oh god… Burn that please. Too frumpy… Too butch… Ahh. Perfect!"

Ian withdrew holding up a black mini-skirt triumphantly. "This is perfect."

"No," Amita shook her head rapidly. "That was from last Halloween when I went as Catwoman. I'm not wearing that."

"Yes." Ian replied solemnly. "Yes you are. And Rachel? Take off your shirt. The red will look better on Amita. You take this."

With that, Ian pulled out a blue top, one of the few in Amita's closet that no one had critiqued, and tossed it to her friend.

Amita waited for her friend's protest, but instead Rachel just shrugged, pulled off her own shirt, and handed it over with no thought to modesty. Amita stared at her for a moment, then glanced pointedly at Ian.

Rachel just rolled her eyes. "What? He's got his very own boytoy downstairs. It's not like he's checking me out or anything."

Ian snickered.

"Fine," Amita huffed out. With that she shrugged out of the dress she currently had on, snatched the mini-skirt from Ian, and redressed in full view of her audience. "Okay. Are we done now?"

"But… Your hair!" Angela exclaimed. "And make up. Ooh, and that skirt? You're gonna need heels. The slingbacks. Which means you need some polish on your crusty toenails."

Amita shook her head violently at that. "No. There is no way I have time to do all of that. No. I'll just go as is. I'll brush my hair out, throw on some mascara and be down in ten." She tried to sound firm, but the looks she was receiving said that no one was buying what she was selling.

In fact, the three were sizing her up in an almost predatory fashion.

"What makes you think we're going to let you do any of it?" Angela questioned.

Rachel spoke first. "I'll take care of the hair."

Angela looked at Ian. "Nails or makeup?"

Amita snorted. As if the sniper would know how-

"Makeup." Ian replied decisively, before turning back to Amita. "I hope you at least have decent makeup because neither of your friends are going to be able to help with that."

Amita rolled her eyes. She wasn't a complete fashion reject. She did understand that Rachel's pale complexion and Angela's milk chocolate tone meant their makeup would be less than useless on her skin. "The cabinet under the sink in the bathroom."

Ian smirked at her before turning on his heels and heading to the bathroom. He came back wielding her makeup case and a flat iron, which he passed over to Rachel.

Angela was already rooting through her nail polish collection when Ian flipped open the case. Amita was shocked when he rolled up his sleeves and began comparing a few different shades of eyeliner, shadow, and blush on his own arm.

"Have some practice with this?" Amita asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Ian threw all but the chosen shades back in the case and grinned at her, obviously picking up on the thought in her head. "I've got an older sister. She treated me like I was somewhere between trained monkey and servant when we were growing up. By the time prom rolled around, I think I was better at this than she was. Now hold still. I'm only doing this once."

Under the triple assault, Amita was ready in almost no time; the last thing was just waiting for her nails to dry so she could put on her shoes. The other three went back downstairs to grab one more drink before they left. Amita hoped that Don had sobered up from his earlier drinks, or else she was going to have to drive to her own party.

A knock drew her attention.

Don was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. "Nails done?" he questioned in an amused tone.

"Yeah," she replied petulantly.

He gave her a quick once over. "You clean up pretty well, nerd-girl."

"Thanks." She smirked. "Your boyfriend picked out my outfit… And did my makeup."

Don laughed. "Hey, he's got good taste. Seriously though? You look gorgeous."

She smiled at him, then after a beat questioned "So… Is Ian always so…" Amita trailed off with a hand gesture, unsure how to ask what she wanted to ask.

"You know the expression two-beer queer?" Don asked with a broad grin.

"Uh huh"

"Well with Ian, it's more like three drinks and he turns into a total flaming queen." Don stated matter-of-factly.

Amita snorted at the stark honestly. "Yeah? And how does that work out for you?"

"Well–" Don hedged.

"DON! Let's go!" Ian shouted up the stairs.

" –He can be a total diva." Don continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"We're waiting!"

"We're coming, your majesty!" Don shouted back, rolling his eyes at her. "But when we're alone?" he gave a low chuckle. "Let's just say it's good to be king."

Amita wasn't sure if she felt more like blushing or rolling her eyes at that. "Why…?" She wanted to ask why he was telling her so much, but then she realized it was more than that. This was the first time he'd really made an attempt to hang out with her, without Charlie or a case being involved. She wondered what had suddenly changed.

"You're going to be my sister." Don said simply, answering her unfinished question. He offered her a hand up. "And as for Ian? Well, we're kind of a package deal."

Feedback is always appreciated. :)