Disclaimer: Not my characters. Belong to ABC, etc. Just writing for fun, as always.

Author's Note: This is the fourth part in "The Morning's Story" -- hope it keeps your interest!

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Promising Interlude
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At 7:49 a.m., she decides to sprint the two miles to the warehouse, knowing it is best not to leave Will too much time alone in her place.

After all, he's a journalist -- an extremely nosy one at that, which she's sure is great for investigative reporting, but it equals nothing more than potential trouble for her. She had an uneasy feeling as soon as she saw him standing on her doorstep this morning. There was something in his eyes that was unsettling, something in the way he looked at her that made her feel odd. So she's ready to get this debriefing on yesterday's mission over as soon as possible, despite the desire to hang with Vaughn.

Hang with Vaughn. The phrase sounds strange, out of place. She'll never get to "hang with Vaughn" in the way she can with Francie or Will (even though she's starting to think twice about Will now). She'll never get to meet him in public for a cup of coffee, chat over dinner, go to that Kings game like she wanted (she doesn't really care for hockey, but to spend a few hours with him, in his element, would be more than worth it).

It's a warm L.A. morning and she's a little sweaty when she finally makes it to their meeting place. He's waiting for her, of course, dressed down, it being Saturday and all.

Faded jeans and a dark gray polo shirt hang from his tall, slim but athletic frame. He looks much more vulnerable in his "street clothes" -- not as formal, more approachable, more human. His hands jammed are jammed in his pockets. A smile plays on his lips the moment he sees her. Too bad she isn't greeted like this every morning. He is damn fine.

"Hey there," she says, still breathing heavy from her run. She puts down her messenger bag, props a leg up on a nearby crate and starts to stretch her muscles.
"Good morning," he replies. "How was the Panama trip?"

"Everything went as planned," she replies, continuing to stretch. "I got the files you wanted. They're in the bag." She points to the black bag on the cement floor.

Vaughn looks worried, his forehead wrinkled in concern. "What the hell happened to your hands, Sydney?"

She rolls her eyes. "The result of being caught between a heavy wooden door and its equally sturdy frame. I had a close call." She shoots him a crooked smile. He doesn't return it.

"Let me see." He reaches for her hands protectively.

Moving away from the crate, she wipes her hands on her jogging pants. "They're okaya little sweaty, but just fine."

The look she gets in return reminds her of a wary, but caring parent. "Sydney." It's all he has to say.

She holds out her hands, garishly dotted with dark bruises. She averts her gaze, because even as much as she's been through, it still hurts to recognize the painful side effects of her job. "I should get worker's comp." The sentence trails off, the thought forgotten as he carefully cradles her hands in his.

The initial contact reminds her of licking a spoonful of sweet peach ice cream. Heavenly, filled with promise. A small lump begins to form in the back of her throat. "Maybe we should have a doctor examine them, just in case," he advises, turning them to examine her palms.

"There's nothing broken," she assures him, but not pulling her hands away from his tender grasp. "Believe me, I've had more than my share of broken fingers."

"That's something you shouldn't have to deal with." His tone is heartfelt, emphatic, downright protective. His thumbs gently graze both palms, sweeping from one side to the other. Feeling instant pleasure, she bites her lip to conceal a moan that would most certainly betray her. Their eyes meet, hers a smoldering brown; his a questioning, caring emerald.

"That tickles," she breathes, trying to giggle to cover her own ass. But the giggle catches in that lump in her throat, resulting in a ragged, almost sensual growl. Whoa, there, tiger, she thinks. Gotta' control that libido. Jesus, why don't you just send him a written invitation for sex?

An image appears - a white card with hot pink lettering. "Dear Vaughn: Got sex?"

"Sorry," he says, letting go of her hands. A long pause. She hasn't felt this close to someone, hasn't felt this gauzy shroud of intimacy since Danny. And she hasn't felt this completely embarrassedwell, ever.

"Yeah," she backs away and reaches for the black bag. "Let me give you what you came here for." Nice choice of words.

He clears his throat.

And automatic pilot kicks in. A manila folder full of important files is handed over to Vaughn. Funny, he doesn't look like a Michael. He doesn't look like a Stuart, Johnny or Kevin, either, though. Vaughn is just so much more fitting - the only name that really works. Mission details are relayed. No small talk. She's all business, even if she's only decked out in black jogging pants and a T-shirt.

"I've really got to get going," she says, throwing the empty bag across her body. "Will is waiting for me at my place."

"Oh?" Who would've guessed that one word could convey so much?

"Yeah, it's weird.he showed up right as I was leavingand believe me when I say that it completely out of character for him. It takes either a bowl game or one major story for him to be up before eleven, let alone standing at my door with breakfast," she shakes her head, confused. "Something's up. I've got a feeling."

"Well, be careful," he says, tapping the manila folder on the tips of his fingers. She can't tell if he said it out of habit or because he actually thinks Will would do something stupid. "If you need anything."

She nods. He is understood. "Yeah, I know." She turns and starts toward the warehouse exit. "Later, Vaughn," she calls over her shoulder.

As she jogs back home, she keeps replaying the feeling of his touch. She swears she can still smell him - a soapy, fresh scent that is so distinctly Vaughn.

And despite the thoughts of Will weighing on her mind, she can't keep the smile off her face.

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Note: Yeah, yeah, I decided to backtrack a bit, hope that's OK. Let me know what you think!