Author: Cath

Title: Wake Up Call

Feedback/Reviews: Many thanks to those who have already sent a review for a fic. I greatly appreciate it. Would be more than appreciative of any feedback or reviews for this fic.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to people more important than me.

Summary: An early morning phone call. T/M. Ficlet.

Notes: Unfortunately, I felt the need to write a fic surrounding (what I deem to be) a fic cliché. Situation: T/M post series two, no one is yet aware of the relationship.

She looks in the mirror at her reflection and critically analyses her choice of outfit. Shorts and a scruffy t-shirt are probably not the ideal choice for the best restaurant in Los Angeles.

Seconds later she is wearing a black dress; sleeveless, backless, knee length: both sexy and elegant. With sneakers.

Again she reconsiders, scrunches up her nose, and locates some black strappy high heeled shoes.

Perfect.

She exits her apartment and, seconds later, arrives at his. The fact that his apartment block is a: ten minutes drive away on a good day, b: looks nothing like this, and c: is not what they had arranged doesn't occur to her.

Tony answers the door and immediately she launches herself at him. It may be their first date, but screw it.

She pulls away and suddenly his apartment has morphed into CTU. Although that, too, doesn't look like it usually does. It doesn't faze her, however, and she leans in again to kiss him. He walks backwards, leading them to the conference room. Jack is having a discussion with Ryan Chappelle, but damned if they care as Tony pulls her backwards onto the table. Ryan and Jack look on, critiquing their performance.

It's about at that moment that she realises that it's a dream but it doesn't stop her fantasising. Except that she's mentally managed to convince Jack and Chappelle to get out of the room and so it's only her, Tony, and a Sinatra soundtrack.

"I've got you under my skin" is playing, Tony is slowly pulling her dress up over her head and all she can hear is the sound of Sinatra, their heavy breathing, kissing, and…. The phone.

Groggily, she rouses from sleep. She reaches an arm out of the covers, with eyes half open attempts not to hit Tony on the head, and makes a grab for the cell phone.

"Dessler," she mumbles.

There is a silence on the other end and she is tempted to either a: shoot a steady stream of expletives down the line or b: turn the damn thing off and fall back into sleep.

Instead she states her name again, more clearly.

"Michelle," the voice replies. And it is less certain than what she would usually associate with this person.

"Yes," she replies almost questioningly.

"Michelle," it repeats. There is a pause before the person gathers his thoughts or words and is able to speak. "I need you to come into the office for a meeting at three," he tells her. She looks at her clock briefly; it is just after 2:20. "There has been some urgent information that has come to my attention that I need the team to look over." Another pause; she is almost unnerved – the information must be of some concern for Chappelle to sound this unsure and uneasy. "So, I'll see you at three?"

She is suddenly fully conscious. "Sure, Ryan. I'm on my way."

There is yet another pause. And this one almost puts her over the edge. "Could you contact Tony Almeida and inform him of the situation?" Chappelle asks.

This makes her pause. Her eyes widen. She is not entirely sure why she is being asked this and it makes her feel uncertain. No one at CTU is yet aware of her relationship with Tony, least of all Chappelle.

Somehow she pulls herself together and assumes a confidence she does not feel. "Certainly Ryan, I'll let him know."

They hang up.

Her mind processes information, goes over the conversation again and again, attempting to make sense of it. And yet, no sense is to be made. Her immediate question is: why was she contacted prior to Tony, the director of CTU?

She rouses Tony from his sleep and doesn't immediately share her thoughts but tells him of Chappelle's request.

Unfortunately, his first question is: "Why didn't Chappelle call me and tell me himself?"

"I don't know," she replies. "He sounded… off on the phone. There must be something going on," is her lame deduction.

"Off? How?" he interrogates.

"The cell was ringing, I woke up, I answered, said my name and he didn't reply. So I repeated my name and he just sounded… I don't know, confused. Unsure and hesitant."

Tony mulls this over for a moment.

She places the phone on his side of the bed, pulls down the covers and starts to get out of bed.

"Michelle," Tony calls out after a moment's hesitation.

"Yes?" she asks, standing up.

"What side of the bed did you pick up the cell from?" he inquires.

She refuses to look at him; she realises her error immediately.

"Damnit," the curse falls almost silently from her lips. "Shit." This time it is louder. "Shit."

He regards her, almost amused.

"How could I be so stupid?" she asks herself. "Damnit!" she shouts.

He grins in spite of the situation. "Is it possible that you answered my phone?" he practically teases her.

"Urgh," she groans, practically falling back onto the bed. "Chappelle knows. Our careers are over," she says, almost dramatically.

"And he said nothing?" Tony asks.

"Nothing," she repeats. "Just that I tell you about the meeting. Because, obviously, I'd already answered your phone so you weren't about to." She groans again. She buries her head in his chest, hoping that she could re-live the last few minutes so that she would be awake enough not to make such an egregious error.

"So, we go to the meeting – separately – and see what he says. With any luck he'll wait until after the emergency before lecturing us on the impracticalities of intra-office dating," he nearly grins and she can't understand why he is taking this so well.

"That's it? We'll see what he says?" she balances herself on her elbows, leaning over him. "Why aren't you bothered?" she asks, quizzically.

"Michelle, we've been together nearly six months; I'm surprised it took this long for anyone to realise." He pauses, ready to make his case, which she is certain he will later repeat, as necessary, to Chappelle."We've been putting in more work hours than necessary, have not had called into question our professional conduct, and have managed to keep our personal relationship out of the office. If they want to make any changes, they're going to have a difficult time accumulating evidence," he informs her of what she already knows; twirling his fingers through her hair reassuringly. "But in order to continue with this good reputation, unfortunately we're going to have to get ready pretty quickly." He glances over at the clock.

She follows his eyes and observes the time. She quickly kisses him on the lips. "We'll get through this, right?" she comments, almost rhetorically, pausing as she climbs off him and attempts to leave the bed.

"Of course we will, sweetheart," he replies. He takes her hand and pulls her back towards him for one last kiss before she clambers out of bed. She gives him a brief smile before she departs for the bathroom.

End.

If you enjoyed this particular fic, I'm contemplating writing a "series" of short fic-cliché fics, so let me know if you'd like to read more, and if you have any ideas for other fic clichés you'd like to read.