Title: The Wedding Night
Series: Different Shade of Normal
Author: Dream Writer 4 Life
Rating: PG-13 for insinuations.
Genre: Fluffy humour/romance.
Archived: SD-1, FanFiction.Net (v. PG-13), Cover Me, and Omega-17 (v. NC-17). Anywhere else, just ask and you shall receive!
'Shippers' Paradise: S/V with hints of Weiss/F
Spoilers/Timeline: AU: no Evil!Francie; Weiss and Francie are dating; Will and Francie have dated; Sloane, Sark, and Irina are on the loose; SD-6 is gone; everything from Season 2 is fair game.
Summary: Syd and Vaughn's not-so-normal wedding night. Second in the Different Shade of Normal series. A Dream Writer Experience.
Suggested Soundtrack: "No Stopping Us" by Jason Mraz, "Touched the Water" by Norah Jones, "Hard Times Come Again No More" by Yo-Yo Ma featuring James Taylor
Disclaimer: I am the devil personified (if he's female). Well, I do have a fixation with dyeing my hair the reddest red in the history of the world; I can't do my own hair, and when I do, I look like I have horns what with all the bumps in my hair. Also, I learned that my father used to be a Pinkerton and can fool a lie detector like a damn pro. I think I inherited his ability to lie. In short, I own nothing. Period. End of story. Wait, no it's not! Keep reading!
Author's Note: So sue me: I wrote this in between studying for my Chem and Calc finals/AP exams. It was my "break time". Anyways, it's the long-awaited return of the DSN series! Yay! If you haven't read it, Spy Bride is the first story in the series. You don't really need to read it in order to get the gist: you just won't get all the little inside jokes. And if you want the smuttage (and you're of age), the NC-17 version is at SD-1 under the same title and author. (It won't let me paste a link in here.) Enjoy!

The Wedding Night



"S.B.? Do you copy?"

"Yeppers, G.A."

"Yeppers?"

"Just go with it."

"Whatever. Am I clear to exit? Where is everyone?"

"Spy Daddy is conversing with French Mama near the snack bar. Missus Doctor Evil and Garter Winner are taking a spin around the dance floor. I'd say you're good to go, honey."

"Syd! Don't call me honey! Use the calls signs; we sound cooler that way."

"You know, we don't have to sneak away from the reception early. I can 'accidentally' tip off Missus Doctor Evil."

"What would I do on our honeymoon all alone?"

"Sounds like a personal problem to me."

"Alright, alright! I'll do whatever the hell you want."

"Good. Exit is clear, G.A."

"Exiting bathroom. I'll meet you in the car, S.B."

"Copy. Going radio silent."

Sydney replaced her comm. link/watch in her small duffel bag and zipped it up. She had been holed up in the bathroom for a good ten minutes, chatting with Michael and glancing out the window from time to time as she changed into more comfortable clothing. After the downpour, Francie shoved the couple into the bathrooms to dry off, and they took the opportunity to utilize the comms they stored away before they left the house that morning. Syd had anticipated the hawk-like eye of Francie, and therefore the need to use covert means to slip away unnoticed. Thus the comm. links.

She straightened her tank top and made sure for the last time that everything was situated: her duffle bag was packed with all the essentials (the rest of their luggage was already in the Famous Vaughn Pick-Up); the garment bag with her dress and a note addressed to Francie hung on the outside of a stall door; her running shoes were laced snugly. Smiling proudly to herself as she fingered the band on her finger, she slipped out the bathroom door and began creeping toward the front door of the restaurant.

It was not until she was out the door and down the steps that she noticed the absence of a car motor. Her eyes darted over to Michael's vehicle, illuminated in a sphere of street lamp light, and she groaned audibly. Instead of her husband perched proudly in the driver's seat, he leaned huffily against the front grill, pinned there by...Will. 'Damn it! I knew I forgot something!' She reprimanded herself, still cautiously advancing toward the two males. Putting on the sweetest face she could muster, she dropped the bag into the bed of the truck before joining them. "Hey Will," She greeted jovially. "Whatcha doin'?"

Keeping a straight face he replied, "Making sure you two don't escape before Francie says it's okay."

She slipped her arm around Michael's waist, pulling them into contact. "Oh, come on, Will! No one's going to miss us—"

"Miss you? You're the bride and groom!"

"We all know this is Francie's wedding, though," Michael contradicted, his own arm draping across Syd's shoulders. "Come on: I'm sure there's some beautiful coworkers out there that are just drunk enough to be shmoozed, and since Weiss is taken, they're all yours."

"Yeah," Syd added, "let us screw over Francie just once more."

"Aw, would you look at that?" A fourth voice joined in. "They're already starting to work together! How cute." It was Weiss, who — followed by a livid Francie — strode toward them with his fourth glass of champagne clutched in his outstretched hand. "You can't get away form us that easily, m'dears. We have our own methods of gathering information."

Syd and Michael glanced at each other, identical façades of incredulity gracing both. "Are you saying you were spying on us!" Vaughn insinuated. All three nodded matter-of-factly, and he turned on Sydney. "No wonder you were never a handler!"

"No wonder you were never a good field agent!" She countered, retrieving her arm only to cross it and its partner over her chest. "If you saw someone, I expected you to run — RUN! — not just stand there and let an analyst trap you!"

"We get to witness their first fight as well. Yay." Three different hands slapped Weiss. The injured agent turned to his girlfriend still rubbing his cheek. "Ow! No more manicures for you, Fran! Damn, those things are sharp."

She ignored him and turned towards her best female friend, a small frown lilting her lips. "You guys can't sneak off like that; we'll get into huge trouble."

"Huh?" The newlyweds replied in unison.

Ignoring Weiss's groan yet again Francie clarified, "I'm not the Wedding Hitler here. I'm under orders from — Hey, Mister Bristow! They're over here!"

Sydney felt Michael shrink up against the hood of the car, an involuntary instinct that would eventually have to be eradicated. She linked hands with him and squeezed, suppressing a giggle as he slowly slid back down to the ground.

Jack Bristow, his bow tie still knotted despite the rest of the congregation's lax state of dress. He offered Francie an intrigued smirk as he stopped beside her. "Good job, Miss Calfo. We may just recruit you yet." Red tinged her dark cheeks as she shook hands with the senior agent. Jack turned back to his daughter and new son-in-law with a stoic glare, his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. "As for you two..." He paused, somehow finding a way to harden his gaze as he stared straight at Michael. "Vaughn, get your bags and put them in my trunk." He tossed the keys to him sharply.

Michael caught them deftly, bewildered. "Uh, Jack, there's this little tradition called a honeymoon that we were hoping to partake in—"

"I know," Sydney's father cut him off, softening his glare but not his words. "I'm only driving you to the airport. Give your keys to Agent Weiss; he'll be driving your truck home."

"Since when was I—" Weiss was silenced by a sharp elbow to the ribs.

Michael nodded slowly and circled to the back of the truck — Weiss in tow — and began unloading their luggage. Sydney turned to her father, slightly confused. "Airport?" was all she could squeak.

He nodded, a hint of the second genuine smile of the night playing at the corners of his lips. "Vaughn asked if I could help arrange your honeymoon. Of course I said yes."

'Of course. Your answer was so obvious.' "So you know where we're going?" She asked hopefully, ignoring Francie and Will, who were attempting to inconspicuously listen in on their conversation.

Again he nodded, and one corner of his mouth slid towards his ear. "Yes. But I'm not supposed to tell; it's a surprise."

"Don't tell me you're going with them!" Francie exclaimed, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. The background noises of plastic scraping metal and grunting ceased. Her dad chuckled. "As a matter of fact I am—"

—Syd suddenly felt faint—

"—But just for the plane ride. I am awarding them free use of one of my private jets; I thought it only fitting retribution. But I can't take all the credit: it was Weiss's idea."

Syd was torn between Chinese water torturing Weiss and hugging her father. She eventually settled for the latter — Michael was already doing a number on Eric. Throwing her arms around her stunned father's neck, she whispered into his ear, "This means the world to me. Thank you so much."

She felt him smile into her hair.

As soon as their bags were loaded into Jack's car, the couple said hasty good-byes to their friends (Francie began bawling and had to be lead away by a disturbed Weiss) and approached the vehicle. As Sydney reached for the passenger door's handle, Jack stopped her. "You may both sit in the back." She smiled gratefully at her father and joined Michael in the back seat.

As she slid in and closed the door Michael muttered, "I'd rather he not be here so we could both sit in the front seat."

The smile still plastered to her face, she replied through tight lips, "Be grateful for what you have, dear. You could be in the trunk or strapped to the roof." He nodded once and smiled brightly at his father-in-law, who was glaring oppressively at the pair from the rearview mirror.

Jack started the car and pulled out of the small parking lot, not responding to Francie's frantic waves after them. Once they were out on the open highway, stars twinkling like curious observers, the couple began to settle into the environment, and their hands automatically linked in the open stretch of fabric between them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Michael struggle to keep the line of his lips horizontal, finally giving up and grinning like a fool. Jack, making ample use of that rearview mirror, spied their innocent union and frowned in consternation. "No," He stated firmly. Their hands shot apart as an identical blush crept onto their faces. "Hands on your knees. Both of you. Now stay."

Syd successfully suppressed a laughing fit as Michael mimicked her father and earned a subsequent reprimanding glare.

The car ride proceeded in much the same manner.

In fact, the plane ride proceeded in much the same manner — every time either one hinted at touching the other, Chaperone Jack swooped in and ended any notion early.

They took off in one of Jack's private jets from an abandoned airstrip about an hour away from Michael's mother's house. Syd and Michael were forced to play Travel Scrabble under her father's oppressive glare in lieu of renewing their membership to the Mile High Club. She kicked his ass, of course: those eight years spent studying English counted for something after all. She channeled all her lust and frustration into recalling words (and definitions to defend them) long since forgotten. Perhaps out of pity, Jack struck up a one-sided conversation with his son-in-law, slipping him long words featuring the letters in Michael's arsenal. Despite the unexpected boost, though, Sydney still scored an overwhelming victory: when all was spelled out and added up, her three hundred and twenty-six beat his forty-seven.

Besides that, there was a whole lot of nothing going on. And silence. Bunches of that. Jack sat at the back of the plane near the bathrooms, lording over the entire vicinity despite having his head buried in a large leather-bound book. After their brief competition, Sydney and Michael found nothing to do but stare at their hands and wish they were occupied with other activities. She had no idea where they were headed, and as all the windows were covered and she had no desire to piss off Jack further by peeking, she had to remain content with surprise.

The plane began to descend after merely an hour, and Michael's fidgety hands raged out of control: he nervously picked at loose thread in his chair. He nearly puled apart an entire hem before Syd risked her life and quelled his anxiousness by laying a hand on his own. As they smiled serenely at one another, the plane lurched as they touched down and skidded to a stop. All three agents rose simultaneously and began gathering their belongings.

When her father produced a small carry-on suitcase from an overhead compartment, Sydney questioned curiously, "Dad, where are you going? Aren't you staying —" She stopped herself, suddenly hoping his answer was in the negative.

He shook his head, and she heaved an internal sigh of relief. "No," He said, zippering his book into a front compartment. "Kendall's sending me on a mission to Azerbaijan. Now that two of the finest young agents in our branch are out of commission for an untold amount of time, someone's got to pick up the slack." She thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch in the positive direction, but he limited himself to a nod at each agent before descending off the plane.

Finally alone, the two flew into each other's arms and embraced with fervor. Michael's lips slid along her jaw line until they met her ear. He paused his ministrations and whispered, "Do you think you can hold on a little bit longer?"

She braced herself against the lust as his erection brushed against her thigh. "I can if you." She murmured, biting back a laugh. "Why? Where the hell are we, Michael?"

He pulled away and opened his mouth to answer, but the pilot chose that moment to enter, effectively breaking their privacy. "Mister and Missus Vaughn, we've landed. I'll take your luggage inside. Whenever you want to move on, just give a holler: we've got enough gas to last us a while yet. Oh, and Missus Vaughn—" the blood rushed to her head every time he said that "—your father told me to remind you that money's no object. Wherever you go, just check in as Mister and Missus Vaughn and charge everything on this card." The pilot handed her a normal-looking Discover credit card sponsored by the B.V.A.: she suspected that stood for the 'Bristow-Vaughn Alliance'. She immediately knew better than to think it was a normal card. The pilot confirmed her suspicions. "It'll directly connect you to his private account. One more thing, Mister and Missus Vaughn—" another rush "—congratulations."

Their twin smiles competed for the title of Widest, Brightest, and Goofiest as they both shook hands with the portly, bald, middle-aged man. "Thanks again, Agent Behr," Vaughn said, nodding emphatically.

Agent Behr shook his head and gave a blasé wave of his hand. "Please, call me Teddy. I have a feeling we'll be traveling together for a while." With a wink, he gathered up their luggage and disappeared down the same steps as her father.

Too many questions raced through Sydney's mind. One after another, they followed on the coattails of the question before it, and around and around they went, doubling back, zig-zagging, hopping, skipping, jumping. The biggest finally charged its way through the superfluous ones, marching like a brass band to the tip of her tongue and plunging off without warning. "Vaughn, where the hell are we?"

He chuckled softly and soothingly rubber her upper arms. "Uh, I can't tell you that quite yet. Ask me something else."

Following in their leader's example, the rest of the questions came tumbling out at once. "What did Teddy mean? Where else would we be going? How long are we going to be away for? Why is everyone keeping things from me? Why is my father being so nice?"

His chuckle morphed into a full-fledged laugh as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her closer, and kissed her forehead dotingly. "I have no idea why your father's being so...so human. As for the others...well, I suppose I should explain what the Vaughn Vacation Package includes, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah, that'd be kinda helpful."

"You see," He began, leaning against the back of a seat, "there were so many places I knew you wanted to go, and there's so many places I want to go, so I figured, 'What the hell? Let's just go wherever we want: no holds barred.'" He paused, gauging her reaction. "Well? What do you think?"

Biting her lip to the point of pain she replied, "I love you, Michael Vaughn. More than words can ever say." She threw her arms around his neck and attacked his mouth, forcing his lips apart to allow her tongue entrance. The ferocity she initiated was contagious, spreading to him almost instantaneously. They fenced passionately for dominance, their hands joining in the war and invading the other wherever there was a loose piece of clothing. Neither of them wanted to admit they needed air, so their separation was an admittance of truce, a tie, a stalemate. Panting so loudly it actually echoed around the interior of the plane, each gripped the other for support, oxygen-deprived muscles quivering and cramping. Finally regaining control of her breathing rate, Syd rested her forehead against his. "Now what are we waiting for again?"

"Goddamn my ingenious plan," He mumbled against the skin of her cheek, running his thumb along the inside of her elbow. "Do you really want me to show you around?"

"Will it piss you off?"

"Yeah."

"Then yes, you do have to show me around." She grinned evilly and began tugging him towards the exit. "Okay, we're not out of the country, 'cause I know neither of us are crazy about Mexico. Canada's beautiful, but a little too far. So that leaves us Texas, Kansas, or Wyoming. Or we just circled California for an hour, which would be really mean, seeing as you're getting my hopes up — Ohmigod." She froze on the top of the three steps, positively paralyzed.

She had never seen so many stars in her life.

They spread from horizon to horizon unendingly; it was as if someone had spattered bleach over her darkest pair of jeans. No moon outshone them: it was the night of the new moon. Her eyes zoomed over the vast dome above her, one look not satisfying her hungry eyes. A breeze rippled through her hair, brushing it from one shoulder to the other, and she noticed the eerie absence of leaves rubbing together or limbs creaking. She drew her gaze down towards the landscape and gasped again.

Miles of unkempt meadows greeted her. The long prairie grass rippled like a black wave on the ocean, and if she listened hard enough, she could just make out the sound of the stalks rubbing up against one another. No other natural landmarks protruded against the sky so that the meadow and stars kissed all three hundred and sixty degrees of horizon.

A small pinprick of shadow darker than the rest about a mile away drew her attention. She squinted towards it, and after a mere moment's speculation, she determined it was a cabin. Their cabin. Syd turned around to thank Michael, but he was not there. Looking down the aisle, she spotted him sitting in a seat near the galley playing with something. Noticing he had her attention, he rose and quickly strode toward her. "Thank you for floating back down to reality. I thought I was going to have to spend another six hours playing with these." He held out a straw wrapper and a Snapple cap before pocketing them.

Catching on, she grinned incredulously. "No way," She said, shaking her head in bemusement. "Are we — We're not—"

"Oh yeah," He responded, nodding with a sly grin.

"You're kidding me!" She cried, returning her gaze to the picturesque tableau before her. "Montana! Whatever the hell possessed you to take us to Montana?"

"The Snapple cap wanted to go home." They grinned at each other, but before they could lean in for yet another embrace, a jeep rounded the tail of the plane and pulled up in front of the stairs.

Teddy waved at them, gesturing for them to climb into the back. They joined him, and he sped off in the direction of the cabin in the distance. Over the deafening rush of wind in her ears (Teddy was taking advantage of the obvious lack of speed limits — or road for that matter) Sydney heard their pilot yell over his shoulder, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to give any wake-up calls, you two. You'll have to come to me if you want to go anywhere."

"That's fine!" Michael called back, linking hands with Sydney.

They arrived in less than a minute, and as soon as the car stopped, Teddy hopped out and began unloading their luggage and taking it inside. Michael helped her down from the jeep, and they walked hand in hand to the small — minuscule — cabin. After making his last trip, Teddy paused and handed Michael the key. "It has all the essentials. You should be fine. Good night, Mister and Missus Vaughn." He winked at them before jumping into the vehicle and speeding off towards the plane again.

Exchanging questioning looks, the pair cautiously crept into the cabin, half expecting Weiss and the rest of the wedding party to jump out from behind...anything. But as Vaughn hesitantly pushed open the heavy wooden door, no one popped out, but Sydney gasped (again) nonetheless. The cabin consisted of two rooms: the two-in-one kitchen/bedroom (kitchen on her right, bedroom on her left) and the bathroom also off to her right. It was a respectable kitchenette with a stove and refrigerator. On the opposite side of the room stood the king-sized bed flanked on either side with a large window and roaring fireplace respectively. Giving considerable effort to drag her eyes away, she noticed the sliding glass door directly opposite her that led outside to a brief patio consisting of a slab of concrete and a two-person glider. But that bed...

Her eyes were drawn back to it as her husband's arm slithered around her waist, creeping under her tank top to trace spirals around her navel. Her skin rose at his touch, and her mind screamed at his fingers to trip an inch lower and flick at the button of her jeans. But the evil little voice in the back of her head made itself heard: it would be fun to torture him a bit. If that raging hard-on rubbing suggestively against her backside were any indicator, her stalling would be excruciatingly painful for him — and hilariously comical for her.

She broke away from his embrace to search the space more thoroughly. Ducking her head into the bathroom, she laughed genially. "We've got a toilet, but no taps! There's a note here that says there's a pump in the back." Reappearing, she chuckled to herself again. "At least my father gave us what looks like a large barrel to wash in."

Michael, looking slightly distracted, dropped his key on top of his suitcase and followed his wife in her trek around the kitchenette, watching her bang about in the cabinets and the mini-fridge. "That's very considerate of him," He mumbled. "But, uh, Syd—"

"And we've got the bare minimum for food! Guess he's thinking we won't stay long. What with the hygiene conditions, I'm inclined to agree with him."

"Sydney..."

She ignored him, attempting to hide her triumphant grin, and moseyed over to the glass door. Sliding it open and stepping out into the crisp night air, she gripped the back of the glider and leaned upon it, sensing Michael had followed her. Noticing the rear of the cabin faced east she remarked, "I hear the sunrises in Montana are beautiful." She was giving him a way to slide in a pick-up line. If he successfully perceived her lead, she would eagerly follow him to that king-sized bed. "I want to see one."

"We'll have to stay up all night," He said pointedly, his raised eyebrow barely visible in the weak starlight.

Staring him square in the eyes she whispered, "I wonder how we'll manage that?"

Spinning her body around to face him, he gripped her hips tightly and pulled her pelvis flush up against him to remind her of his arousal. "I'm sure we'll find something to do."

As they embraced, she smirked against his lips, her hands traveling to the buttons on his Oxford shirt. She won: she broke him. But while she was reveling in her victory now, she had a feeling he would hold the upper hand the next opportunity he got.

She could not wait.

A grey glow rimmed the horizon from pane to pane followed by a promise of pink and blue and violet and orange and yellow yet to come. "The sun's going to be up real soon."

"How long were we at it?"

"I'd say a good three hours."

"Three hours! Wow. That certainly says something about our stamina."

"That says something about our skills." Her husband smiled in response and, opening both eyes, pulled her to him, tucking her head under his chin. She sighed, breathing in the unique scent of their union as she tinkered with the fine hairs on his chest.

"I love you." "I love you."

They laughed at their sappiness, vibrations bouncing from chest to chest. "We're never going to get tired of saying that, are we?" Michael chuckled into her hair.

"I hope not," She murmured, draping her arm over his bare waist. "'Cause that would mean we'd stop annoying Weiss."

Her husband groaned and rolled over, slipping both of them under the quilt in the process. "Don't mention that man while we're away. This is an other people-free zone." He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "All I want to think about it you."

The compliments (especially the sappy ones) had to stop. Syd blushed and looked away, over his shoulder to the quickly brightening sky. The grey had bleached to a pale pink/blue combination, signaling the rapidly rising sun. She gasped and practically fell out of the bed in her haste to run to her suitcase. Fumbling with the locks, she almost threw the entire contraption against the wall in frustration before he called, "There are robes in the bathroom. We may not have faucets or a shower, but we have robes. Whatever your father was on, we should give some to Eric: that'd be fun to watch."

She emerged from the bathroom tying a green terrycloth robe with a twin garment slung over her shoulder. "Why don't you call him 'Dad'? I mean, he's your father now, too," She pointed out, tossing his robe at the foot of the bed before seriously excavating the cabinets: she could not quite remember if she had seen instant coffee or not.

"Exactly," He responded, reluctantly slipping out of the bed and donning the lone shock of clothing. Grinning ruefully as she gave up her search he continued, "He would kill me if I just randomly said, 'Hey, Dad. What's up?' But you never know: you learned to call me Michael, so maybe 'Dad' will grow on me. Although I doubt he'll let me get any closer than Jack." He paused, and she turned towards the door. Spinning around from the open portal, he held out two cups and a note. "Teddy brought coffee!"

"Oh the sweet, sweet man!" Sydney cried, scooping one up, lifting it to her lips, and relishing the hot liquid as it crept down her throat. Peering over the rim, she grinned evilly and raised her eyebrows. "I'm thinkin' really obscene thoughts about how good this coffee tastes goin' down."

He had to think for a moment before catching her drift. When he did, he groaned and slapped his forehead. "That's it! No more hanging around Weiss, no matter how much he shmoozes you. Is there crazy glue on the toilet seat?"

She tapped the side of his head in indignation before strolling towards the sliding glass door. "Oh, so just because we're married now, you think you can order me around? Try again, my dear husband." Her smile widened as she pushed open the door, the cool early morning breeze skittering about her ankles. "If anything, I'm more disinclined to acquiesce to your requests."

"First of all, bad use of a movie quote," Michael pointed out, following her onto the cement square and sitting next to her on the glider. She merely rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. "Second—"

"Shut up and watch the sunrise, Mister Vaughn."

"Yes, Missus Vaughn."

Wind laced with serene suspense played between the blades of meadow grass, sounding like the low murmur one would normally hear at an art gallery. The entire world seemed to be waiting for something to happen, but did not mind if it took its time getting there. It would just...take things as they came, and if that something happened to traipse on by, then so be it. The laid-back, devil-may-care attitude rubbed off on Sydney, and she snuggled into Michael's side.

Purple stacked upon blue, grey, white, and pink with a yellow sliver straight in front of them composed the sky's symphony, unaccompanied by street, neon, or house lights. No horns honked; no tires screeched; no people swore; no dogs barked; no phones rang; no guns shot; no kicks landed; no comms squawked; no friends teased. There was pure, unadultered silence, disturbed only on their whim. Au natural were the words of the morning, and Nature took them seriously.

When the wind borne away the scent of her coffee, on its tail end she caught the strong odour of wildflowers and black dirt. The only dirt she had ever smelled was of the garden, manured variety, and this new sensation to her limited palate excited her to no end. She had never smelled wildflowers before — candles and sprays from Victoria's Secret did not count — and she thought there could not be a more delectable scent in the world. It featured an exotic tang, like a lemon wedge after a sugar cookie — oh wait, that was still their scent...

"This is amazing,' She whispered into her husband's chest, giggling as the hairs rustled and the skin puckered into goosepimples. "Do we ever have to leave?"

"No," He answered honestly, taking a long drag from his cup. "We can go anywhere you want to. Just think: we can have breakfast in Greece, swim on the Italian Riviera, have lunch and shop in Spain, eat dinner in Paris, and stop over for a nightcap in Munich before going to sleep in Egypt! And that's just one day! We can rinse and repeat as needed!"

She sat up and stared at him incredulously. "I though Teddy was just kidding," She said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We can seriously go anywhere we want?"

"Any time you want, as well," He added, smiling proudly. "Hell, we can go somewhere with running water. You know, if you want to."

"That'd be wonderful," She sighed wistfully, downing the rest of her coffee. The conversation drifted off for a time as they both stared out towards the rising sun. It revealed itself sliver by sliver, so slowly and in such small increments that before either of them knew it, the horizon bisected the daytime star, and both were out of hot liquid. Enjoying the other's presence was enough to keep each of them rooted there. "God, it's beautiful. This is amazing."

"So I've been told," He chuckled. Sydney had not even realized she had spoken aloud, and she ducked her head shyly. "Maybe we should stay in the States for our honeymoon," Michael suggested, bemused. "You seem to enjoy Montana a hell of a lot."

She contemplated his suggestion, pondering how they could budget their time. Wait! Exactly how long — "How much time do we have off?" Syd asked curiously.

"My, my. We're full of questions today, aren't we?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

"Well answer my question!"

"You said to shut up, so I shut up."

"Dear Lord! Since when do you do what I say?"

"Oh, since about yesterday at sunset."

Syd smiled at him despite herself. "Please answer my question, Michael Vaughn."

"We have about as much time as you could possibly want to spend alone with me," He answered, taking her cup and slipping it into his. "I'm using all my cumulative sick leave from...well, ever and you...Well, let's just say you deserve it. Especially after last night."

She ducked her head again coyly. "You weren't too bad yourself, dear."

"And man, were you loud! I don't think I've ever heard you scream like that before."

"Well, it's not like there's anyone who could hear us, is there?" She defended. Switching the subject slightly she remarked, "Hey! Think of all the plane sex we'll have. I know you particularly enjoy plane sex."

It was his turn to blush. She grinned triumphantly.

"What's the world record for the most countries a couple has had sex in?"

"I don't know," He shrugged. She caught his gaze, and she knew he understood the gleam in her eye. "But I'm guessing you want to try to break it." She bit her lip and nodded vigorously. With a grunt of effort, he rose from the glider and helped her up as well. He tugged her inside and advanced toward the suitcases, intent on changing. When she remained by the open door, he sighed in exasperation. "What are you doing just standing there? We need to get moving! Where to next, Missus Vaughn?"

"I don't know," She replied, perching on the corner of the disheveled bed. "I was thinking Disney World. Or Chicago. Or New York. Or London. Or Scotland. Or Marseilles. Or Cairo. Or Beijing. Or Moscow. Or Rome. Or Athens. Or Jamaica. Or Acapulco. Or Argentina. Or—"

"Well, then we better get crackin'."

"Sounds like a plan. But...before we go..."

"Oh alright. Let's go for Round Two."

END

Tee hee!

Next up: Between Honeymooners' Sheets (subject to change if I think of a cuter title)

I don't know if I can keep up the two copies of each story/chapter: it's a huge hassle that I'd rather not deal with. But we'll see. I change my mind frequently, so you never know. If I decide not to duplicate, the next story will only be available at SD-1. Sorry.

Hope you enjoyed! Please don't skimp on the constructive criticism; I'd like to make this more enjoyable for you, so it's to your benefit. Thanks for reading!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life