Title: Room Service

Author : Alias424

Feedback: Yes, please!

Archival: Sure, just let me know where.

Disclaimer: Alias and its characters aren't mine; I'm just borrowing them for a little while.

Summary: While in a hotel after a mission, Sydney gets some unexpected room service...

Rating: PG-13

Classification: Romance

A/N: This is just a little something that came to me while I was trying not to fall asleep during AP Biology. Enjoy!

Sydney opened the door to her hotel room, and walked inside. Actually, the room wasn't hers, it was registered to Cariel Wagner, a German businesswoman staying overnight on the outskirts of Paris.

She had only completed her mission an hour ago, but already her muscles protested even the slightest movements. She thought she had gotten used to this, she was used to it. To the running, fighting, hiding, beating, falling…Well, maybe that guy beating her up and then throwing her down two flights of stairs had been a bit excessive. Man, had he gotten the crap kicked out of him when she had gotten back up. She winced even as she thought of it, and had been very glad that the hotel had an elevator.

She had stolen the books, the information, whatever the hell this Rambaldi thing was that Sloane wanted. She was too tired to even remember what it was anymore. All she knew was that she had the real copy, Dixon had the CIA fake, and tomorrow, she would be returning to LA to smile at Sloane and bask in the "success" of the mission. Well, the mission had been a success, just not for him. But he didn't need to know that, and she didn't have to think about that tonight.

Now, she only had to be grateful that Sloane hadn't been able to secure them a flight out of France until tomorrow morning. Grateful that the hotel they were staying in was not as sleazy as she thought it was going to be. (She must have translated the French name of the hotel too literally when she thought it read Beds of Love.) Grateful that if she squinted when she looked out her third-story window, she could see the "spectacular view" of the Eiffel Tower that the hotel manager had boasted about. And grateful that Dixon was two floors down and on the opposite side of the hotel if she needed him.

Now, all she needed to worry about was the fact that she could go to sleep and didn't have to be up again for almost six hours. Six hours. It seemed almost too good to be true.

Sighing, Sydney took off her four-inch heels and that sorry excuse for a dress. The slinky red dress that felt at least two sizes too small, barely covered the body parts it was supposed to, and almost made the pimply faced, teenage bellboy forget where the elevator was.

She put on the pair of sweatpants and the tank top that she had packed in her suitcase and set the alarm clock. God, was she tired. She fell asleep almost as soon as she lay her head on the pillow…

Sydney was slowly lulled out of her slumber by a gentle knocking at the door. She opened her eyes, trying to remember where she was. She was reminded when she rolled over to look at the clock, and felt the dull throbbing of her left arm and leg. The mission, the trip down the stairs…France, she was in France.

The red glow of the clock finally registered in her brain as a number, a time. It was midnight.

She rolled out of bed and rummaged through her suitcase for some Advil. Only when the knocking was repeated, did she remember why she had gotten out of bed in the first place.

"Who is it?" She asked slowly, almost forgetting to speak in French.

"Room service," a male voice answered.

If she hadn't been too tired to remember that she hadn't ordered room service, Sydney might not have opened the door. But she was still half-asleep as she reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

The sudden, bright lights of the hallway blinded her for a moment and she turned her head away from the man at the door. She was waiting for him to talk, to tell her what he was doing there, but he didn't say a word.

"Can I help you?" she asked softly, her head still turned away as her eyes slowly adjusted to the light.

He didn't answer and she was beginning to get angry. When she finally looked up, all her anger melted away.

Sydney's dark eyes widened in shock as they met the deep green eyes of her visitor, and her pulse quickened when she heard him laugh. Without a word, she motioned for him to come inside.

He walked in, and she closed the door and turned on the light.

Vaughn slowly surveyed the room before speaking, "Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing here?"

Sydney shook her head. She didn't want to hear him tell her that the CIA had sent him, that they were adding something to her counter mission or that there had been a change of plans. She wanted him to be there just because…just because of her.

Vaughn smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. Sydney remained at the door, fighting the impulse to run into his arms. He seemed so far away.

"I completed the mission successfully," she offered, not sure of what else to say. "I got the…"

"I didn't come to talk about the mission," Vaughn interrupted. "I came because…My God, what happened to your arm?"

Sydney looked to where he was pointing. Her arm was a rainbow of ugly purples and blues, but she had forgotten that it hurt. "Oh…Some guy threw me down the stairs."

"Come here," Vaughn commanded, and her heart skipped a beat as she heard the tone of his voice and saw his forehead wrinkle in concern.

She willingly obeyed and sat down next to him. He took her arm and she shivered at his slight touch.

"You should have put ice on this."

"I know."

"That bastard. I hope you taught him a lesson."

He was running his finger up and down her arm, outlining her bruise, and giving her goosebumps.

Sydney sighed. "You remember how when you got hurt when you were little? Someone would just have to kiss it and say, "All better," and it would be. Don't you wish that really worked?"

"We could try it," Vaughn offered with a smile.

Thinking he was only kidding, Sydney smiled back weakly and then looked away. She shouldn't have brought that up, she shouldn't have said the word "kiss," she shouldn't have…

But then she felt his lips brush against her arm, washing all other thoughts from her head. His touch just enough for her to feel it, light enough so that he wouldn't hurt her. It took her breath away.

He looked up at her. She could see the desire in his eyes as he silently pleaded with her, asking for more.

She leaned toward him and their lips met. She completely lost her ability to think; she could only feel. Feel his hands on her, on her arms, her back, in her hair. Feel his skin under her fingertips, his tongue against her lips, asking for entrance.

She let him in and the kiss exploded.

The next few minutes were a whirlwind for her senses. Taste and smell and touch all mixed and mingled, and soon she even lost track of those. Taste became touch as clothing became scarce and her lips explored his body. Scents and tastes became woven together.

The last moment she distinctly remembered before she was launched into ecstasy, was when he pulled his lips away from her. She was about to protest, about to pull his face back to hers, but when she opened her mouth to speak, he put his fingers to her lips.

"All better," he whispered with a smile, and then his lips came crashing back down on her own…

There was a knocking at the door. Sydney's eyes snapped open and she glanced at the other side of the bed, almost expecting to see Vaughn sleeping there. But she knew he wouldn't be; the blankets were still perfectly tucked under the mattress and the mint still lay unopened on the pillow.

The knocking was repeated. Ignoring the pain in her leg and arm, Sydney jumped out of bed and hurried to answer it. "Who is it?" she asked, the French rolling easily off her tongue.

"Room service," a voice responded.

Sydney had been reaching for the door handle, but paused and gasped when she heard the response. She smiled and quickly opened the door.

Her smile vanished when she found bellboy grinning at her, holding a covered tray.

She opened the door and let him inside. He placed the tray on her nightstand and waited, smiling expectedly. Sydney sighed and handed him some money, which he eagerly took, and then left.

Sydney lifted the cover off the tray. On it was a plate of bacon and eggs, a large cup of coffee, and an envelope.

She picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside, she found a short note in what she recognized as Dixon's handwriting. It read: "Walked by your room, you didn't appear to be up, so took the liberty of ordering your breakfast. Am checking out now. Will meet you at the airport in half an hour."

Sydney sighed, took a bite of the eggs, and a big drink of the coffee. She wished she could go back to sleep, back to her dream. Well, at least she could look forward to her debriefing later. It should be…interesting.

She smiled as she thought about her dream, and then sighed again. There would be time to dream later.

Now, she had other things to worry about. She had to leave the hotel in fifteen minutes, but first she needed to take a shower. A cold shower.

Then she would be on her way to the airport, to LA, and to Vaughn. And there was always the chance, however small, that she would fall asleep on the plane…