1 A/N: Eh, I don't know where the hell this is coming from when I'm
supposed to be writing Part II of "An End to All Things". But in other
news… Yeah, so, I don't know where this is going and if it will be more
than this part or what, but I'm open to suggestions. Enjoy.
Summary: What would have happened if Vaughn had taken Weiss up on his offer? This is all presuming the events of The Box (Part 1) didn't happen. Sydney's not being held hostage at Credit Dauphin or any of that good stuff. This is nothing more than S/V shippy goodness of the drunken variety. Take it as nothing more than that.
2
3 Under the Influence
Somewhere, deep down inside, I knew what I was doing was wrong. I walked quietly up the steps, watching my feet, careful to place each foot in front of the other. I didn't' weave, my speech wasn't slurred.
After all, I am a college graduate.
I knew I was drunk. Weiss was, if possible, more drunk then I was, so I shoved him into a cab. I'm not stupid enough to drink and drive, and I didn't feel like waiting for a cab, so I just started walking. And then I walked some more. And how I ended up here, I'll never know. Both physically and geographically it was impossible. There was no way I could have walked the forty three blocks it was from that bar to Sydney's apartment complex.
But why the hell would I know exactly how many blocks it is from any given location in LA to Sydney's house?
God, I've got issues.
Weiss is a good friend. Probably one of the best I've got. I've kept in touch with some of my college (drinking) buddies, but none of them know what I do. They're all either living off they're Daddy's trust funds or working middle management jobs for an internet company that will probably be bankrupt in another six months. When I have problems in my everyday life, my college buddies get together, take me to a strip club, and drink a lot. "No, honey, I'm not going to the strip bar to see the woman, we're going because Alice just dumped Mike and he needs to be cheered up." But then when it came down to it, they paid more attention to finding someone sober enough to go get singles than what problems I have.
With Weiss, on the other hand, I can bitch about work. I don't have to worry about a breech in national security when I'm getting drunk with him. We'd probably be a lot better off getting quietly drunk in one of our apartments then in the crowded bar that I ended up at tonight. But Weiss is a good liar and everyone there didn't really give a flying fuck about who was there as long they're glass remained empty.
Take it from me, my glass was never empty.
So, anyways, I knew that this was wrong soon as I realized where I'd walked too. But here I was, standing in front of her door, trying to master the complexity of the doorbell.
What the hell. I beat my fist against the door. The score? Michael Vaughn, one. Modern technology, such as the doorbell, zero.
When she got to the door, I was going to tell her something I've wanted to tell her for ages. Something I just need to tell her before I lose the courage. And by 'lose the courage' I mean 'sober up.'
The door began to open…cue the dramatic music…
"Sydney, I've been…" I froze, blinking rapidly. "You're not Sydney."
The blonde man stared at me for a moment. "Yeah, last I checked." He said at length, wiping his hands off on dishtowel he held. Either he was moving really slow, or I was blinking really fast.
"Can I please speak to Sydney?" If I had the wrong apartment… Or worse, if this was Sydney's boy toy.
Did I just say boy toy?
At least it wasn't out loud.
Can you be gay and never know it?
Nah, I think Sydney's hot. And I don't think this guy is. I think I'm okay.
I can't believe I thought 'boy toy'.
"Who the hell are you?" He asked, crossing his arms and blocking the doorway. Jeez. Overprotective much. I think he was trying to look tough, but he looked like the construction worker from the Village People.
"I'm a…" Hmm. Who am I again? To the civilians? "I'm…uh…a friend of Sydney's and I'd like to see her please." Smoooooooooth.
"Will…?" I hear her voice in the background. "Who's at the door?"
"SYD!" I yell, loud enough to have my own head spinning.
Sydney was at the door in a flash. "Vaughn, what's wrong? What happened?" She said, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the apartment, looking down both hallways before shutting the door quickly. "Were you followed?" She said, rushing around the room to pull blinds shut.
She's fast. So fast that I think I might need to sit down. I never realized how nice her ass was before now, either.
"What?" I said. "Can't I visit a friend of mine?" I tried a winning smile, but I know I only looked plastered. "Because we're friends, Syd." I pointed to her, then to me, then back to her again. "Yep. You and me are friends."
"Who the hell is he?" 'Will' asked, staring evilly at me. I don't think it was just the look on his face that was evil, either. I think he might just be evil. I had this lovely little mental image of him with horns and a pitchfork wearing a purple lounge suit. I giggled.
God. I giggled.
Sydney was staring open mouthed at me. This 'Will' guy, if that was even his name, was looking like he was about to go find a lightweight aluminum bat and end my thirty-four year stay on this earth.
"Are you…" Sydney finally broke the heavy silence. "You're not…"
"What?" I asked with what I hoped to be a charming smile.
"Have you been drinking?" Her voice hurts my head. But she's pretty, so it's okay.
I held up my hand, my fingers a couple centimeters are part. "Maybe a little." I said innocently.
"Oh my god." Sydney muttered. "You're smashed."
"Syd?" 'Will' asked again. "Who the hell is this guy? Do you want me to get him out of here."
"No, no." Sydney swore under her breath. "No, he's fine. He's a friend from work."
"Why did you ask him if he'd been followed?" 'Will' asked suspiciously.
"I have this bitch stalker ex girlfriend." I lied easily. "The restraining order doesn't do crap."
Sydney's mouth dropped open again. "Syd?" Will shifted slightly so he was standing next to Sydney. I don't know if he wanted to whisper to her, or found it easier to visually wish death upon me from that position. "Do you want me to get rid of this guy?"
I rolled my eyes (and my head) at 'Will'. He was being all male chauvinistic and the like, defending Sydney's honor. If he only knew that Sydney could forcibly remove me with one hand and a foot while maintaining a conversation on the proper dinner wear to use at a bah mitzvah. This guy, I have determined, is a total asshole.
"So, you must be Will." I offered a hand politely. "I've heard so much about you."
Will stared down at my hand, making no effort to shake it. "Yeah, I'm Will." He replied curtly.
Like I said, total asshole.
"Refresh me, Syd-en-ney." I drug her name out into three of the most dramatic syllables of my life. "Is this the one who is always harassing you about your job and cant seem to remove the stick from his ass? Or was that the…oh wait, no, it was him." I smiled again, first at Sydney, then a smarmy little smirk at Will.
God, it's quiet in this place. I had four sisters. It was never quiet in my house. There was always someone wanting you to tell them they're ass didn't look fat in those pants, when it always did.
So I started humming. Yep, it's not quiet anymore.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Will finally said.
"I'm Michael Vaughn." I smiled again and momentarily wondered which of my sisters would benefit most from my untimely death. Probably Megan. "I tried to shake my hand, but you were too busy being antisocial."
I think I went momentarily brain dead when Will's fist made close friends with my face. Stuff was moving around me, Sydney shoving Will back and saying some stuff, and Will shaking his hand out and stalking out of the room. I think Sydney might have said something to me, but I could care less right now.
Ouch.
Son of a bitch.
Ouch.
I touched my mouth gently. Asshole. Fucking asshole. That was uncalled for. What the hell did he hit me for? Does he know who he's fucking messing with here? I'm Special Fucking Agent Michael Vaughn of the Central Fucking Intelligence Agency. I could fucking kick his ass.
Asshole.
I've got a growing list of asses that need kicking. I'm going to track each one of them down. Right now. Starting with the sexually repressed fake blonde in the other room.
Just as soon as the room stopped spinning.
Sydney stepped back into the room a moment later, just as I crawled onto the couch. "I think I'm dying of blood loss." I muttered, laying my head down on an overly decorated pillow and closing my eyes. "But soon as I'm better, I'm going to kick his ass."
"Oh, shut up, Vaughn." I heard her snap at me before dropping a plastic baggie full of ice, none to gently mind you, onto my back. "If you get blood on my couch, so help me God…" She trailed off as she exited again.
Man. This sucks. I just wanted to give Sydney one message. Just one little message. You try to be nice; you get punched in the face. Literally. My face hurts, and I'm still drunk. When I'm sober again, it's going to hurt really badly.
Maybe if I stay drunk for the next three days, it wont hurt so badly. Half the people at the agency are raging alcoholics anyway, I might as well conform.
I heard stomping feet and opened my eyes long enough to see the latest edition to my growing hit list stomp past my position on the couch, shooting me the tiniest of glares before ripping the door open. If he were a chick (and you cant be sure he's not) he would have totally flipped his hair.
"Will, I'll call you tomorrow!" Sydney called after him dejectedly. Lucky bastard. I miss the simplest things, sometimes. I want to be able to call Sydney. I really hate Will now.
Sydney's pretty scary when she wants to be. I think she wants to be now. Because if I wasn't so dizzy, I'd be slowly (read: quickly) getting the hell out of here. "You. Kitchen. Now." She said with her teeth clenched and her hands at fists at her sides.
The kitchen had knives. Crap.
If I could have crawled and maintained my dignity, I would have. But, I'm somewhat dignified, or at least I try to be, so I managed to get myself into a mostly upright position and stagger into the kitchen.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Sydney began her rant. "Do you have any clue how dangerous this is? You can't even leave now! I'm stuck here with you, you're fucking tanked, you made me and my best friend get into a fight, and there is a good chance that surveillance might have seen you come in." Sydney slammed a bottle of antiseptic on the counter with a loud crack. "Not to mention how you look like hell. Were you hit by a car somewhere between whatever rat hole you crawled out of and here?"
I certainly hope not. But now wasn't the time to reply to her. Marianne was the most dramatic of my family. Being her older brother taught me many things in life.
Sydney made a jerky hand signal and I sat down in the chair she'd pulled in front of the counter. If she were nice, she'd make my death quick and painless. But judging from the amount of crap she had laid out on the counter, it wasn't going to be fun. "God damn it, Vaughn." She repeated, but sighed.
"How come I call you by your first name, but you never call my by mine?" I asked. The question seemed to take her off balance a moment, her hand pausing on the bottle of antiseptic she was opening.
"Force of habit, I guess." She said softly. "Does it bother you?"
I jerked a shoulder silently. I, honestly, had no idea. While the drunk side of me wanted nothing more than to just hear his first name from her lips once, the sober side understood that going on a complete first name basis would pretty much confirm the fact that they were well beyond what an agent/handler should be.
We lapsed into silence momentarily, Sydney crouching down to play nurse. I was fixating on her lips when she touched the cotton ball to my skin. Instinctively, I swore, my arm flying up to knock her hand away.
I swear she called me a wuss.
"That stings." I hissed.
"I'm sorry, I misplaced my hydrochloric acid."
"Ha. Ha. HA." I muttered.
"Hey, don't get bitchy with me." Sydney muttered, moving in for the kill once again. "You deserve everything you get."
"Need I remind you, he hit me? But I don't see you getting mad at him." I said defensively. "'I'll call you tomorrow'" I mocked in a high-pitched voice.
Sydney stared at me blandly. "It's your own fault." She said. "You're lucky Will hits like a girl. I, on the other hand, don't."
I took it as a good sign when she touched the cotton ball to my lip again, gently this time. Not that it made it hurt any less. It's the thought that counts, and all that. Hell, if it weren't for that whole pride thing, I'd so be begging for mercy.
"You have really pretty eyes." When her hand jerked, I hissed, and then I realized that I had been speaking out loud. Whoa. That had come out of nowhere. Well, not out of nowhere, per say. I think it all the time, but still…
I'm so blaming that one on the alcohol.
Sydney took a wary step back. "Okay. That should heal in a couple of days." She said. She has this way of sounding cold, absolutely frigid, without changing the tone of her voice at all. I really hate it. Its like a brick wall was erected between us. I really hate it.
"I'm sorry." I said for a lack of anything better. Okay, since the words were pretty slurred, it kind of lost all the meaning. But then again, I'm really not sorry anyway, so it's okay.
Sydney shrugged her shoulders. "For what?" She asked, trying to be the supportive friend, acting like I've done nothing wrong when I know she's still pissed at me.
"For all this, for tonight." I said lifting my hand momentarily, then dropping it, wondering why I wasted the energy to do it in the first place. "I'm sorry, I know I ruined one of your few nights off." Again, I'm really not sorry. Even if I'll have the hangover from hell tomorrow when I'm meeting with Barnett, sitting here in her kitchen, looking up into her eyes… He was so used to seeing her in crisp business suits, with her hair neatly combed. The ratty jeans and long sleeved tee shirt might not be on the top of most guys' fantasy lists, but she could make a burlap bag sexy.
"Oh, Vaughn." She said quietly. "You didn't ruin my night. I'm just worried… I'd love nothing more than be able to have you over here, like normal people manage to do every day, but…" She took another step back, another layer to the brick wall. "You need to get some sleep." She said simply. "We cant risk you leaving tonight, if SD6 saw you, I can make up a story a lot easier if you leave in the morning."
"And what kind of story would that be?" I'm so fucking stupid. I mean, what the hell was I thinking showing up here? I know that SD6 has her watched half the time. God. I've either screwed over the CIA, made Sydney's life more difficult, or both. Maybe more. I drank a lot, but I still understood that.
"One night stand." Sydney smiled. "It's so unlike me, that they'd have to believe it."
I opened my mouth, but couldn't think up anything to say. My thoughts were quickly straying into a dangerous area. All she had to do was say 'one night stand, which led to SD6 thinking they were having sex, which led to the question of what it would be like if we were really having sex, which led to the thought that if they would be having sex, it wouldn't be a one night stand, because I wouldn't let her out of bed for twice that.
I shot Sydney a lopsided grin and was immensely happy she wasn't psychic.
A sudden thought struck me. "Oh!!" I said, jumping to my feet. I swayed enough to have Sydney rushing forward to grab me.
"Why don't you lay down for a while?" She said, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading me towards a door.
"No, I'm fine." I insisted. I'd have pushed her away, but it wasn't often that I got to stand this close to her. So instead, I draped my arm over her shoulder and played along. I couldn't stop the grin, though.
Maybe I could talk her into lying down with me.
I had a sudden image of robot with flailing arms. 'Danger, danger Michael Vaughn, danger.'
"I remembered why I had to come over here." I said, reverting back to a safer topic.
"Oh." Sydney said, leading me down a hallway.
"Yeah. I did have a reason." I reminded. "I wouldn't just show up here, uninvited, unless it was a good reason."
"Okay. Mind sharing it with me?"
"It's about the King's game." I started. "I would love to go, and even besides the whole SD6 killing us both deal, I already promised Maureen I'd take her kid for her birthday."
"And Maureen is..." Sydney asked.
"My sister. My niece, Shelby, is a huge hockey fan. She's turning five and I'm taking her to her first game." I said proudly.
Sydney burst out in laughter. What's so funny about taking my niece to a hockey game?
"You're telling me that you came all the way over here, risking your job should Devlin find out that you came here, risking my cover if SD6 is watching me tonight, and getting me in a huge fight with one of my best friends because you wanted me to know that your niece Shelby is a King's fan?"
"It sounds pretty stupid when you say it like that." I said defensively.
"Just a suggestion, Vaughn." Sydney pushed open a door and led him inside. "Only drink when you're on vacation, far away from matters of nation security."
I narrowed my eyes before I realized where I was.
Sydney's bedroom.
A place that dreams are made of.
Hmmm. It wasn't a robot anymore, but Devlin waving a pink slip. 'Danger, danger Michael Vaughn. Your job is in danger.'
I should have stayed at the bar. I should have just taken a cab home. I should have stayed in law school and told the CIA recruiter to fuck off. Most of all, I should have left about ten minutes ago, before she took me to her bedroom.
Because now that I know what her bedroom looks like, I won't be forgetting any time soon. In fact, it's hard enough to keep her out of my head, but now I'll have the mental image of her lying in bed with nothing more than a blanket and a smile.
And the blanket is optional.
"Hmm." I managed. Before I knew what was happening, I had been shoved into another chair while Sydney went over and pulled the blanket down. She crossed back to me, grabbing my hand and dragging me up again. She must associate being drunk with being mentally retarded and being incapable of basic motor functions like walking across a room. But I leaned on her anyway. She felt good.
"Okay." Sydney said, pushing me down on to the bed. "Let's lose the jacket." She said, beginning to pull at my sleeves.
I always did like aggressive women. "I can do it." I muttered, shoving her hands away.
I pulled the jacket off quickly. "Your turn." I said with a hopeful smile.
"Ha. Ha." Sydney said sarcastically. "Can you manage the tie too?"
"I don't know." I said. "I think I might need some help." My smile was what I hoped to be flirtatious, but judging by the way Sydney rolled her eyes at me, I probably failed.
I was mildly surprised when she reached up and yanked off my tie. Florence Nightingale, she was not.
"Get some sleep." She said. "And don't throw up in my bed."
I was still sitting, my tie and jacket lying at the end of the bed. I was in Sydney's bed. In. Syd's. Bed.
And she was telling me not to throw up there.
The whole situation is absurd.
What the hell.
"Syd?"
I'd probably question why I did it for days to come. I might say 'I had nothing to lose' but in reality, I could have lost everything. My job, my friend, everything that was anything in my life at this point in time.
"Yeah?" She asked, turning back to me. I grabbed her hand and drug her against me, drowning her yelp of surprise with my lips.
She went stiff, pulling back, but it was too late to turn back now. Before she could completely pull back, I dug my fingers into her hair, the clip that had been holding it back hitting the floor with a distant clatter.
When she remained stiff, I would have sworn if my mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. My mind went blank. I had he distinct feeling I had just made the biggest mistake in my life.
My tongue ran over her closed lips. Then she all but melted against me.
That was unexpected.
Her hands flew over me, down my back, up my chest, around my neck, through my hair. Her mouth opened, tongue meeting mine, running over it, around it. The smallest of moans escaped my lips as she straddled me, pushing me back.
My head was spinning, but it had nothing to do with alcohol now.
I rolled, pushing her under me, my hand slipping under the hem of her shirt. My fingers ran across her stomach, the tight muscles trembling under my fingers. Her head rolled back, moaning breathily, allowing me to kiss along her jaw, scraping my teeth along her skin.
She ran her fingers through my hair once more. "Michael." She whispered.
So that's all it took to get her to use my first name.
I couldn't explain the ringing ears. I was dizzy as hell. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd be seeing things in double.
I couldn't get enough of her. A ran my lips down her neck, around to lightly suck at the slight indentation of her throat, feeling the pulse jump under my mouth.
And then I passed out.
Summary: What would have happened if Vaughn had taken Weiss up on his offer? This is all presuming the events of The Box (Part 1) didn't happen. Sydney's not being held hostage at Credit Dauphin or any of that good stuff. This is nothing more than S/V shippy goodness of the drunken variety. Take it as nothing more than that.
2
3 Under the Influence
Somewhere, deep down inside, I knew what I was doing was wrong. I walked quietly up the steps, watching my feet, careful to place each foot in front of the other. I didn't' weave, my speech wasn't slurred.
After all, I am a college graduate.
I knew I was drunk. Weiss was, if possible, more drunk then I was, so I shoved him into a cab. I'm not stupid enough to drink and drive, and I didn't feel like waiting for a cab, so I just started walking. And then I walked some more. And how I ended up here, I'll never know. Both physically and geographically it was impossible. There was no way I could have walked the forty three blocks it was from that bar to Sydney's apartment complex.
But why the hell would I know exactly how many blocks it is from any given location in LA to Sydney's house?
God, I've got issues.
Weiss is a good friend. Probably one of the best I've got. I've kept in touch with some of my college (drinking) buddies, but none of them know what I do. They're all either living off they're Daddy's trust funds or working middle management jobs for an internet company that will probably be bankrupt in another six months. When I have problems in my everyday life, my college buddies get together, take me to a strip club, and drink a lot. "No, honey, I'm not going to the strip bar to see the woman, we're going because Alice just dumped Mike and he needs to be cheered up." But then when it came down to it, they paid more attention to finding someone sober enough to go get singles than what problems I have.
With Weiss, on the other hand, I can bitch about work. I don't have to worry about a breech in national security when I'm getting drunk with him. We'd probably be a lot better off getting quietly drunk in one of our apartments then in the crowded bar that I ended up at tonight. But Weiss is a good liar and everyone there didn't really give a flying fuck about who was there as long they're glass remained empty.
Take it from me, my glass was never empty.
So, anyways, I knew that this was wrong soon as I realized where I'd walked too. But here I was, standing in front of her door, trying to master the complexity of the doorbell.
What the hell. I beat my fist against the door. The score? Michael Vaughn, one. Modern technology, such as the doorbell, zero.
When she got to the door, I was going to tell her something I've wanted to tell her for ages. Something I just need to tell her before I lose the courage. And by 'lose the courage' I mean 'sober up.'
The door began to open…cue the dramatic music…
"Sydney, I've been…" I froze, blinking rapidly. "You're not Sydney."
The blonde man stared at me for a moment. "Yeah, last I checked." He said at length, wiping his hands off on dishtowel he held. Either he was moving really slow, or I was blinking really fast.
"Can I please speak to Sydney?" If I had the wrong apartment… Or worse, if this was Sydney's boy toy.
Did I just say boy toy?
At least it wasn't out loud.
Can you be gay and never know it?
Nah, I think Sydney's hot. And I don't think this guy is. I think I'm okay.
I can't believe I thought 'boy toy'.
"Who the hell are you?" He asked, crossing his arms and blocking the doorway. Jeez. Overprotective much. I think he was trying to look tough, but he looked like the construction worker from the Village People.
"I'm a…" Hmm. Who am I again? To the civilians? "I'm…uh…a friend of Sydney's and I'd like to see her please." Smoooooooooth.
"Will…?" I hear her voice in the background. "Who's at the door?"
"SYD!" I yell, loud enough to have my own head spinning.
Sydney was at the door in a flash. "Vaughn, what's wrong? What happened?" She said, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the apartment, looking down both hallways before shutting the door quickly. "Were you followed?" She said, rushing around the room to pull blinds shut.
She's fast. So fast that I think I might need to sit down. I never realized how nice her ass was before now, either.
"What?" I said. "Can't I visit a friend of mine?" I tried a winning smile, but I know I only looked plastered. "Because we're friends, Syd." I pointed to her, then to me, then back to her again. "Yep. You and me are friends."
"Who the hell is he?" 'Will' asked, staring evilly at me. I don't think it was just the look on his face that was evil, either. I think he might just be evil. I had this lovely little mental image of him with horns and a pitchfork wearing a purple lounge suit. I giggled.
God. I giggled.
Sydney was staring open mouthed at me. This 'Will' guy, if that was even his name, was looking like he was about to go find a lightweight aluminum bat and end my thirty-four year stay on this earth.
"Are you…" Sydney finally broke the heavy silence. "You're not…"
"What?" I asked with what I hoped to be a charming smile.
"Have you been drinking?" Her voice hurts my head. But she's pretty, so it's okay.
I held up my hand, my fingers a couple centimeters are part. "Maybe a little." I said innocently.
"Oh my god." Sydney muttered. "You're smashed."
"Syd?" 'Will' asked again. "Who the hell is this guy? Do you want me to get him out of here."
"No, no." Sydney swore under her breath. "No, he's fine. He's a friend from work."
"Why did you ask him if he'd been followed?" 'Will' asked suspiciously.
"I have this bitch stalker ex girlfriend." I lied easily. "The restraining order doesn't do crap."
Sydney's mouth dropped open again. "Syd?" Will shifted slightly so he was standing next to Sydney. I don't know if he wanted to whisper to her, or found it easier to visually wish death upon me from that position. "Do you want me to get rid of this guy?"
I rolled my eyes (and my head) at 'Will'. He was being all male chauvinistic and the like, defending Sydney's honor. If he only knew that Sydney could forcibly remove me with one hand and a foot while maintaining a conversation on the proper dinner wear to use at a bah mitzvah. This guy, I have determined, is a total asshole.
"So, you must be Will." I offered a hand politely. "I've heard so much about you."
Will stared down at my hand, making no effort to shake it. "Yeah, I'm Will." He replied curtly.
Like I said, total asshole.
"Refresh me, Syd-en-ney." I drug her name out into three of the most dramatic syllables of my life. "Is this the one who is always harassing you about your job and cant seem to remove the stick from his ass? Or was that the…oh wait, no, it was him." I smiled again, first at Sydney, then a smarmy little smirk at Will.
God, it's quiet in this place. I had four sisters. It was never quiet in my house. There was always someone wanting you to tell them they're ass didn't look fat in those pants, when it always did.
So I started humming. Yep, it's not quiet anymore.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Will finally said.
"I'm Michael Vaughn." I smiled again and momentarily wondered which of my sisters would benefit most from my untimely death. Probably Megan. "I tried to shake my hand, but you were too busy being antisocial."
I think I went momentarily brain dead when Will's fist made close friends with my face. Stuff was moving around me, Sydney shoving Will back and saying some stuff, and Will shaking his hand out and stalking out of the room. I think Sydney might have said something to me, but I could care less right now.
Ouch.
Son of a bitch.
Ouch.
I touched my mouth gently. Asshole. Fucking asshole. That was uncalled for. What the hell did he hit me for? Does he know who he's fucking messing with here? I'm Special Fucking Agent Michael Vaughn of the Central Fucking Intelligence Agency. I could fucking kick his ass.
Asshole.
I've got a growing list of asses that need kicking. I'm going to track each one of them down. Right now. Starting with the sexually repressed fake blonde in the other room.
Just as soon as the room stopped spinning.
Sydney stepped back into the room a moment later, just as I crawled onto the couch. "I think I'm dying of blood loss." I muttered, laying my head down on an overly decorated pillow and closing my eyes. "But soon as I'm better, I'm going to kick his ass."
"Oh, shut up, Vaughn." I heard her snap at me before dropping a plastic baggie full of ice, none to gently mind you, onto my back. "If you get blood on my couch, so help me God…" She trailed off as she exited again.
Man. This sucks. I just wanted to give Sydney one message. Just one little message. You try to be nice; you get punched in the face. Literally. My face hurts, and I'm still drunk. When I'm sober again, it's going to hurt really badly.
Maybe if I stay drunk for the next three days, it wont hurt so badly. Half the people at the agency are raging alcoholics anyway, I might as well conform.
I heard stomping feet and opened my eyes long enough to see the latest edition to my growing hit list stomp past my position on the couch, shooting me the tiniest of glares before ripping the door open. If he were a chick (and you cant be sure he's not) he would have totally flipped his hair.
"Will, I'll call you tomorrow!" Sydney called after him dejectedly. Lucky bastard. I miss the simplest things, sometimes. I want to be able to call Sydney. I really hate Will now.
Sydney's pretty scary when she wants to be. I think she wants to be now. Because if I wasn't so dizzy, I'd be slowly (read: quickly) getting the hell out of here. "You. Kitchen. Now." She said with her teeth clenched and her hands at fists at her sides.
The kitchen had knives. Crap.
If I could have crawled and maintained my dignity, I would have. But, I'm somewhat dignified, or at least I try to be, so I managed to get myself into a mostly upright position and stagger into the kitchen.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Sydney began her rant. "Do you have any clue how dangerous this is? You can't even leave now! I'm stuck here with you, you're fucking tanked, you made me and my best friend get into a fight, and there is a good chance that surveillance might have seen you come in." Sydney slammed a bottle of antiseptic on the counter with a loud crack. "Not to mention how you look like hell. Were you hit by a car somewhere between whatever rat hole you crawled out of and here?"
I certainly hope not. But now wasn't the time to reply to her. Marianne was the most dramatic of my family. Being her older brother taught me many things in life.
Sydney made a jerky hand signal and I sat down in the chair she'd pulled in front of the counter. If she were nice, she'd make my death quick and painless. But judging from the amount of crap she had laid out on the counter, it wasn't going to be fun. "God damn it, Vaughn." She repeated, but sighed.
"How come I call you by your first name, but you never call my by mine?" I asked. The question seemed to take her off balance a moment, her hand pausing on the bottle of antiseptic she was opening.
"Force of habit, I guess." She said softly. "Does it bother you?"
I jerked a shoulder silently. I, honestly, had no idea. While the drunk side of me wanted nothing more than to just hear his first name from her lips once, the sober side understood that going on a complete first name basis would pretty much confirm the fact that they were well beyond what an agent/handler should be.
We lapsed into silence momentarily, Sydney crouching down to play nurse. I was fixating on her lips when she touched the cotton ball to my skin. Instinctively, I swore, my arm flying up to knock her hand away.
I swear she called me a wuss.
"That stings." I hissed.
"I'm sorry, I misplaced my hydrochloric acid."
"Ha. Ha. HA." I muttered.
"Hey, don't get bitchy with me." Sydney muttered, moving in for the kill once again. "You deserve everything you get."
"Need I remind you, he hit me? But I don't see you getting mad at him." I said defensively. "'I'll call you tomorrow'" I mocked in a high-pitched voice.
Sydney stared at me blandly. "It's your own fault." She said. "You're lucky Will hits like a girl. I, on the other hand, don't."
I took it as a good sign when she touched the cotton ball to my lip again, gently this time. Not that it made it hurt any less. It's the thought that counts, and all that. Hell, if it weren't for that whole pride thing, I'd so be begging for mercy.
"You have really pretty eyes." When her hand jerked, I hissed, and then I realized that I had been speaking out loud. Whoa. That had come out of nowhere. Well, not out of nowhere, per say. I think it all the time, but still…
I'm so blaming that one on the alcohol.
Sydney took a wary step back. "Okay. That should heal in a couple of days." She said. She has this way of sounding cold, absolutely frigid, without changing the tone of her voice at all. I really hate it. Its like a brick wall was erected between us. I really hate it.
"I'm sorry." I said for a lack of anything better. Okay, since the words were pretty slurred, it kind of lost all the meaning. But then again, I'm really not sorry anyway, so it's okay.
Sydney shrugged her shoulders. "For what?" She asked, trying to be the supportive friend, acting like I've done nothing wrong when I know she's still pissed at me.
"For all this, for tonight." I said lifting my hand momentarily, then dropping it, wondering why I wasted the energy to do it in the first place. "I'm sorry, I know I ruined one of your few nights off." Again, I'm really not sorry. Even if I'll have the hangover from hell tomorrow when I'm meeting with Barnett, sitting here in her kitchen, looking up into her eyes… He was so used to seeing her in crisp business suits, with her hair neatly combed. The ratty jeans and long sleeved tee shirt might not be on the top of most guys' fantasy lists, but she could make a burlap bag sexy.
"Oh, Vaughn." She said quietly. "You didn't ruin my night. I'm just worried… I'd love nothing more than be able to have you over here, like normal people manage to do every day, but…" She took another step back, another layer to the brick wall. "You need to get some sleep." She said simply. "We cant risk you leaving tonight, if SD6 saw you, I can make up a story a lot easier if you leave in the morning."
"And what kind of story would that be?" I'm so fucking stupid. I mean, what the hell was I thinking showing up here? I know that SD6 has her watched half the time. God. I've either screwed over the CIA, made Sydney's life more difficult, or both. Maybe more. I drank a lot, but I still understood that.
"One night stand." Sydney smiled. "It's so unlike me, that they'd have to believe it."
I opened my mouth, but couldn't think up anything to say. My thoughts were quickly straying into a dangerous area. All she had to do was say 'one night stand, which led to SD6 thinking they were having sex, which led to the question of what it would be like if we were really having sex, which led to the thought that if they would be having sex, it wouldn't be a one night stand, because I wouldn't let her out of bed for twice that.
I shot Sydney a lopsided grin and was immensely happy she wasn't psychic.
A sudden thought struck me. "Oh!!" I said, jumping to my feet. I swayed enough to have Sydney rushing forward to grab me.
"Why don't you lay down for a while?" She said, wrapping an arm around my waist and leading me towards a door.
"No, I'm fine." I insisted. I'd have pushed her away, but it wasn't often that I got to stand this close to her. So instead, I draped my arm over her shoulder and played along. I couldn't stop the grin, though.
Maybe I could talk her into lying down with me.
I had a sudden image of robot with flailing arms. 'Danger, danger Michael Vaughn, danger.'
"I remembered why I had to come over here." I said, reverting back to a safer topic.
"Oh." Sydney said, leading me down a hallway.
"Yeah. I did have a reason." I reminded. "I wouldn't just show up here, uninvited, unless it was a good reason."
"Okay. Mind sharing it with me?"
"It's about the King's game." I started. "I would love to go, and even besides the whole SD6 killing us both deal, I already promised Maureen I'd take her kid for her birthday."
"And Maureen is..." Sydney asked.
"My sister. My niece, Shelby, is a huge hockey fan. She's turning five and I'm taking her to her first game." I said proudly.
Sydney burst out in laughter. What's so funny about taking my niece to a hockey game?
"You're telling me that you came all the way over here, risking your job should Devlin find out that you came here, risking my cover if SD6 is watching me tonight, and getting me in a huge fight with one of my best friends because you wanted me to know that your niece Shelby is a King's fan?"
"It sounds pretty stupid when you say it like that." I said defensively.
"Just a suggestion, Vaughn." Sydney pushed open a door and led him inside. "Only drink when you're on vacation, far away from matters of nation security."
I narrowed my eyes before I realized where I was.
Sydney's bedroom.
A place that dreams are made of.
Hmmm. It wasn't a robot anymore, but Devlin waving a pink slip. 'Danger, danger Michael Vaughn. Your job is in danger.'
I should have stayed at the bar. I should have just taken a cab home. I should have stayed in law school and told the CIA recruiter to fuck off. Most of all, I should have left about ten minutes ago, before she took me to her bedroom.
Because now that I know what her bedroom looks like, I won't be forgetting any time soon. In fact, it's hard enough to keep her out of my head, but now I'll have the mental image of her lying in bed with nothing more than a blanket and a smile.
And the blanket is optional.
"Hmm." I managed. Before I knew what was happening, I had been shoved into another chair while Sydney went over and pulled the blanket down. She crossed back to me, grabbing my hand and dragging me up again. She must associate being drunk with being mentally retarded and being incapable of basic motor functions like walking across a room. But I leaned on her anyway. She felt good.
"Okay." Sydney said, pushing me down on to the bed. "Let's lose the jacket." She said, beginning to pull at my sleeves.
I always did like aggressive women. "I can do it." I muttered, shoving her hands away.
I pulled the jacket off quickly. "Your turn." I said with a hopeful smile.
"Ha. Ha." Sydney said sarcastically. "Can you manage the tie too?"
"I don't know." I said. "I think I might need some help." My smile was what I hoped to be flirtatious, but judging by the way Sydney rolled her eyes at me, I probably failed.
I was mildly surprised when she reached up and yanked off my tie. Florence Nightingale, she was not.
"Get some sleep." She said. "And don't throw up in my bed."
I was still sitting, my tie and jacket lying at the end of the bed. I was in Sydney's bed. In. Syd's. Bed.
And she was telling me not to throw up there.
The whole situation is absurd.
What the hell.
"Syd?"
I'd probably question why I did it for days to come. I might say 'I had nothing to lose' but in reality, I could have lost everything. My job, my friend, everything that was anything in my life at this point in time.
"Yeah?" She asked, turning back to me. I grabbed her hand and drug her against me, drowning her yelp of surprise with my lips.
She went stiff, pulling back, but it was too late to turn back now. Before she could completely pull back, I dug my fingers into her hair, the clip that had been holding it back hitting the floor with a distant clatter.
When she remained stiff, I would have sworn if my mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied. My mind went blank. I had he distinct feeling I had just made the biggest mistake in my life.
My tongue ran over her closed lips. Then she all but melted against me.
That was unexpected.
Her hands flew over me, down my back, up my chest, around my neck, through my hair. Her mouth opened, tongue meeting mine, running over it, around it. The smallest of moans escaped my lips as she straddled me, pushing me back.
My head was spinning, but it had nothing to do with alcohol now.
I rolled, pushing her under me, my hand slipping under the hem of her shirt. My fingers ran across her stomach, the tight muscles trembling under my fingers. Her head rolled back, moaning breathily, allowing me to kiss along her jaw, scraping my teeth along her skin.
She ran her fingers through my hair once more. "Michael." She whispered.
So that's all it took to get her to use my first name.
I couldn't explain the ringing ears. I was dizzy as hell. I knew if I opened my eyes, I'd be seeing things in double.
I couldn't get enough of her. A ran my lips down her neck, around to lightly suck at the slight indentation of her throat, feeling the pulse jump under my mouth.
And then I passed out.