A/N: This is a little bit of AU Wucy/Lyatt fluff based on Alodis' original ideas inspired by Matt Lanter's delightful photoshoot spread in LaPalme Magazine. Comments and reviews are most welcome! Especially for Alodis, without whose brilliant ideas none of these collaborative fics would exist.

The sound of sleigh bells rang in the air. Even coming as they did from giant speakers, perched up above the red carpet walkway, there was something about their sound. They brought a warm feeling to Wyatt Logan's heart despite the cool December Los Angeles evening air. The flashing lights on the other hand, could take a flying jump. He braced himself to get excited for this opportunity. All of Hollywood was turning out, and he would be rubbing elbows with headliners. But if he had his druthers, he'd be spending a quiet evening remembering better times and happier days. He promised himself a solitary cup of cheer after the photo-shoot and holiday gala were all over with.

He had thought he was used to crowds, but the cheering (or even jeering) groups of servicemen and women he'd worked with in the past had always given him a sense of kinship. Here the jostling throng of (over-)dressed actors, journalists (to be charitable) and handlers on the red carpet made him feel alone. And that crowd was dwarfed by the murmuring sea of fans. Their seeking glances coasted over his at first. Initially this nettled him, until the tide turned and a crush of predominately female gazes alighted on him. A murmur of curiosity became a grasping cacophony of questions, cries and whoops asking, "Who is he?" "What's his name?" and "Where's your date, blue eyes?" Instinctively, he leaned in and ducked his head against the wash of attention, as if he was facing the blast of a helicopter rotor on landing. His publicist corrected his error promptly.

"Straighten up. Smile at the ladies. Come on, you can do better than that. Wave at them. This is your moment to shine. Take up space and make a splash, Master Sergeant."

Doing his best to follow directions, Wyatt turned on his charm and gave a glittering grin. At the last comment though, he turned and said, "That's not my rank any more, Francine."

"It's not like you were court-martialled." She put her perfectly manicured hand on his arm and raised his hand again to wave. The deep red of her finger nails looked like dried blood to him for a moment. He shook the image off.

"If I'd made it to retirement you could "sir" me all you want. As it is, I'm just a civilian."

"There is no shame in being honorably discharged!"

"That's right, and it entitles me to a simple life, not titles."

Francine Holland shook her chestnut colored mane and tsk-tsked. She gestured broadly to the gaping crowds near them. Her vertically half-black, half-white dress contrasted with the wide charcoal and black check of the suit they'd had tailored for him. "That is a waste and a shame. With your record, there should be something you take away with you. It would help us sell your baby blues better, quite honestly. Smile, smile!" she urged him through her own stiff grin.

Wyatt wondered again what had possessed him to take this assignment. He could be working with his community, connecting veterans with rescue therapy dogs. Or behind the lines even, putting together a hip-hop show for a base, looking forward to a few cold ones. Those shows were followed like clockwork with some heart-felt chats with men and women—many practically half his age at this point—who had been put through the wringer of life. They needed an understanding ear. Just like he had at many times during his tours of duty. When he was being honest with himself, he knew that those kids had given him a refuge from the world when he needed it most. After losing his marriage and then the long recovery from his injuries in the IED explosion, he was deposited back on civilian shores with a check in hand and a firm handshake of thanks. He'd had little idea about what to do with his life in the hereafter. Feeling lucky to have one, but still was lost in a world of blurry expectations and weak social links. He'd grasped at the opportunity to "re-up" and continue to make a contribution to his military buddies. It felt like home.

This tour he was embarking on couldn't be more different. He kept telling himself that it was an assignment just like any other. He could make nice with the camera and fellow crew with the best of them. He had some ideas, too, about the character he'd landed. The Michael Theodore Fleming, grandson of James Bond—that is, Ian Fleming—himself. His head was still whirling from the round of interviews, auditions, string-pulling and military style line-ups he had been a part of to get here. It 100% was not as hard as many of the missions he'd run, or basic, but he felt as tired and dragged through the mud as he ever had at Pendleton. Becoming part of the select family of Delta Force had been a pinnacle in his life. If only it had not cost him his relationship, the unharmed use of his legs, and eventually pushed him out of that family of soldiers that had welcomed him in. But this was no time for regrets. It was game on and he was up to the challenge of this new home: Hollywood. And soon he'd meet his comrades at arms. In particular he was curious about his co-star. Lucy Preston had quite a reputation: stage actress, dancer, singer. Only recently turned to film and the small screen, but she'd had successful roles in each medium. He hoped she wouldn't turn out to be too precious but he didn't hold out too much hope. Actors, he thought dismissively.

Lucy Preston took a deep breath before she stepped out of the limo. She adjusted the free-flowing layers of the mid-thigh length holly berry red dress she was wearing. The price tag of the "for loan" garment kept her from thinking of it as "my dress" even for a moment. The feel of the gathered silk was luxurious. She kept thinking about the thrown together costumes she'd had to wear for her latest play run, the uncomfortable leg brace she'd worn during her short stint on TV. This is opening new doors. Cannot blow it, she thought to herself.

She'd been doing research for weeks now, looking into the history of Ian Fleming and spycraft in World War II. She was ready to sink her teeth into her role as historian extraordinaire, Iris Marchand. She wanted to make this woman, who would help the grandson of Ian Fleming uncover secrets of his grandfather, be a fully realized character. Her sister Amy kept encouraging her, saying this was the natural next step for her career. But Lucy had to pinch herself each morning. It seemed too good to be true. She'd sacrificed so much for her career: long hours, hope of a decent relationship, the security of a 9 to 5 job. This Christmas was dawning with promise and she hoped that the new year could bring her real tidings of hope and joy.

Her agent met her at the door. Constantine Hodges was the best in the industry, everyone said. He'd gotten her this far and she had never expected to capture such a plum role as her first foray into film. Even if it was as a Bond Girl. She said as much to the first reporter who grabbed her arm and pointed camera and microphone her way.

"Darling, you are not a 'Bond Girl,'" said Constantine.

"It was just the first thing that came to my mind. It still kind of bugs me that an unknown soldier is going to get top billing. What do I say to these people? It's going to get old quick talking about who made my dress."

"But boring or not, you can never stop saying their name. Clearly and loudly. If you want your name on top someday, feed the machine, Preston."

Lucy took another deep breath and smiled. She imagined that she was about to go on stage and started tapping into the high level of energy that had helped her play Blanche DuBois and Willy Loman. It's just another part to play, she thought. As she looked down the length of the red carpet, a tall, attractive brown-haired man caught her eye. He had flashing blue eyes, wide shoulders and a devil may care grin. Before she realized she was about to say something she asked Constantine, "Who is that?"

The agent flicked his deep brown eyes out over the crowds. His eyes widened when he saw who she was pointing at. "You don't recognize your own co-star?"

Lucy's head snapped back for a second look. She took in the deep grey suit and black turtleneck that framed his shapely head. "He's always in his military gear in the publicity shots I've seen. 'Hometown Hero plays Grandson of 007' was my favorite headine."

Constantine watched Lucy with a piercing gaze. "This is opportune. There is an eentsy-weentsy little change to the evening that I've been meaning to tell you about…"

"…and so since you didn't have a date, her agent had the brilliant idea of making you each other's dates for the evening. The public likes a dash of spice. It will get them excited about the film," said Francine to Wyatt.

Breaking off mid-wave, Wyatt gave his agent an angry, heavy lidded stare. "You want to Hiddleswift us? You have got to be kidding. I haven't even met the woman but we are supposed to be dating?"

"You are both single, it's not hurting anyone. You just have to give the impression that you are together. Give the press something for their imaginations to latch onto."

"She's going to think I'm some kind of letch. This is a terrible way for us to start our professional relationship."

"It was their idea! How could she think less of you if she asked you to do it? Stop being such a stick in the mud and pucker up, she's coming this way."

Wyatt raised his eyes and saw a slight, elegant woman in a deep red dress accompanied by a dark-skinned fashionisto who held her arm. The woman radiated confidence. The ends of her dark hair bounced in thick curls, her pale skin contrasted with the deep chocolate brown of her eyes. Eyes that bored into his as he reached out his hand to shake hers. Eyes that widened with surprise as Francine gave him a shove that made him reach out his extended hand and clasp his co-star's waist instead, to keep them both from toppling over from his weight. Her arms came around his shoulder and neck for balance. For a moment that seemed to last forever, she hung suspended from him. A memory of dancing came back to him as he held her as if she'd just recovered from a dip. The deadlock was ended when she put her head close to his and whispered in his ear…

"So help me god if you take advantage of this little arrangement I will scream," she smiled, and kissed him on the corner of the mouth.

Holding onto his fraying temper, Wyatt loosened his hold on her waist and smiled back. "Well, I'm just following the lady's cue, so you show me what you want and I'll give you a good time."

Lights flashed. A chorus of "oh!"s rippled through the crowd of onlookers nearest them. Lucy and Wyatt obligingly turned towards a cluster of cameras that began snapping photos of them. Immediately afterwards a microphone was waved before their faces and they were shuffled into the gauntlet of press interviews.

"How did you get the role?"

"You know, Mr. Logan's a 'hometown hero', he was a natural for playing the soldier grandson of the originator of James Bond."

"And my co-star brings so much experience. I'm sure her long career in theater will raise the bar for the production."

As the next crew moved into place Lucy leaned over to Wyatt's ear again and said, "Are you calling me old?"

"What?"

"'Experienced?' Seriously, that means old and decrepit in gossip column speak."

He gave her an appraising glance, "You are more mature than I expected you to be."

She glared daggers at him now. "Mature? Should I start calling you 'distinguished?'"

Wyatt smiled smugly. "Do you think I am?"

Lucy poked him in the chest with an accusatory finger, "Hey, Mr Drop Dead Gorgeous But I Don't Know My Script from My Elbow—"

"Hey, break it up, children," Francine interjected as a new camera was turned toward them. Lucy broke off her scolding and turned her poking into brushing off the shoulder of Wyatt's jacket. She cozied up next to him. He cautiously placed his hand on her shoulder, seeking neutral ground and trying to wipe the vision of her sparkling eyes full of anger out of his mind.

"What do you think the most challenging things will be about this role for you?"

"Living up to the legend that is James Bond, for sure. I grew up on the films and me and my buddies in the Force kind of looked up to him as the king of spies."

"I'm hoping to be able to bring some nuance to the role. There's a lot of baggage playing what people are already referring to as a 'Bond Girl.' I'm hoping we don't get dragged back in time."

This time Wyatt began the aside as they waited for the next publicity crew. "Baggage? Are you running down the movie before we've even made it?" He waved at some onlookers who were peering their way.

Lucy smiled up at him with an astonishingly convincing loving gaze. Is this what it feels like to fall into someone's eyes? he thought, then snapped back to reality as he heard what she said to him. "James Bond is a dinosaur. A towering monument to sexism and chauvinism. If this really is going to be some kind of new Bond film, I want to set the ground rules and expectations 100% at the start."

"Dinosaur!?" Wyatt spoke more loudly than he had intended. Constantine who was introducing them to the next photo crew neatly rolled with it saying, "Jurassic Park was always one of your favorite franchises, wasn't it, Mr. Logan? Perhaps you can tell the public how it feels to be embarking on a brand new action film. That we're all hoping will become a franchise, too."

They finally made their way to the end of the carpet. Lucy was scooped up by Constantine. He brought her to her solo photo shoot. She fumed internally as she shimmied into one lavish holiday-themed dress after another: Rudolph, candy cane. How dare Constantine spring this whole charade on me! The agent came by while she was dressed in a revealing green-and-red-something matched with a long hat tipped with bells. "Constantine, I'm never going to forgive you for this fake date thing. He's a total boor. How can I work with him, much less pretend to be involved?"

"Calm down, my little elf. It doesn't have to last. We can stage a break-up when the filming starts in January for all I care. In fact, that may be a good idea…"

On his photo set, Wyatt slipped into his own moody revery. I could be at home playing fetch with Olympia right now. Hell, I'd be happy to be in Afghanistan with her for all I care. New Bond my foot. He smiled at the thought of the ebony German Shepherd he shared his life with, the rescue that rescued him after his ex-wife Jessica left.

Francine coached him through his changes for the camera. They started him with the charcoal grey suit he'd worn to the gala, then segued to a burgundy smoking jacket and pipe. He got his pout on looking into the middle distance puffing on the unlit pipe. He started getting into the spirit when they handed him a copy of Dicken's The Christmas Carol to pose with. Then got caught up in the mood of things when they dressed him in a tux and tails à la James Bond, complete with a fake gun and a Santa hat on top.

The Gala flew by. Lucy and Wyatt crossed paths occasionally, but their agent and publicist kept them busy rubbing elbows with backers, producers, advertisers and potential new employers. Lucy excitedly spoke to some theater angels who were interested in the independent project she was hoping to find support for: a theater production in LA that would help fund a non-profit devoted to helping kids establishing a new life after being in gangs. She spoke with the director of their movie and found herself having to compliment her co-star and re-assure the director that she thought they would work together perfectly. We'll see, she thought privately. The executive producer cornered her for half an hour, trapping her with anecdotes he told specially for her in a circle of enraptured aspiring actors, film makers and admiring funders. Several times he put his arm around her and once she thought his hand might have slipped lower than she felt comfortable with, but it was so fleeting she thought she must have imagined it.

Every so often their handlers would bring together the 'love birds' for a convenient photo op. After several glasses of champagne Lucy found herself simultaneously irked and aroused by the feel of Wyatt's hands on her elbow or waist. His comments from earlier still rankled. She contented herself by being sweet and apparently affectionate to all appearances, but privately continuing to tweak and tease him whenever she could. Infuriatingly, he kept pace with her.

"Nice Santa Bond outfit you've got there, sweetheart. I had to fight to keep them from making me wear a Ms. Elf evening gown and here they've got you in a tux and tails," she said as she leaned against him, tucking her hand around his waist and into his tiny, elegant white waist coat pocket.

Wyatt scrupulously kept his hands to neutral areas—her shoulder and back—but he leaned in close as she nestled her body into his. "Well, honey, seems like they didn't want to waste an opportunity to show off Mr. Drop Dead Gorgeous. Sorry I missed seeing you in the elf outfit. Bet it would be a cute look for you."

Lucy tried to keep from huffing back at him and smiled sweetly instead. "Yeah, it is important for the studio to make sure the public gets all the eye candy they can get."

"I assure you there is more to me than meets the eye. For example, I can tell a script from my elbow. And I know this whole action movie thing may be a bit of a stretch for you, despite your long but extremely youthful experience. I'm happy to give you some pointers on the battlefield, using guns and so on."

"Oh, thanks, but that's what they called 'acting' back in my day. I'm happy to give you a few pointers when you need it."

Francine introduced them both to the executive producer, Leonard Harrison, that Lucy had been cornered by earlier. He made a strange face when he saw Wyatt's arm around Lucy and greeted them both a bit stiffly. Lucy said calmly, "We've met." Wyatt felt something was off but couldn't put his finger on it. A few moments later after Harrison spoke to an aide briefly, he warmed up to them both and asked Logan to tell them stories from his time in the service. He pulled Wyatt into the circle of admirers that followed Harrison, and Lucy drifted off shortly thereafter.

When it was getting close to midnight, Lucy stole away to find a quiet spot to take off her heels and gather herself for the rest of the evening's ordeal. The hotel had a garden she discovered. Palm trees blinked with white and rainbow hued twinkle lights. Lucy leaned against the railing of a small bridge crossing what was clearly an artificial stream that cycled round the garden. Slipping off her shoes and rubbing one of her soles, she jumped as a newly familiar voice startled her.

"Join me in toasting the holiday?"

She whirled to face her co-star. "What? Did you follow me here?"

He walked up beside her and leaned as well against the natural wooden railing. His face took on a half-smile and she was able to take in the long, muscular bulk of him more properly than earlier in the evening. He cupped a pair of champagne glasses and offered one to her.

"Francine told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to find you and spend some more quality time with my 'date', or the good work we did on the red carpet was going to be undone."

Lucy snorted, eyeing him suspiciously as she accepted the glass, transferring both her shoes now to her other hand. "Right. We have to step to the boss's drum beat. Can't have it be said that the two stars of the show are unlovable losers. Better to throw us into each other's arms." Sipping, she asked spontaneously, "Why don't you have a date?"

He scratched the back of his head, looking uncomfortable, "Well, since my divorce, I've been a bit shy of starting anything new."

Lucy winced. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Wyatt nodded somberly, looking into his glass for a moment. Then he took a sip and gave her another of those wicked grins (How does he stop my heart like that? she thought.) "Hope you don't mind being stuck with Mr. Drop Dead Gorgeous and Divorced. "

Lucy turned pink. "Not gonna let that drop, are you?"

He smiled. "Hey, I'm not sure why you've been throwing my good looks in my face all night, when this dating thing was your idea?"

Lucy's flushed face drained away to pale, "My what?"

He looked at her, uncertain now. "Your idea? Or your agent?"

Lucy was flabbergasted. She flashed a look like granite on broken glass. "He what?! I'm going to kill Constantine." She pushed her champagne glass back into his hand and started shoving her shoes onto her feet.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold your horses—" Lucy began stomping across the bridge back towards the cocktail room. "It doesn't seem to have done much damage."

She whirled around to face him, "Not much damage—here I am pretending to be an attractive ornament on your arm, when people are already not taking my part seriously. You keep talking about my experience, but I've been acting ten times as long as you. And you waltz into the lead role, top billing, probably twice the paycheck, and here we are making nice like it's no big deal that we're fake 'dating.' It's no harm to your career, but you can count the cost to mine!"

He put his glass-laden hands out in a calming gesture. Looking into her eyes, he listened intently to what she said. "Lucy, I had no idea." She was visibly shaking, but stopped in her tracks and didn't flee immediately. "Let's talk this out. We can end this all right here and now if it's hurting you."

She looked in his eyes. Their blue depths were sincere. She shrugged, looking defeated. "You know, if I ran in there right now and made a scene, I might well get booted from the project."

It was Wyatt's turn to wince. "Really? I don't understand this Hollywood business."

She nodded. "Yeah, we haven't started shooting. They could say I was being unreasonable and drop me like a hot potato. Some new young thing would take my place and the beat would go on." The look of surrender in her eyes broke his heart.

"Hey," he said, waiting for her to make eye contact with him. "Hey, how about we make our own deal right here, right now. We're a team. Forget this weird matchmaker business. You have your life, I have mine (baggage included), but we can take a stand together about how you're treated as a professional."

She looked at him, eyes slitted, not willing to believe yet. "What do you have in mind?"

"All the parties involved are here tonight. Let's talk to the powers that be and ask for a renegotiation of your contract. Both our contracts. Like you said, shooting hasn't happened yet. And we're hot property. We're due to begin in just a week, the last thing they want is a costly delay."

A glimmer of hope entered her eyes. "So, you'd be willing to stand by me to ask for equal billing?"

"And equal pay. You're 100% right. I don't know the first thing about all of this. They can dress me up and point me at a camera, but I'll be playing catch up. You've got the chops to get us through and make this film something really good. They should pay for that experience. So what do you think?"

She put out her hand for him to shake. "Deal?"

He balanced the glasses on the railing hurriedly, and took her hand. His large warm fingers engulfed hers. He took her arm and they went back in to face the lion's den together. Lucy started wondering if maybe this new year was going to be something special after all.