Title: The Politics of Drawers

Author: Dream Writer 4 Life

Rating: PG-13 for sexual innuendo

Genre: Romantic comedy

Spoilers: Up through "Endgame", of course

Shippers' Paradise: S/V all the way! Whoo hoo!

Archived: SD-1, FanFiction.Net, and Cover Me. Anywhere else, just ask and you shall receive!

Disclaimer: Again with the list of things I don't own [shakes out slightly longer roll]: 'Alias' or it's characters, the L.A. Kings, Easy-Bake Ovens, Walgreen's, Trojan condoms, Lucky Larry's Laundromat, and the idea of candles in Vaughn's condom drawer (that's Jenn's: chapter 40 of AUS, if I remember correctly. I thought it was cute; hope you don't mind I put it in here!).

Summary: "The middle drawer—it's yours." The five words that changed three people's lives forever. A funny look at about fifteen seconds' worth of footage. A Dream Writer Experience

Author's Note: This insight into a guy's mind is the result of having too many guy friends and hanging out with them too much while on a lethal dose of Pixie Stix. Anyway, enjoy! And make sure you leave reviews. I'd love to know what you think! (Constructive criticism is always welcome.)

The Politics of Drawers

Chapter One

"The middle drawer—it's yours."

What?

Since when did we…share furniture?

Now, apparently.

Excuse me if I slip into Man Speak, here, but that blank stare I gave her — you know, the one bordering on shock and possibly nausea — mirrored exactly what I was feeling. For the moment, at least. In those seconds, fractions of seconds, I worked through a myriad of emotions that most boyfriends just run from. The biggest being…commitment. (Who said that?!) Sure, Syd and I have had sex, saved each other more times than I care to count, and waited for one another for about two years, but a drawer? That iss crazy! (Is it hot in here, or is it just me?) You'd think I would have had half of a closet at Alice's apartment but no, I never even had a…drawer. (Whew. Walls starting to close in.) Of course, Syd and I are inexplicably closer than Alice and I ever were, even with our relationship on the back burner for the better part of two years. (Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?) And seconds was all I needed to mull over the new development before exclaiming with mind-numbing wit and intelligence:

"Yeah?"

'Yeah.' That's all I could come up with? Someone remind me how I came to be a handler with such impressive verbal vernacular! How can she be involved with a guy whose favourite words seem to be "hey" and "yeah"? Yeah, I don't have the greatest vocabulary when she's within a mile but hey, that's what she does to me. (Oops…Heh, heh. I'm gonna invest in a thesaurus and expand my word choice, now…)

"It's just a drawer."

How can anything be just anything when it comes to us? The picture frame wasn't; neither was my Kings pen or the watch story. If writing utensils and household knickknacks aren't safe from symbolism and invisible connotations, then what is? First it's a drawer, then closet space, and next thing you know, it's his-and-her hand towels on the towel rack in the bathroom and a tea cozy! Now, that's the normal progression of a normal guy's mind in a normal relationship. But then again…since when have we been normal?! 'Normal' is not even in our vocabularies! (Not surprising for me, right?) So, I actually wouldn't be surprised if we got the tea cozy before I get closet space.

And frankly, this doesn't scare me at all. At least, not in the way it should. I guess I'm just afraid of never getting to that point: that one of us won't be here to give or receive the closet space. Because of this extremely unpleasant fact, I'm more inclined to rush things along; I want to experience as much as humanly possible as quickly as possible simply because we might not be able to share these moments later. God, I love her so much! (Did I just say the L-word? Did I just say the L-word? Whew! Go-od. Now I just need to say it to her face. Gotta work on that later…)

And how do I show my appreciation for this immensely sweet gesture?

"I'm just saying it's a great idea."

Understatement of the Year.

We have a winner!

But seriously, whoever thought that wood could make a person so happy? Wait a second. Let me rephrase that. Whoever thought that five planks of wood would make a person so happy? Yeah, that's it. We've shared so many other things together, parents' 'deaths' notwithstanding, that this shouldn't even register as a blip on the radar. But it does. What does that say about me? That I'm analyzing this way too much? Or, as I said before, is this just the next step in Sydney and Michael's Wild and Crazy Quest for the Perfect Relationship? I'm thinking it's the latter. And I can't wait for what's next.

As for Weiss…

You know, I swear to God, one day his flapping mouth is gonna reach around and embed itself up his ass, and I will just sit there and laugh.

Or I'll do it myself.

'What did you put in it?' Honestly, what does he think I put in the damn thing? A live bullfrog? Five pounds of dirt for a small garden? My handy-dandy Easy-Bake Oven and mini-fridge from college for late-night snacks? No, that's not Weiss's style; he's more of a dear-Lord-she's-hot-tell-me-everything-about-her-down-to-her-bra-size-natural-hair-colour-and-the-brand-of-her-panties. In other words, a perve at large. When I told him that it was merely for convenience, he most likely took that to mean that we would have a common "sex drawer." He probably thinks that I immediately ran and bought out an entire Walgreen's and stacked the damn thing with every kind of condom imaginable including lubricated, pleasure-enhancing, glow-in-the-dark, and mint-flavoured. All Trojan, of course. No, no, no, wait! He thought that we'd use the drawer for sexual pleasure! (Is that even possible?) Or maybe…

Wow. I need to stop hanging out with this man. The effect he's had on my subconscious (and my sexual innuendo encyclopedia) is so large that I am scared for my IQ level. Whenever I'm around him in "Sleazeball Mode," I feel so much smarter that my brain starts to hurt; when I leave to be with Syd, I am sent crashing down to Earth. I feel sorry for the man, because it's really a double-edged sword: he can make even the dumbest blonde feel smart when he's drunk, and he can also make the dumbest blonde feel smart. Catch my drift?

So I can almost see why he doesn't have a girlfriend to offer him a drawer.

But I don't see why he refused my drawer. I mean, every time he gets drunk off his ass, he takes a cab to my house. A place to store spare clothes really would be a convenience. Every time it's me who has to drive to his apartment, grab his dog, and pick up a change of clothes. Frankly, I'm tired of it. If it would save me a trek across town, I would gladly surrender half of my bureau to Weiss and his pervish devices. But wait a second…Uh oh…

Would that mean I have to wash his disgusting clothes? That I have to make yet another trip per week to Lucky Larry's Laundromat to wash his smelly, day-after-Mardi-Gras-nasty suits?

Yeah right.

No way.

No freakin' way.

I am not going to handle his vomit-caked, beer-soaked garments. Not without large sums of money and many rolls of blackmail photographs.

But wait just one more second…

Would that mean that Syd would do my laundry?! My boxers would be mixed in with her…ahem…unmentionable delicates? Now that I could deal with! That right there is fodder for at least a month's worth of fantasies and wet dreams. Her fingers washing my silk boxers by hand…her bras…her panties with them…her bras…It would be only common courtesy to wash your boyfriend's dirty clothes if they were mingled with your own on the floor. I mean, I would do it if the rolls were reversed…

Oh, my God.

Does this mean I have to give her a drawer at my place?

Will she actually come over and use the drawer if I gave it to her?

Will she ever see my apartment?

Will Donovan think her clothes smell funny and foreign and try to shred them?

Will she think I'm weird because I have candles in my condom drawer?

Will she think my apartment's too manly and dirty and won't even want a drawer there?

Do I have to start wearing silk boxers?

Oh man, this is too much to try to decipher right now. My brain's throbbing just thinking about it. Should I just take the gesture at face value? No connotations, no hidden meanings: it's just a drawer. Right? Oh, jeez.

For now, I think I'll just let it be. As long as Weiss and I aren't off to federal prison to share a cell, I believe I will be fine. Yeah, I know I've been a guy about it so far, but hey, it happens when you hang around Weiss too much. (Again with the vocab, Vaughn! You're dating a lit major, for Pete's sake!) It's just a piece of furniture for convenience, and that's all Syd probably mean it to be. From now on, I'm gonna leave the over-analyzing and politics of drawers to the women of the species. They're better at it, anyway.