Disclaimer: Same old, same old. Characters aren't mine. Just writing for fun.

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter took so long to post -- but I needed to get my taxes done. :)

Archive: Sure, just let me know where.

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Love....and Marriage?

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"I love you."

As soon as the words leave Will Tippin's lips, Sydney blanks. Oh shit. No, no, no....he did not just say that. Shit, shit, shit. She's wringing her hands, not feeling the soreness caused by pressing on those damn bruises.

The fat bald guy was fast for being...well...fat. (Being bald really had nothing to do with his speed, although it couldn't hurt with aerodynamics...) He was no more than three steps behind her as she ran for her life through the cavernous halls of the Casa Malinez. Panama. Yesterday. Pre-bruises. Four files clutched in her left hand -- one for SD-6, three for the CIA. And the sweaty porker breathing down her neck was really starting to annoy her.

Damn heels. She usually didn't have a problem wearing them, but then again, posing as a Brazilian madam meant wearing unusually high stilettos. Bastard Sloane had to use that alias for this mission, didn't he? As she rounded a corner, her heels pounding on the expensive marble, she realized that the fat guy wasn't relatively fast...she was particularly slow. Thank God for beefy, sloth-like security guards, she thought. The back door! She saw it and threw herself into high gear, pumping her arms at her sides to gain momentum. Her right hand threw open the door, and two seconds later, the fat guy grabbed her left arm, pulling it toward him in order to retrieve the files.

With a grunt, she spun, her long leg raising to dig a stiletto into his fleshy chest. Yeah, fatass, I'd like to introduce your flabby man breasts to my pointy heel... He swore, releasing her arm. She turned back to the door...and was horrified when she felt herself losing her balance, her legs wobbling on the heels. Both flailing hands finally latched onto the wooden doorway and she was steadied. Then the fat guy smiled, a horrendous, greasy, bad teeth kind of smile. This is not good, she thought, trying to mobilize herself. Too late. The door had slammed, catching her hands between the rock-solid doorjamb and the heavy, hard door. Her fingers burned. The files had been dropped. She was pissed off. Since she was solo on this mission, she had plenty of time to kick his ass. And she did. Oh, yeah, and she recovered the files.

Now she wants to kick the fat guy's ass all over again, her eyes scanning over her discolored hands. She realizes a few minutes have passed since Will last spoke, but she doesn't know what to do...or say. This is not something she could've planned for, or even anticipate in the slightest. Ohhhh...this sucks. There is only one man she wants to say those words, and he's probably back in his bed already, falling asleep. Or perhaps he's walking his dog...or maybe he is strolling on the beach. Vaughn strolling. The word 'strolling' has never seemed so hot before...but paired with his name it becomes downright sexy, the kind of word that rolls of your tongue so easily but leaves it tingling for minutes after. She wonders what his life is like -- what he does when he has free time. Does he even have free time? Is he dating someone? (Oh, God, I hope not.)

Will is staring at her with this lost, sad look in his eyes. She wishes she could love him. Life would be so much easier, so less complicated. She wouldn't be searching her mind frantically for the right words, wouldn't be fantasizing about some unattainable man, wouldn't be praying that the ground beneath her feet would open up and swallow her whole. That would solve this little dilemma, wouldn't it? Sorry, Will, but it looks like I'll be falling down this crevasse now...I'll see ya when I see ya, okay pal?

"Syd," his raspy voice breaks into her thoughts like a sledgehammer. "I--"

"Stop." The word spills out of her mouth -- she didn't want to say it, she her first words after Will's declaration of love to be a little more...well, sensitive. C'mon, Syd, get your shit together. He's your best friend, you need to treat him with a little more respect.

Will looks as if he's been slapped. Eyes wide, mouth wide open. Pure shock. That must've been what I looked like a few minutes ago....
She silently hopes he doesn't say anything else for a while. She needs a few more minutes to think this through. What would she want Vaughn to say if she admitted her love for him...and he only wanted a professional relationship? Just the mere thought of that scenario tears at her heart. What would he do?

"Let me explain--"

Damn you, Will...shut up! Her fingers fly to his lips. That's exactly what she'd want Vaughn to do. That way I could feel his soft fingertips one last time....

Her eyes suddenly move to Will's face and it takes all of her willpower not to burst out into laughter. A dime-sized piece of flaky croissant is on his cheek, caught in his thick stubble. She tries to push it away with one sweep across the side of his face, but to no avail.

Stubborn little piece of shit, she thinks. I don't want to embarrass him...God, that's the last thing I want to do. But I don't want him to think I'm trying to make a move on him...that's the second to last thing I want to do...or is the ultimate last? And as she sits there, silently debating, she catches a look in Will's eye. It's a look of unabashed adoration, combined with a healthy dose of hope. He thinks this is a gesture of love...oh shit. She decides to make one last effort. "Will?" she says, trying to buy some time.

"Huh?" he responds, the word catching in his throat. Oh shit, he does think I'm love with him! Do it, Sydney, do it! Her eye is drawn to the dangling croissant fragment. Maybe it'll just fall...and I won't have to say anything...maybe...maybe.......

Or maybe it'll just stay there forever. And instead of embarrassing him, I'll tell him I love him and we'll get married, have kids and maybe one day they'll break the news to him that he has a moldy, 10-year-old piece of croissant stuck to his face.

Or maybe I'll try one more time. She brushes his cheek once more, watching in horror as the mighty croissant piece, so valiant, held strong in its position. Damn.

What'll I tell our kids? "Ahhh, the moment I knew your dad and I were destined to be together...I remember it like it was yesterday. You see, I just couldn't bear to tell him he had this chunk of food on his face. Instead, I decided to continue my life of lies and marry the poor schmuck. Delightful story, isn't it, kids? Yes, it is a fairy tale come true."

Or maybe I'll just be ball-crushingly honest.

"You have....a piece of croissant on your face."

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What a shitty morning. Sydney can hear Will's fading steps, descending the staircase outside as she continues to reel from their awkward confrontation.

"Fucking insane," she whispers to herself, running her fingers through her hair. She can't be alone right now, especially after feeling as if she's lost one of her best friends. Only one name pops into her head. Vaughn.

She dials his number like she's on speed, her fingers nothing but a flesh-colored blur flying over the keypad of her cell phone.

This is wrong, she thinks. I should not be doing this. But Vaughn will understand, she rationalizes. Just as she's about to hang up, she hears his voice. "Hello?"

Her body temperature is now only a few measly degrees cooler than the sun. All he has to do is say one word, any word, and I'm hooked. He could answer his phone with a chipper rendition of the Golden Girls theme song and I'd be drooling -- I'm that pathetic.

"Hi, it's me." She feels strange saying that -- it's almost like they're a little too informal. Like when I used to call Danny, post-mission, after landing at LAX: "Hey sweetie...it's me."

"What's going on?" he asks, sounding worried. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah, something just happened with Will...it was bad, God, so bad," she starts. "I'm sorry to bother you."

"You're not," he says matter-of-factly, like this is something she should know by now. "I wish you could believe me when I say that."

His reassurance is charming. "No, really, I feel bad for calling you like this."

"Sydney, you don't sound that great -- is there I anything I can do?"

"No, I'm OK," she starts. She's about to end the phone call, saying just to forget the whole thing. She places a hand on her hip to steady herself -- she realizes she needs him to be there for her now. It's odd having that feeling -- that dependence on someone again. "Do you have time to talk sometime today?"

"Of course," he replies instantly. She thinks she hears the muffled sound of a sweatshirt being pulled on, brushing the receiver. "I can be at the warehouse in a few. How does that sound?"

Sounds wonderful. She closes her eyes and smiles. Thank you, Vaughn. "Yeah, I can be there in twenty minutes," she says.

"Are you sure you're OK?" he asks again, and she can just picture his worried expression on the other end of the line.

No. "Yeah," she lies.

"I'll see you in twenty, then."

"That's fine," she responds. Thanks for being my friend....thanks for always being there for me....thanks for discarding what could be a relaxing Saturday morning for me....thanks for helping me feel love again. "Hey Vaughn? Thanks."

"You don't have to thank me," he says. She hears him smile. "You know that."

"I know. I'll see ya in a few minutes."

They say a brief goodbye and she turns toward the door, having just felt another presence in the room. Am I being watched...or am I completely paranoid?

After a quick search of the apartment, she's relieved to discover it's the latter. She peers out the window, her fingers separating the blinds just enough to see out. Will's car is still in the parking lot -- he's sitting in the driver's seat....and he's looking up at her apartment. She moves away, praying he didn't see her. I'm just paranoid, that's all. Nothing more than a simple case of neurosis, pure and simple, she rationalizes. Besides, I've gotta' get going. Vaughn is waiting.

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Note: That's it for now. Haven't decided the POV of the next chapter.....suggestions? Will, Syd, Vaughn? Feedback is welcome!