Title: At The Stars
Author: Rachel
Rating: PG
Summery: Not really much of anything, just a few fluffy vignettes strung together with more fluff. Fluff fluff fluff. If you're looking for some of that post "The Telling," Season 3 angst, keep on moving.
Spoilers No huge ones, takes place post "Phase One," somewhere between "Double Agent" and "A Dark Turn"
Disclaimer: JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot, and probably a whole bunch of other people who aren't me own Alias and its characters. Yeah, pretty much everything in here doesn't belong to me, so yeah.not mine.
Feedback: Always appreciated, good or bad.
AN: I started this months ago, sometime around March or April, can't really remember now, and got too caught up with work and stuff to finish the last part of it.stupid finals.so, yeah, finally done.
-
They walk together through the aisles of her local video store, fingers entwined. He pauses to peruse the sports section but is quickly pulled away by her hand as she continues walking, heading for the DVD section of the store. He sighs in mock-indignation, but allows himself to be dragged in front of the new releases. They stop and both stare at the dozens of titles displayed before them.
"I feel like I've seen everything!" She huffs in frustration and he turns his head to look at her in disbelief.
"How in the hell would you have time to see anything, let alone 'everything'?" he asks her, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly at her exaggeration.
She turns to look back at him, a smile beginning to form on her face as well. "Well I don't know what you do during all of your flights around the world, but that is what they're for."
"I know what I've been doing during my flights... at least during the most recent ones." he trails off suggestively, the smile morphing now into a full-on grin which she returns instantly, a blush creeping into her cheeks along with her dimples.
"Well when I don't have a hot guy to make-out with in the bathroom, I watch movies."
"'A hot guy to make out with,'" he repeats, turning his head back to the movie selection in front of him. "God, that makes us sound like a couple of horny teenagers on the way back from Spring Break." He tries to make his tone sound angry, but the grin still lingering on his face gives him away. She laughs softly, and he marvels at the breathy sound which he so rarely hears from her. "It's not funny," he tells her sternly through his smile. "I think the American people would not be too happy to find out that their tax-dollars are going to fund new toilet-paper dispensers to replace the ones we seem to keep destroying."
Her soft laugh now turns to a full giggle, her free hand coming up over her mouth to cover it. "That last one was your fault, you know," she reminds him, shoving him gently with her shoulder.
"Right, right," he laughs, reaching over to pick up a copy of _XXX_.
"No," she tells him before he has a chance to suggest it. "I am not watching a movie about the CIA hiring ex-con Vin Diesel to be a secret agent."
"Well I hate to correct you," he says, genuinely meaning it though the statement comes out sarcastically, as he turns the box over to read the back. "But he actually becomes a secret agent for the *NSA*, in order to stay *out* of prison. Besides, you don't want to see Vin Diesel save the world from a biochemical terrorist?"
She looks at him and raises an eyebrow when he brings his eyes up to meet hers. He guesses that's a no.
"We can make fun absurdly unrealistic government officials and secret agents who wear outrageous costumes and jump into bed with each other in the midst of trying to save the world." he says as he waves the box in her face enticingly.
She laughs, pushing it away, and he sighs in defeat as he places it back on the shelf. She walks further down the aisle and he follows a short pace behind her, their hands still clasped together. They're quiet for a few moments as each inspects the movie selection in front of them, before her eyes light up and she grabs one from the shelf, presenting it in front of him. He groans when he sees her choice.
"_You've Got Mail_?" he asks her, the tone of his voice bordering on distressed.
"What's wrong with _You've Got Mail_?" she asks incredulously, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "It's a great movie!"
"It is," he agrees carefully. "As far as romantic comedies go, it's one of the better ones. I'm a big fan of Tom Hanks and, you know, Meg Ryan, very cute." She smiles, her dimples breaking out once again at his compliment of the actress. "But I think I watched it a few too many times with Alice while we were going out."
She bristles at the sound of the other woman's name and immediately puts the movie back in its place, turning and pulling him further down the aisle, away from his previous relationship.
"Hey, what about _Texas Rangers_?" he asks after a moment, grabbing the movie from the bottom shelf.
"_Texas Rangers_?" she asks, trying to remember if she's seen the movie. It takes one look at the cover to convince her that she never has and never should. She shakes her head vehemently and looks up at him in horror.
He drops his head back briefly in frustration and then brings it back up to look at her. "Oh come on, you've got James Van Der Beek, Ashton Kutcher, Dylan McDermott, Rachel Leigh Cook, and Usher playing rangers in the Old West.that has to be possibly the one of the greatest casts ever assembled.and it's a Western!" he's almost shouting now, trying to convince her, but she continues to look at him in disbelief and dismay.
"Alright, alright," he sighs and puts the movie back.
"I am shocked and appalled that you would even suggest something that hideous," she reprimands him as she pulls him along the shelves. "Egh." She makes an indistinguishable noise, a chill hitting her spine as the image from the cover of the box, of Dawson in a cowboy hat holding a gun, enters her mind.
He looks up at the clock on the wall above the shelves and finds that they have no been in this store for over 45 minutes and are still no closer to picking a movie for the night than they were when they walked through the front door. He wants to be annoyed at the amount of time they've wasted in here, but somehow can't convince himself to be angry and thinks that a month ago he would have killed - and did - to have the opportunity to walk next to her, to hold her hand, to do absolutely nothing with her in the middle of a crowded store. He can't stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and when she turns to look at him, she sees him smiling brightly to himself.
"What?" she asks him, suddenly a bit self-conscious.
"Nothing," he says, turning to look back at her, and she responds to his secretive grin with a half-smile of her own, dropping the subject and turning back to look at the shelves in front of them.
Movement on the other side of him catches her eye suddenly and she turns to see a man walking towards them, opening one side of his denim jacket and reaching inside. She tenses immediately, an ugly ache slamming her in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she's been abruptly shoved back into reality, that any moment this man approaching them will pull out a gun and they'll be forced into action and she will again have to go home alone, cursing her stupidity for going out in public with him. Her hand clenches in his and he turns to give her a concerned look and then follows her eyes with his to see the man walking in their direction. She puts her free hand on the handle of gun inside her jacket and waits for something to happen.
She sees the man smile brightly and brush past them to embrace a woman standing a few feet away, pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket. Normal. A man and a woman, probably a young married couple if the identical silver bands on their hands are any indication, picking out a video for the night just like she is with the man standing next to her. Relief washes over her, sweeping away the ugliness in her stomach, and she suddenly realizes that this is reality.
They watch the other couple for a few seconds when she finally pushes away her serious thoughts and asks him, "What's your favorite movie?"
"_The Godfather_," he replies without hesitation.
She lets out a huff and rolls her eyes in another display of exasperation, and thinks maybe bringing him to pick out a movie for the evening was not such a great idea after all. "_The Godfather_," she repeats, disgruntled. "Typical guy movie. And I bet you love Rocky too, right?"
"Don't you?"
She rolls her eyes again and smiles at him, and he continues with, "Well what about you? _You've Got Mail_, _Someone Like You_, _Chocolat_.typical girl movies," he tells her, rattling off the names of all of the recent movies they've watched together at her insistence.
"Well I guess we're just a typical couple who can't decide what movie to watch on a typical Saturday night," she says, feigning unhappiness while her mouth breaks into a beaming smile and her stomach does delighted flip- flops.
"I guess so," he nods, sighing as he imitates her dejected tone before breaking out a smile of his own. They grin at each other happily for a moment and he leans down to brush his lips across hers softly. They turn into each other as the kiss begins to heat up, and her free hand comes up to thread through his hair while his falls to the small of her back, pulling her flush up against him. Before things have a chance to go any farther, however, there's an angry cough from behind them and they break apart to see a pair of adolescent girls throw them disgusted looks as they walk by.
They grin at each other and he watches as a blush spreads over her face and down her neck. Her head falls against him and she can feel the chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.
"Hey," he says as she pulls away from him. "_The Princess Bride_."
"I *love* that movie," she tells him as he picks it up.
"Me too," he replies. "It's the special edition." He holds it up and she nods her approval, smiling in satisfaction at finally having decided on something. They pay for their movie and finally exit the store, still hand- in-hand.
"Well," he says as they head back to her house. "That wasn't too hard."
"Right," she laughs, leaning into him and wrapping her free hand around his arm. "Somewhere between parachuting out of a falling plane and breaking into the Vatican."
-
They sit tangled together on her couch, he slouching with his feet resting on the stool in front of him, she leaning the other way against the arm- rest with her legs across his. One of his arms is stretched across the back of the couch while the other rests on her legs, fingertips absently tracing circles over her skin, and he watches for a few moments as the light coming from the television splashes through the darkness of the room and dances over her face.
He yawns as he turns his attention back to the TV sleepily. It wasn't his idea to be up at this hour, and if he had his way they'd be back in bed, wrapped up in blankets. Or better yet, in each other. But she had dragged him away from the warmth of her bed after being jolted from sleep by what he assumed was a nightmare. She refused to tell him about it, but the rapid pace of her breathing and the sweat beading on her forehead belied the dark nature of her dream. Once her shaking had subsided, she pulled him out of the bed and into the living room, curling up on the couch and flipping through the TV channels until she came to a rerun of "The Cosby Show" on Nick At Nite.
A half-hour later she stretches her legs out across his and picks from the bowl of popcorn resting in her lap. While he is on the border between wakefulness and light sleep, her eyes follow the actions on the television screen alertly, her tranquil laughing the only thing keeping him awake at this point. This has never been one of his favorite shows, and as he watches Bill Cosby dance somewhat ridiculously, in his opinion, around a new refrigerator, he can't help the groan that escapes his lips.
"What?" she asks him defensively, a kernel of popcorn poised at the entrance to her mouth as she waits for his answer.
"If I ever get that excited about a new kitchen appliance," he deadpans, while his eyes remain transfixed on the dancing Cosby. "Please just hand me over to Sloane."
She throws the popcorn at his face and turns back to the TV. "Don't joke," she admonishes gently.
The popcorn hits him in the nose and one of his eyes, and he laughs sleepily, drawing his hand lazily over her leg. He sobers a bit as he apologizes, knowing that he really shouldn't make such dark-themed jokes after being woken in the middle of the night by her yelping in her sleep next to him.
His words bring a quaking feeling to her stomach, a shakiness returning from an hour ago along with brief, horrible images from her dream. Flashes of blood.pale skin.vacant eyes.more blood, crimson standing bold against the crisp white of his shirt.
She shakes the images from her head and darts her eyes over to see that he has fallen asleep, the hand on her leg stilled and resting softly on one of her ankles and his head drooped down slightly. She smiles faintly and puts the bowl of popcorn on the floor before shifting herself closer to him and laying her head against his chest. His arms come up unconsciously to encircle her and she allows her eyelids to droop closed, feeling warm and secure.
They fall asleep with a laugh-track echoing through the room and his heart beating in her ear and she doesn't have any more dreams tonight.
-
They lay facing each other in his bed, the early afternoon light spilling across them and tracing her shoulders with warmth. His toes stick out from underneath the sheet, twitching in the sunlight next to her, and a furry head warms a spot on her leg. Reaching down, she scratches the dog behind one ear and he stretches happily beneath her hand.
The peaceful stillness of the moment is broken by her growling stomach and he looks up at her from the head of the bed and grins, dropping the sports section of the newspaper against his chest. She looks up from her section of the paper surreptitiously and raises an eyebrow at him.
"You must've worked up quite an appetite there," he says, and she shrugs against the pillows propping her up at the foot of the bed.
"Well it is," she glances at the clock on the nightstand next to him, "1:49pm. We definitely missed breakfast."
"Speak for yourself." His grin turns to a smirk and she giggles in response, turning her eyes back to the comics section she chose after bypassing the front page and its depressing headlines. She has enough ugliness in her own life and doesn't feel on this morning like reading about more of the ugliness around the world.
Another angry grumble interrupts her in the midst of a Garfield strip and she looks up at him, a quick defense on the edge on her lips. "That wasn't me this time."
"Yeah, uh, that was me," he tells her with a sheepish smile. "Maybe we should try actually getting out of bed and eating sometime soon."
"Well considering the only things you have in your kitchen are EZMac and vegetable oil, I don't know how possible that'll be at the moment."
"I haven't had time to go shopping in a while," he tells her as he stretches his arms up and then folds them behind his head. "And what's wrong with EZMac?" he asks her in veiled defense. "That's what I lived on in college!"
"Really?" she remarks with another raised eyebrow. "I didn't know they had EZMac in the 1800s."
She laughs at his rolled eyes and feigned offence. He shakes his head. "Oh that was a low blow."
"I'm sorry," she laughs, and he knows she doesn't really mean it. "You're just such an easy target." She sweeps her hand gently across his ankle and watches as he fights a loosing battle for a few seconds against his urge to smile, before surrendering and gracing her with a wide grin that makes her head spin. He often has trouble staying angry at her, even when she makes jokes at the expense of their age difference.
They're content for a moment to sit in the sunlight and stare at one another's beaming faces when another stomach growl, this one coming from the dog resting against her, sends them both into a fit of giggles. The sight of him giggling causes her to break up all over again and then bring her attention back to the topic at hand.
"Besides, even if you ate that stuff in college, there's no reason to keep it around now.what kind of 34-year-old eats microwavable macaroni and cheese?"
"The kind of 34-year-old who rarely has the time or energy to cook real food," he replies. "Not all of us are lucky enough to have a roommate who owns a restaurant, you know. If I want a well-prepared meal the best I can usually do is a trip to McDonalds."
An uneasy feeling comes over her at the mention of her best friend, although she's not really sure what the feeling is or where it comes from. Brushing it aside she replies, "Yeah, I usually don't get much time to cook for myself, although considering my track-record that's probably a good thing."
"Well that pasta you made us that night was pretty good, albeit a little cold." They both smile at the memory and he knows he doesn't have to specify *which* night he's talking about.
He's dimly aware of the fact that he hasn't felt this happy in a long time and though he wants to voice the thought, he's wary of what her reaction would be. So he keeps it to himself, satisfied to let the moment be what it is.
Her stomach growls again and it's enough for her to end her internal debate between hunger and contentment, patting him on the leg as she rises and says, "Alright, Agent Vaughn, it's time to get up and go hunt for some food."
He groans in response and she throws a t-shirt at him as she picks through the discarded pile of clothes on his floor for her underwear. "Come on, we can stop for some lunch on the way to my place. I have no clean clothes left over here."
"I'll do some laundry later," he tells her as he pulls himself reluctantly out of bed, upsetting his dog in the process, who looks up at them in hope.
"Hey, maybe we can stop by the park and take Donovan for a run," she suggests, patting the dog on his back as he jumps down from the bed as well.
He nods as he pulls on a pair of jeans and remarks on the beautiful springtime weather. They finish dressing and he grabs the dog's leash as they exit his apartment and walk down the hallway towards the elevator. He groans again as she tells him that they'll stop at the supermarket on their way back, and she smiles as they step into the elevator, the little dog waddling in between them.
-
They sit next to each other on her couch in front of her television, a controller in each of their hands, with two sets of eyes glued to the brightly-colored race cars on the screen in front of them. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, agile fingers working the controller furiously, while she sits at the very edge of the couch tensely, eyes wide with eager competitiveness as her car zooms around the screen. Her car is ahead of his, but only by a small margin and she watches with near horror as he begins to advance on her. Leaping from her seat, she holds the controller with a death-grip and punches the buttons frantically while leaning her upper body in the direction her car moves.
He might laugh if he wasn't so enveloped in the game, and just as his car reaches her back bumper, she pulls across the finish line, the checkered flag goes up, and her arms shoot into the air in success. He throws down his controller in disgust as she takes a victory lap around the couch, fists pumping into the air with triumph.
Just as she makes another trip around and the words to "We are the Champions are beginning to form on her lips, he grabs her by the arm and pulls her over the back of the couch to fall unceremoniously into his lap. Laughing, she wriggles out of his grasp and springs up from the couch, victorious adrenaline pumping through her.
"You're just mad that you were beaten by a girl," she laughs at him, smoothing stray pieces of hair from her face.
"I'm not mad that I was beaten by a girl, I'm mad that I was beaten by you," he informs her with a smile. "Do you have any idea how competitive you can be?"
"So I've been told."
"C'mon, best three outa five," he prods.
She shakes her head. "I've already beaten you two outa three, twice," she tells him as she moves towards the kitchen. "Face it. You suck at this. You're just no match for me."
He rolls his eyes with mock annoyance and rises from the couch to follow her. "What the hell was that you were doing at the end there?" he asks, laughing.
"Shut up," she grins, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.
"You jumped up," he begins to laugh harder. "And started twisting with the car, like you were willing it to go one way or another." He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls a bottle of water out, taking a long swig of it.
She watches him drinking the water for a moment and he notices her smile fade away.
"I'm sorry, do you mind?" he asks quickly, indicating the bottle in his hand.
She blinks and smiles reassuringly. "No, god, of course not, you don't have to ask. That's not.I was just thinking." she trails off and he looks at her for a moment before prompting her to go on.
"What?"
"I was just thinking," she continues uncertainly, eyes moving from his to the counter in front of her. "That.that I love you."
He's quiet for a few seconds and she risks a glance up at his face. He's staring at her with a small amount of shock on his face, the bottle of water forgotten in his hand. They're both quiet for a brief moment, and just as she's thinking that she's made a terrible mistake, he strides across the kitchen, reaches across the counter separating them, grabs her head, and kisses her.
They pull apart after a minute, both still leaning across the counter between them, faces inches apart. He looks up at her and their eyes meet once again.
"I love you too," he whispers. "God, Syd, I love you so much."
And she believes him. She's come to not trust people easily, but as soon as the words leave his mouth she knows that they're true. Because although they are government agents, although they are spies, although they spend much of their professional, and oftentimes personal, lives lying, stealing, killing, they're still normal people as well. So she smiles at him and pulls away to walk around the counter and meet him in front of the refrigerator, throwing her arms around him and kissing him in the middle of the kitchen the way a normal couple would do.
Author: Rachel
Rating: PG
Summery: Not really much of anything, just a few fluffy vignettes strung together with more fluff. Fluff fluff fluff. If you're looking for some of that post "The Telling," Season 3 angst, keep on moving.
Spoilers No huge ones, takes place post "Phase One," somewhere between "Double Agent" and "A Dark Turn"
Disclaimer: JJ Abrams, ABC, Bad Robot, and probably a whole bunch of other people who aren't me own Alias and its characters. Yeah, pretty much everything in here doesn't belong to me, so yeah.not mine.
Feedback: Always appreciated, good or bad.
AN: I started this months ago, sometime around March or April, can't really remember now, and got too caught up with work and stuff to finish the last part of it.stupid finals.so, yeah, finally done.
-
They walk together through the aisles of her local video store, fingers entwined. He pauses to peruse the sports section but is quickly pulled away by her hand as she continues walking, heading for the DVD section of the store. He sighs in mock-indignation, but allows himself to be dragged in front of the new releases. They stop and both stare at the dozens of titles displayed before them.
"I feel like I've seen everything!" She huffs in frustration and he turns his head to look at her in disbelief.
"How in the hell would you have time to see anything, let alone 'everything'?" he asks her, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly at her exaggeration.
She turns to look back at him, a smile beginning to form on her face as well. "Well I don't know what you do during all of your flights around the world, but that is what they're for."
"I know what I've been doing during my flights... at least during the most recent ones." he trails off suggestively, the smile morphing now into a full-on grin which she returns instantly, a blush creeping into her cheeks along with her dimples.
"Well when I don't have a hot guy to make-out with in the bathroom, I watch movies."
"'A hot guy to make out with,'" he repeats, turning his head back to the movie selection in front of him. "God, that makes us sound like a couple of horny teenagers on the way back from Spring Break." He tries to make his tone sound angry, but the grin still lingering on his face gives him away. She laughs softly, and he marvels at the breathy sound which he so rarely hears from her. "It's not funny," he tells her sternly through his smile. "I think the American people would not be too happy to find out that their tax-dollars are going to fund new toilet-paper dispensers to replace the ones we seem to keep destroying."
Her soft laugh now turns to a full giggle, her free hand coming up over her mouth to cover it. "That last one was your fault, you know," she reminds him, shoving him gently with her shoulder.
"Right, right," he laughs, reaching over to pick up a copy of _XXX_.
"No," she tells him before he has a chance to suggest it. "I am not watching a movie about the CIA hiring ex-con Vin Diesel to be a secret agent."
"Well I hate to correct you," he says, genuinely meaning it though the statement comes out sarcastically, as he turns the box over to read the back. "But he actually becomes a secret agent for the *NSA*, in order to stay *out* of prison. Besides, you don't want to see Vin Diesel save the world from a biochemical terrorist?"
She looks at him and raises an eyebrow when he brings his eyes up to meet hers. He guesses that's a no.
"We can make fun absurdly unrealistic government officials and secret agents who wear outrageous costumes and jump into bed with each other in the midst of trying to save the world." he says as he waves the box in her face enticingly.
She laughs, pushing it away, and he sighs in defeat as he places it back on the shelf. She walks further down the aisle and he follows a short pace behind her, their hands still clasped together. They're quiet for a few moments as each inspects the movie selection in front of them, before her eyes light up and she grabs one from the shelf, presenting it in front of him. He groans when he sees her choice.
"_You've Got Mail_?" he asks her, the tone of his voice bordering on distressed.
"What's wrong with _You've Got Mail_?" she asks incredulously, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "It's a great movie!"
"It is," he agrees carefully. "As far as romantic comedies go, it's one of the better ones. I'm a big fan of Tom Hanks and, you know, Meg Ryan, very cute." She smiles, her dimples breaking out once again at his compliment of the actress. "But I think I watched it a few too many times with Alice while we were going out."
She bristles at the sound of the other woman's name and immediately puts the movie back in its place, turning and pulling him further down the aisle, away from his previous relationship.
"Hey, what about _Texas Rangers_?" he asks after a moment, grabbing the movie from the bottom shelf.
"_Texas Rangers_?" she asks, trying to remember if she's seen the movie. It takes one look at the cover to convince her that she never has and never should. She shakes her head vehemently and looks up at him in horror.
He drops his head back briefly in frustration and then brings it back up to look at her. "Oh come on, you've got James Van Der Beek, Ashton Kutcher, Dylan McDermott, Rachel Leigh Cook, and Usher playing rangers in the Old West.that has to be possibly the one of the greatest casts ever assembled.and it's a Western!" he's almost shouting now, trying to convince her, but she continues to look at him in disbelief and dismay.
"Alright, alright," he sighs and puts the movie back.
"I am shocked and appalled that you would even suggest something that hideous," she reprimands him as she pulls him along the shelves. "Egh." She makes an indistinguishable noise, a chill hitting her spine as the image from the cover of the box, of Dawson in a cowboy hat holding a gun, enters her mind.
He looks up at the clock on the wall above the shelves and finds that they have no been in this store for over 45 minutes and are still no closer to picking a movie for the night than they were when they walked through the front door. He wants to be annoyed at the amount of time they've wasted in here, but somehow can't convince himself to be angry and thinks that a month ago he would have killed - and did - to have the opportunity to walk next to her, to hold her hand, to do absolutely nothing with her in the middle of a crowded store. He can't stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and when she turns to look at him, she sees him smiling brightly to himself.
"What?" she asks him, suddenly a bit self-conscious.
"Nothing," he says, turning to look back at her, and she responds to his secretive grin with a half-smile of her own, dropping the subject and turning back to look at the shelves in front of them.
Movement on the other side of him catches her eye suddenly and she turns to see a man walking towards them, opening one side of his denim jacket and reaching inside. She tenses immediately, an ugly ache slamming her in the pit of her stomach. She feels like she's been abruptly shoved back into reality, that any moment this man approaching them will pull out a gun and they'll be forced into action and she will again have to go home alone, cursing her stupidity for going out in public with him. Her hand clenches in his and he turns to give her a concerned look and then follows her eyes with his to see the man walking in their direction. She puts her free hand on the handle of gun inside her jacket and waits for something to happen.
She sees the man smile brightly and brush past them to embrace a woman standing a few feet away, pulling his wallet out of his jacket pocket. Normal. A man and a woman, probably a young married couple if the identical silver bands on their hands are any indication, picking out a video for the night just like she is with the man standing next to her. Relief washes over her, sweeping away the ugliness in her stomach, and she suddenly realizes that this is reality.
They watch the other couple for a few seconds when she finally pushes away her serious thoughts and asks him, "What's your favorite movie?"
"_The Godfather_," he replies without hesitation.
She lets out a huff and rolls her eyes in another display of exasperation, and thinks maybe bringing him to pick out a movie for the evening was not such a great idea after all. "_The Godfather_," she repeats, disgruntled. "Typical guy movie. And I bet you love Rocky too, right?"
"Don't you?"
She rolls her eyes again and smiles at him, and he continues with, "Well what about you? _You've Got Mail_, _Someone Like You_, _Chocolat_.typical girl movies," he tells her, rattling off the names of all of the recent movies they've watched together at her insistence.
"Well I guess we're just a typical couple who can't decide what movie to watch on a typical Saturday night," she says, feigning unhappiness while her mouth breaks into a beaming smile and her stomach does delighted flip- flops.
"I guess so," he nods, sighing as he imitates her dejected tone before breaking out a smile of his own. They grin at each other happily for a moment and he leans down to brush his lips across hers softly. They turn into each other as the kiss begins to heat up, and her free hand comes up to thread through his hair while his falls to the small of her back, pulling her flush up against him. Before things have a chance to go any farther, however, there's an angry cough from behind them and they break apart to see a pair of adolescent girls throw them disgusted looks as they walk by.
They grin at each other and he watches as a blush spreads over her face and down her neck. Her head falls against him and she can feel the chuckle rumbling deep in his chest.
"Hey," he says as she pulls away from him. "_The Princess Bride_."
"I *love* that movie," she tells him as he picks it up.
"Me too," he replies. "It's the special edition." He holds it up and she nods her approval, smiling in satisfaction at finally having decided on something. They pay for their movie and finally exit the store, still hand- in-hand.
"Well," he says as they head back to her house. "That wasn't too hard."
"Right," she laughs, leaning into him and wrapping her free hand around his arm. "Somewhere between parachuting out of a falling plane and breaking into the Vatican."
-
They sit tangled together on her couch, he slouching with his feet resting on the stool in front of him, she leaning the other way against the arm- rest with her legs across his. One of his arms is stretched across the back of the couch while the other rests on her legs, fingertips absently tracing circles over her skin, and he watches for a few moments as the light coming from the television splashes through the darkness of the room and dances over her face.
He yawns as he turns his attention back to the TV sleepily. It wasn't his idea to be up at this hour, and if he had his way they'd be back in bed, wrapped up in blankets. Or better yet, in each other. But she had dragged him away from the warmth of her bed after being jolted from sleep by what he assumed was a nightmare. She refused to tell him about it, but the rapid pace of her breathing and the sweat beading on her forehead belied the dark nature of her dream. Once her shaking had subsided, she pulled him out of the bed and into the living room, curling up on the couch and flipping through the TV channels until she came to a rerun of "The Cosby Show" on Nick At Nite.
A half-hour later she stretches her legs out across his and picks from the bowl of popcorn resting in her lap. While he is on the border between wakefulness and light sleep, her eyes follow the actions on the television screen alertly, her tranquil laughing the only thing keeping him awake at this point. This has never been one of his favorite shows, and as he watches Bill Cosby dance somewhat ridiculously, in his opinion, around a new refrigerator, he can't help the groan that escapes his lips.
"What?" she asks him defensively, a kernel of popcorn poised at the entrance to her mouth as she waits for his answer.
"If I ever get that excited about a new kitchen appliance," he deadpans, while his eyes remain transfixed on the dancing Cosby. "Please just hand me over to Sloane."
She throws the popcorn at his face and turns back to the TV. "Don't joke," she admonishes gently.
The popcorn hits him in the nose and one of his eyes, and he laughs sleepily, drawing his hand lazily over her leg. He sobers a bit as he apologizes, knowing that he really shouldn't make such dark-themed jokes after being woken in the middle of the night by her yelping in her sleep next to him.
His words bring a quaking feeling to her stomach, a shakiness returning from an hour ago along with brief, horrible images from her dream. Flashes of blood.pale skin.vacant eyes.more blood, crimson standing bold against the crisp white of his shirt.
She shakes the images from her head and darts her eyes over to see that he has fallen asleep, the hand on her leg stilled and resting softly on one of her ankles and his head drooped down slightly. She smiles faintly and puts the bowl of popcorn on the floor before shifting herself closer to him and laying her head against his chest. His arms come up unconsciously to encircle her and she allows her eyelids to droop closed, feeling warm and secure.
They fall asleep with a laugh-track echoing through the room and his heart beating in her ear and she doesn't have any more dreams tonight.
-
They lay facing each other in his bed, the early afternoon light spilling across them and tracing her shoulders with warmth. His toes stick out from underneath the sheet, twitching in the sunlight next to her, and a furry head warms a spot on her leg. Reaching down, she scratches the dog behind one ear and he stretches happily beneath her hand.
The peaceful stillness of the moment is broken by her growling stomach and he looks up at her from the head of the bed and grins, dropping the sports section of the newspaper against his chest. She looks up from her section of the paper surreptitiously and raises an eyebrow at him.
"You must've worked up quite an appetite there," he says, and she shrugs against the pillows propping her up at the foot of the bed.
"Well it is," she glances at the clock on the nightstand next to him, "1:49pm. We definitely missed breakfast."
"Speak for yourself." His grin turns to a smirk and she giggles in response, turning her eyes back to the comics section she chose after bypassing the front page and its depressing headlines. She has enough ugliness in her own life and doesn't feel on this morning like reading about more of the ugliness around the world.
Another angry grumble interrupts her in the midst of a Garfield strip and she looks up at him, a quick defense on the edge on her lips. "That wasn't me this time."
"Yeah, uh, that was me," he tells her with a sheepish smile. "Maybe we should try actually getting out of bed and eating sometime soon."
"Well considering the only things you have in your kitchen are EZMac and vegetable oil, I don't know how possible that'll be at the moment."
"I haven't had time to go shopping in a while," he tells her as he stretches his arms up and then folds them behind his head. "And what's wrong with EZMac?" he asks her in veiled defense. "That's what I lived on in college!"
"Really?" she remarks with another raised eyebrow. "I didn't know they had EZMac in the 1800s."
She laughs at his rolled eyes and feigned offence. He shakes his head. "Oh that was a low blow."
"I'm sorry," she laughs, and he knows she doesn't really mean it. "You're just such an easy target." She sweeps her hand gently across his ankle and watches as he fights a loosing battle for a few seconds against his urge to smile, before surrendering and gracing her with a wide grin that makes her head spin. He often has trouble staying angry at her, even when she makes jokes at the expense of their age difference.
They're content for a moment to sit in the sunlight and stare at one another's beaming faces when another stomach growl, this one coming from the dog resting against her, sends them both into a fit of giggles. The sight of him giggling causes her to break up all over again and then bring her attention back to the topic at hand.
"Besides, even if you ate that stuff in college, there's no reason to keep it around now.what kind of 34-year-old eats microwavable macaroni and cheese?"
"The kind of 34-year-old who rarely has the time or energy to cook real food," he replies. "Not all of us are lucky enough to have a roommate who owns a restaurant, you know. If I want a well-prepared meal the best I can usually do is a trip to McDonalds."
An uneasy feeling comes over her at the mention of her best friend, although she's not really sure what the feeling is or where it comes from. Brushing it aside she replies, "Yeah, I usually don't get much time to cook for myself, although considering my track-record that's probably a good thing."
"Well that pasta you made us that night was pretty good, albeit a little cold." They both smile at the memory and he knows he doesn't have to specify *which* night he's talking about.
He's dimly aware of the fact that he hasn't felt this happy in a long time and though he wants to voice the thought, he's wary of what her reaction would be. So he keeps it to himself, satisfied to let the moment be what it is.
Her stomach growls again and it's enough for her to end her internal debate between hunger and contentment, patting him on the leg as she rises and says, "Alright, Agent Vaughn, it's time to get up and go hunt for some food."
He groans in response and she throws a t-shirt at him as she picks through the discarded pile of clothes on his floor for her underwear. "Come on, we can stop for some lunch on the way to my place. I have no clean clothes left over here."
"I'll do some laundry later," he tells her as he pulls himself reluctantly out of bed, upsetting his dog in the process, who looks up at them in hope.
"Hey, maybe we can stop by the park and take Donovan for a run," she suggests, patting the dog on his back as he jumps down from the bed as well.
He nods as he pulls on a pair of jeans and remarks on the beautiful springtime weather. They finish dressing and he grabs the dog's leash as they exit his apartment and walk down the hallway towards the elevator. He groans again as she tells him that they'll stop at the supermarket on their way back, and she smiles as they step into the elevator, the little dog waddling in between them.
-
They sit next to each other on her couch in front of her television, a controller in each of their hands, with two sets of eyes glued to the brightly-colored race cars on the screen in front of them. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, agile fingers working the controller furiously, while she sits at the very edge of the couch tensely, eyes wide with eager competitiveness as her car zooms around the screen. Her car is ahead of his, but only by a small margin and she watches with near horror as he begins to advance on her. Leaping from her seat, she holds the controller with a death-grip and punches the buttons frantically while leaning her upper body in the direction her car moves.
He might laugh if he wasn't so enveloped in the game, and just as his car reaches her back bumper, she pulls across the finish line, the checkered flag goes up, and her arms shoot into the air in success. He throws down his controller in disgust as she takes a victory lap around the couch, fists pumping into the air with triumph.
Just as she makes another trip around and the words to "We are the Champions are beginning to form on her lips, he grabs her by the arm and pulls her over the back of the couch to fall unceremoniously into his lap. Laughing, she wriggles out of his grasp and springs up from the couch, victorious adrenaline pumping through her.
"You're just mad that you were beaten by a girl," she laughs at him, smoothing stray pieces of hair from her face.
"I'm not mad that I was beaten by a girl, I'm mad that I was beaten by you," he informs her with a smile. "Do you have any idea how competitive you can be?"
"So I've been told."
"C'mon, best three outa five," he prods.
She shakes her head. "I've already beaten you two outa three, twice," she tells him as she moves towards the kitchen. "Face it. You suck at this. You're just no match for me."
He rolls his eyes with mock annoyance and rises from the couch to follow her. "What the hell was that you were doing at the end there?" he asks, laughing.
"Shut up," she grins, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.
"You jumped up," he begins to laugh harder. "And started twisting with the car, like you were willing it to go one way or another." He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls a bottle of water out, taking a long swig of it.
She watches him drinking the water for a moment and he notices her smile fade away.
"I'm sorry, do you mind?" he asks quickly, indicating the bottle in his hand.
She blinks and smiles reassuringly. "No, god, of course not, you don't have to ask. That's not.I was just thinking." she trails off and he looks at her for a moment before prompting her to go on.
"What?"
"I was just thinking," she continues uncertainly, eyes moving from his to the counter in front of her. "That.that I love you."
He's quiet for a few seconds and she risks a glance up at his face. He's staring at her with a small amount of shock on his face, the bottle of water forgotten in his hand. They're both quiet for a brief moment, and just as she's thinking that she's made a terrible mistake, he strides across the kitchen, reaches across the counter separating them, grabs her head, and kisses her.
They pull apart after a minute, both still leaning across the counter between them, faces inches apart. He looks up at her and their eyes meet once again.
"I love you too," he whispers. "God, Syd, I love you so much."
And she believes him. She's come to not trust people easily, but as soon as the words leave his mouth she knows that they're true. Because although they are government agents, although they are spies, although they spend much of their professional, and oftentimes personal, lives lying, stealing, killing, they're still normal people as well. So she smiles at him and pulls away to walk around the counter and meet him in front of the refrigerator, throwing her arms around him and kissing him in the middle of the kitchen the way a normal couple would do.