Set between season 2 and 3. Inspired by my wish for more Sonya.
Sonya rushed through her lived-in apartment. She quickly thumbed through spreadsheets and data reports stacked in their own organized way on top of the busy coffee table. One paper grabbed onto her attention, leading her to devour the contents. Her encrypted laptop gave a sharp ring as it let her know it finished processing the data. The sound of it made her look up from the maybe not so important work. A framed signed comic book hanging above the still faintly glowing television- although it has been off for about two minutes- caught her eye. She hastily checked her watch and, seeing that it was 5:35, abandoned the files to scramble to the door.
Sonya snagged her battered purse off the coat rack, and her keys from the side table. Her hand, the nails delicately polished, reached automatically for the pistol laying patiently in its spot. She hesitated as she regarded the gun. After a brief moment, she shrugged. She left the weapon and her apartment, nearly stumbling in her high heels as she hurried out.
Swaying back and forth, she stood on the curb of the busy sidewalk. She was nearly clipped by a delivery man on a bicycle, but she was unfazed by the others around her. The wind was harsh that summer night; she had to tighten her light cardigan around her shoulders. Sonya checked the time on her watch, the face illuminated by the streetlamps and the lights of the building behind her. The time read 5:40. She studied the taxis and cars that zipped by, before stuffing her cold hands in the pockets of her stylish dress.
An ominous lurking man with dark eyes and leering posture was captured in Sonya's peripherals. He was staring at her with intense, territorial eyes. She shifted closer to the streetlamp, far from him.
"Come on, Seymour. You said five-thirty," Sonya muttered, wary of the unmoving man. Taxis and pedestrians came and went, yet he remained transfixed.
Uneasy of the stranger and frustrated at the tardiness, Sonya released a huff of breath. She pulled her purse tighter against herself, tugged on her curled hair, and willingly joined the rushing crowd down the sidewalk towards the subway station.
Sonya made a beeline for the station schedule, cutting through the exiting crowd of loud New Yorkers- one of which was blasting music through their phone's speakers. Her deep brown eyes searched for her stop greedily, though they swept side to side for another glimpse of the man. The second she found the train she needed, she checked the time of departure, arrival time, and the time on her watch. The watch said it was 5:50, she had ten minutes. She ran towards the train.
Once on the subway, and speeding to her destination, Sonya was staring out the window lost in thought. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her elbow hooked around a pole to stay upright. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the man from the street leering at her again. She continued to watch him, her calm and security losing its edge. She tightened her arms to cover her breasts, when he didn't look away. Sonya nervously played with the end of her hair, studying every movement the man made. She twisted the black locks around her finger, and reached into her purse.
She thought possibly that he was one of the Dirty Thirties they were trying to track down. Upon closer inspection, he looked nothing like any of the rogue agents. He was just a run of the mill creep. But she had a way to take care of him if he attempted anything. Her hand fumbled around the loose and haphazard items in her. Sonya's eyes widened. She removed her empty hand, the realization hitting her furiously. She left her gun.
The man continued to stare at her with predatory want.
Seymour Birkhoff pulled up outside Sonya's apartment building. Turning down the traffic report on the radio, he checked the time on the dashboard. It was 6:00. Searching, he glanced out the passenger side window. His soft blue eyes scanned up and down the sidewalk, his fingers picking at his baggy jeans. Seymour was taken aback when he didn't see Sonya glaring in frustration at him. He leaned forward to get a better look. But the only people he saw were doing their own thing, minding their business in true New Yorker fashion.
Seymour grabbed at his cellphone in the cup holder. There was a few minute old message from Sonya. Reading the simple text "subway", he put away the phone without a second thought. He fought his way back into the flow of vehicles, and sped off.
"Couldn't wait thirty minutes, Sonya," Though he shook his head, a smile was on his lips.
Sonya checked her watch- 6:15- and over her shoulder, as she hurried down the sidewalk. She had her keys slipped between her fingers, and noted the security cameras she was passing. Before turning a corner, Sonya cautiously peered around it; and once she walked forward, she looked behind her back. Her eyes scrutinized the people around her, all of which were paying her no attention.
Only one person was interested in Sonya. She spotted dark, leering eyes nearing her and picked up speed.
Her path was wild. She constantly backtracked and weaved in and out of crowds. She took her cardigan off and tied it around her waist for a slight change in appearance. She even ducked into a coffee shop for a moment to attempt to shake her tail. The more she glanced behind her and the more she checked her watch, the faster she became.
Soon, she was jogging towards the convention center. With her keys still held tight in her hand, Sonya dug in her purse for her ticket. She kept her head up, making her way to the safety of the ticket booths and crowds. Her body was rigid and her eyes continued to search her surroundings.
A hand pulled lightly on her arm to turn her around. Sonya swung her fist immediately. She landed a forceful punch to her attacker's nose.
Except, it was only Seymour.
Sonya dropped her defense once she realized who she'd hit. She went quickly to his aid, "Oh my God, Seymour! Ohmygod. I am so sorry. This creep was following me and I left my gun and…"
His laughter cut off her rambling. He held his nose just under his wire rimmed glasses, the blood barely held back, "It's okay. I learned my lesson. Leave earlier to beat traffic, or else you get punched in the face."
"Or just leave earlier so your date doesn't have to run from a stalker," Sonya caught onto his sarcasm, relaxing into it.
She took a careful look at Seymour's injury. Gently, she started to lead him inside, "Let's get you fixed up. It doesn't look broken, but it is bloody."
"You think I'll get another cool scar?" Seymour smirked as best as he could.
Sonya rolled her eyes, and swiped at the blood so it didn't trickle down to his white t-shirt, "Well if you do, girls usually like them."
"Sweet."
The two both laughed that time. They went into the comic convention together, and enjoyed their date despite the disastrous way it began. The two nerds together, everything else disappeared.