I know that I'm in the process of another story called 'You Were Dead' and I'm still updating it, however, the idea for this story popped into my head the other day while between classes at the University. This story takes place immediately after the first few episodes of Season 2. Vaughn returned home safely...Syd never disappeared, the REAL Francie is alive, and Will is on the show. Also, Irina is still in CIA custody. It's a bit different and may not make sense initially, but I promise it will have a plot. ENJOY.
LOCATION: London, Deserted Hotel.
L. J. glanced at her watch, her demeanor growing more impatient. He should be here by now, she thought, gazing down the small corridor she was currently standing within.
All their meetings were like this. Instead of a normal social meeting, mini-golf, sight-seeing, movie-watching or the like, they met in cold, damp alleyways or dark condemned apartment buildings.
She was twenty-two years old, still attending school at Oxford. She was constantly observed by the public - that was generally the territory of being the daughter of a man of prestige such as her father. She was not entirely sure how she managed to escape to these rendevous unnoticed, nor was she sure how she had ever stumbled across a man like Alexander.
He was a beautiful man; of that she was certain. Blond hair framed a chiseled face resembling the works of famous sculptors. His lips, full and scrumptious, rarely formed a smile, but when they did, the effects were breathtaking. The light that surrounded his entire being almost drowned out the dark places in which their encounters took place. Almost.
He was a mystery - she did not even know his last name - or what he did for a living. These facts disturbed her, though it was most certainly the intrigue that inspired more meetings between them. She did not love him, nor did she pretend to - she did not know enough of him, quite simply. However, she enjoyed their exchange of banter, his pointed looks (those beautiful ice-blue eyes) and the debates that occurred between them on an assortment of topics.
It could be said that their meetings were quite restricted - they could only meet in certain locales, as stated before, however it was these 'stolen' moments that were the most liberating to L.J. Being the daughter of Michael James was stifling, to say the very least.
In broad daylight, L.J. was the perfect woman - well-rounded, intelligent, witty and beautiful. Her long flowing dark brown hair and fiery hazel eyes mirrored her personality. She was in her senior year at Oxford, majoring in English, planning to become a professor in the future.
In these moments with Alexander she was free to be herself. She was no longer the daughter of an ambassador. She was no longer a student with an excessively high grade point average. She was no longer a slave to her own inhibitions. Do not be confused - she was never intimate with this mystery man - she had strict morals that she never compromised. However, he had her heart, her emotions - he had her reeled in.
She was snapped out her thoughts when she heard footsteps on the floor, beyond her line of vision. He was here. Who else would be in this forsaken place? This knowledge was confirmed when he stepped around the corner. He smiled slightly, that glorious and devilishly lopsided smirk she had grown to love. She returned the smile, as he strode to her with confidence - she did not consider it a swagger, for he was not exactly arrogant - he was simply smarter and more beautiful than most - and he knew it.
"L.J," he said at last, kissing her outstretched hand, his voice soft.
"So nice to see you Alexander. I've been looking forward to this," she stated, her gaze never shifting from his own.
"As have I. Shall we?" he asked, placing a hand on the small of her back, gesturing to a closed door nearby. She only nodded, allowing him to guide her steps. He opened the door, revealing a dark, but well-furnished room, where they took seats on opposite side of the quarters. They sat in comfortable silence, both relaxed in arm chairs, gazing at each other.
"Alexander," she started, breaking the silence, "it's been a while since you contacted me." He only nodded. She continued, "Why not? You know that tonight is the ball at the embassy."
"Yes, I am quite aware. You know I've never forgotten anything."
"Yes," she answered. "You have an eerily photographic memory." He nodded again. This situation was beginning to arouse anger within her. She only wished he would come to a point.
"You still have not answered my question Alexander. Why tonight?" He smirked at her, which only irritated her more. Sensing this irritation, he stifled laughter. One thing could be said - she was startlingly beautiful when she was livid.
"All your questions will be answered tonight," he spoke softly, never missing a beat, "including who I am." Her eyes widened at this admission. This was strange - she had not acquired much knowledge of this man, but she knew he would never willingly offer information about himself.
Her level of fright only escalated when he lifted himself out of his chair, closing the distance between them. He hovered over her, his hands on the arms of her chair. She shivered as he lowered his face to within inches of her own; his breath warm on her face. He leaned into her tentatively, and his lips met her own as quickly at they removed their sweet kiss.
"I've wanted to do that for a few months, my sweet," he said huskily, "First and last kiss," he finished. Though this phrase frightened her, she also noted a trace of sadness within his own voice. A brief removal of the steely gaze of his eyes unmasked an expression she had never beheld - of love, longing. It was immediately replaced with a cold gaze, another expression she had never seen in his eyes.
"I'm sorry love," he spoke, somewhat forcefully before knocking L.J. unconscious.