While I was writing the first part, I thought it would be interesting to do Vaughn's POV of the same scenario. Written in third person. Hope you like it…
Vaughn's POV
He had noticed her first. He'd been making his rounds in the produce section when he first laid eyes on her.
She was wearing black leggings, a white tank top and a short, black warm-up jacket. It looked as if she'd just come from the gym, her flat stomach and toned arms and legs attesting to the benefits of exercise. Her dark brown hair was caught high on the back of her head into a bouncy ponytail, exposing a slender neck. He had a thing about the nape of a woman's neck, inhaling her perfume, planting kisses along the soft skin towards her shoulder.
She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but she was lovely in a serene sort of way. Doe-brown eyes, an expressive face. Her features were calm, as if nothing could rattle her. He found himself looking at her hands as she picked through the vegetables, noticing the long fingers, the blunt-cut nails. He wondered if she played an instrument, perhaps the guitar or maybe the violin.
Vaughn heard the noisy intake of his breath and suddenly he couldn't remember what to do next. What was wrong with him? Was this a reaction to her? He'd never believed in that love at first sight nonsense with the lightning bolt flashes that told you she was your soulmate, your one true love. He had a friend who was always falling in love with every pretty girl he met and he remembered his friend's description of how it felt. The rapid heartbeat, the sweaty palms, the inability to breathe whenever the object of your affection was near. It had sounded like a load of bull to him, but at that moment, he could literally feel his breath being taken away.
If Weiss could see him now, he would have cracked some joke that Vaughn was just feeling horny and needed to get laid. Okay, so he hadn't been with a woman since Alice moved out of their place almost four months ago. That didn't make him a raving sex fiend.
Alice. He deeply regretted all the misery he'd put her through and if he had to be honest, he was surprised she'd put up with it for so long. When they'd first gotten involved, she thought she could handle the fact that his job was based on secrecy and discretion and a fair amount of danger. When they met, he'd still been a field agent, but Alice had a hard time with that, always worrying about him whenever he had to "go out of town," their euphemism for his being on a mission. So he'd requested a transfer to Headquarters, a more administrative position that didn't require him to go out into the field. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but he wanted to make things easier on her because he loved her.
Things were all right for awhile. She was happier that he came home every night. He still couldn't talk to her about his work, but she seemed okay with it now that she knew she wouldn't be getting a phone call late at night, telling her that he'd been hurt or worse, killed. He remembered how she used to always ask him about his day when he arrived home from work. In the waning days of their relationship, his job was never mentioned.
For Alice, the final straw came about because of what happened in Badenweiler. He hadn't been a part of the operation, but he had known some of the agents involved. He was even friends with some of them. He'd gone to their homes for barbecues, to watch a hockey game, to play with their kids.
When he found out that some of his friends had been killed because of a botched effort on the part of one of their double agents in SD-6, he had become extremely upset. Maybe it had dredged up his own memories of what had happened to him as a kid—his CIA Agent father being killed while in the line of duty. Some of those agents who had been killed had wives and kids of their own and now they were gone, leaving their families left to struggle to pick up the pieces. He knew firsthand what that felt like.
When he had gotten home that night, Alice had taken one look at his face and known immediately that something was wrong. She had begged and pleaded with him to tell her what had happened—the truth this time—but he couldn't. Or wouldn't. He could only tell her that some fellow agents—friends—had been killed in an overseas operation.
She cried when he wouldn't open up to her and that just about killed him, but to divulge classified information would be a breach of protocol and he just couldn't do it. Blame it on his damned code of honor. It was easier for him to do that than to admit that maybe he just didn't love her enough to bare his heart and soul to her.
So she had packed up and left the next day. It had been right before Thanksgiving and that in itself was a telling sign of how much he had hurt her. Alice had no family in the area, but rather than spend the holiday with him in hostile silence, she had chosen to be alone.
He didn't blame her for leaving. He couldn't. He knew how difficult it had been for her to be with someone who had so many secrets.
Sitting alone in the bedroom, on the bed he had shared with Alice, it suddenly hit him that it was never going to be easy for him to have a relationship with a woman. There was so much he couldn't share about his life. That realization was depressing as hell. He wanted marriage and kids somewhere down the line. He'd often imagined buying his child their first pair of ice skates and taking him or her to the ice rink for the first time. While a proud Mom watched from the stands, he would take his child's hand and lead him out onto the ice, keeping true to his promise that he wouldn't let go, that he wouldn't let him fall. His kid would be a natural on the ice, though, he knew that for sure.
But that scenario would never happen if he could never find someone to love and how would that happen if he couldn't be honest with her? Somehow, his mother had been able to live with and love a CIA agent who had secrets, but what were the chances that he could find someone like that?
After Alice left, he found himself not wanting to go home to an empty apartment, so he took to working late and sleeping hard. Maybe he started drinking slightly more than usual, but that was to be expected, right, after you'd just been dumped by your girlfriend of three years?
But after a few weeks, the self-pity routine got old, even for him. It wasn't his nature to feel sorry for himself. So he tried to pick himself up and move on.
For starters, he'd recently moved to a new apartment. Now that Alice was gone, the place they'd shared seemed too big for him and besides, it had a lot of memories, good and bad. He'd needed a fresh start.
He stopped drinking so much, but he still kept up his late hours. And wonder of wonders, Devlin had taken notice. There was talk along the grapevine at work that a Handler position might be available soon. Apparently, one of their more indispensable field agents wasn't happy with her current situation. He wasn't the type to kiss-ass like that idiot Haladki, but he was thinking about going after the position. He was tired of being chained to a desk, not to mention all the paperwork that seemed to make its way into his office. It wasn't what he thought it would be like when he joined the CIA. Lately, he'd been wanting some action and adventure, even if it would only be experienced vicariously through his Agent.
So his living quarters were new, his work situation was looking up and now he found himself in the presence of a veritable goddess of a woman. Maybe his luck was turning…
She was now directly across from him. She still wasn't paying attention to him, so he took in the high cheekbones, the smooth forehead, the luscious curve of her lips.
Damn! She had suddenly looked up at him and caught him checking her out. He tried to deflect the situation with an embarrassed smile and then looked away. Some great covert agent he was, he thought wryly. It was probably a good thing he'd transferred from field duty a few years ago.
Well, at least she'd noticed him. Luckily, he'd ditched his jacket and tie in the car and rolled back his cuffs in an attempt to look more casual. God forbid she would think he was some uptight, stuffed-shirt businessman.
Why couldn't he be more urbane and debonair? Like Cary Grant in every movie he'd ever been in (Could you tell he'd been watching a lot of AMC at night?). A woman like her, she probably had guys falling all over her. He had to be different if he wanted to make a favorable impression.
Her footsteps were silent as a cat, but he still sensed her coming up behind him. It took every ounce of control he had to pretend he was just casually picking through the oranges, oblivious to her presence.
Their fingers suddenly brushed against each other as they reached for the same orange. When she touched him, it felt like an electrical bolt coursing through his fingers. What the hell kind of reaction was that?!?
He turned and looked sideways at her. "Sorry." He said in a voice that sounded strange even to him as he struggled to maintain his composure.
"My fault." She murmured, her voice low and velvety to his ears. "Did you want it?" She held out the fruit to him.
She was holding the orange in her left hand and his eyes immediately cut to her ring finger, which was blessedly bare of diamonds. She was single, he deduced and gave a silent prayer of thanks.
"That's okay." He held up a hand. "I'm not going to fight you over a piece of fruit." He let out what he hoped was a blasé chuckle.
"Well, that's a wise decision on your part." She said demurely. "Because I think I could take you."
He gave her a look of surprise. Was she just showing off or did she really have the moves to back up her claim? She certainly sounded serious. The image of her taking him down filled his head, which led to a playful wrestling match, which led to…God, maybe Weiss was right about him.
He gulped. "You think so?"
"Oh, I know so." She said, brimming with confidence.
He found her tough-girl act utterly captivating. The corners of his mouth lifted into a quirky grin. "Then I definitely won't get involved in any food-related scuffles with you." He smiled again and then went on his way. His decision to play it ever-so-cool and laid-back seemed to pay off. She was watching him as he left her, he was sure of that.
Once he was out of her sight, he began to plot his next move. How could he maneuver another "chance" encounter in the store? Would one more time be enough? He hadn't done this in awhile and he didn't have a good read on her yet. Would three times be stretching the limits of credulity? You might pass the same person one or two times during the course of your shopping, but more than that and she might think he was stalking her.
His mind was racing as he went down the cereal aisle and then by the dairy products. God, whoever thought he'd be pursuing someone in the supermarket! But hey, at this point, he'd take it where he could find it.
As he passed the paper products aisle, he realized he needed some paper towels and window cleaner because his new place was in dire need of scrubbing. He made a U-turn and headed back.
She was headed towards him! And he didn't even have to manufacture the situation. That meant three times was definitely an option.
Her cart was making the most awful grinding noise and she shot him an embarrassed grin. He returned her smile and then went into his aloof demeanor-mode by staring at the rolls of paper towels on the shelves.
He made his selection and turned around. He thought he saw her eyes cut away from the contents of in his cart. Well, at least he didn't have anything embarrassing in there like athlete's foot cream or Fruity Pebbles cereal.
Her cart was blocking the window cleaner. He had no choice but to speak to her.
"Excuse me, would you mind moving your cart so that I can get to the window cleaner?" He said politely.
"Oh, sure," She grabbed her cart and pulled it out of the way. It was at that moment that he saw the box of Cocoa Puffs and the bottle of Hawaiian Punch sitting in prime positions right on top of the other items in her basket. That tickled him for some reason. Maybe she had kids, but somehow he knew they were for her and it endeared her that much more to him. She was a grown-up woman but still a kid at heart. He liked that. And hey, if she could eat that stuff and still keep her knockout body, more power to her.
"Hey, a secret decoder ring!" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. There went urbane and debonair!
She gave him a blank look. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"Your prize. In the Cocoa Puffs." He gestured. "It's a secret decoder ring." He added lamely.
"Oh, yeah." She said disinterestedly.
"I didn't think they still gave those away." He was babbling now, digging the hole deeper. "It'll come in handy, you know."
"How?" She asked, seemingly perplexed that he would be talking her about such an inane subject.
"Well, if you ever want to become a spy…" He grinned like an idiot, grabbed his window cleaner and then walked away, silently cursing himself.
Man, he was so out of practice! He groaned. Talking about decoder rings? What was he, seven years old? There was no way he could redeem himself in her eyes, he was sure of that now.
So he headed to the place that would give him solace. When he was a kid and he'd gotten hurt or was feeling down, his mother would always give him a bowl of ice cream. Haagen-Dazs Butter Pecan was his ultimate comfort food.
The frigid air of the freezer hit him like a cold blast as he opened the door and removed a pint of Butter Pecan. If it looked strange amidst the bran flakes and Balance bars and veggie burgers, so be it.
He was about to check out when he passed by the little refrigerated room containing the fresh flowers the supermarket had for sale. He debated with himself for about five seconds before he left his cart and went inside.
There was a surprisingly wide selection to choose from. Roses, carnations, lilies, daisies, tulips. He didn't think roses were appropriate, particularly for someone he didn't even know, but carnations weren't exotic enough. The lilies reminded him of a funeral parlor and the daisies weren't sophisticated enough. Cary Grant wouldn't give a woman daisies.
Well, maybe if they were walking along in a grassy meadow and he had picked them himself. But he, Vaughn, was miles away from a grassy meadow, so that option was out.
That left the tulips. The bouquet he chose was simple. Two dozen pink and red tulips with green glossy leaves and brightly colored heads. They were classy and elegant and maybe they would make her forget the whole decoder ring nonsense.
He stepped out of the refrigerated room and laid the bouquet gently in the toddler seat of his shopping cart. He stopped at the counter to scribble something onto a card and placed it in an envelope. He started pushing his cart along, deep in thought. Now all he had to do was figure out—
CRASH! The grinding of metal against metal jolted him out of his planning. He looked up and his mouth dropped. He had crashed his cart into someone else's.
Quick! Think Cary Grant! "You do realize we have to stop meeting like this." He said in his most amused tone.
"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry!" She sounded mortified. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going…" Her voice trailed off as she blushed becomingly.
"Oh, that's too bad. I was kind of hoping you were." He said in a careless manner.
"Were what?" She frowned.
"Paying attention to where you were going." He smiled at her, hoping he was coming across in a flirtatious manner.
"You think I did this on purpose?" Her voice was harsh. Oh, great, his lame attempt at flirting had had the opposite effect on her!
"No!" He said quickly, his bravado suddenly lost. He felt so uncomfortable doing this. It was a wonder he'd ever met Alice.
She didn't say anything at this point, but as he watched her face, he could see that she'd had a sudden revelation and whatever it was, it had pleased her. Had he caused that little smile to play about her lips? Maybe he hadn't blown it, after all.
"I didn't mean to imply that you were following me--" He began to say.
"I wasn't." She cut in sharply.
He raised an eyebrow and tried again. "Will you at least admit that we have run into each other—literally and figuratively--" He grinned at that point and he could see her stance softening. "—more than is normal for a half-hour time span?"
She thought a moment. "Well, okay, maybe three times is a bit excessive." She admitted. "But it wasn't because I was following you!" She added haughtily.
"Your point is duly noted." He said with mock seriousness.
"Is everyone okay?" A tall, skinny kid with brown hair, wearing black slacks and a white shirt with a name tag that read "Hi, I'm Brian, Assistant Store Manager" came rushing down the aisle, a worried look on his face. He seemed inordinately concerned about our little mishap. Was it really that big a deal? Had no one ever crashed a cart in a supermarket before?
"We're both fine." Vaughn replied. "It was simply a matter of not looking where we were going."
"And no one's hurt?" Brian persisted.
She was a little bit behind him but he still heard her slightly sarcastic comment. "Do you want to take down our names and license numbers for insurance purposes?" He heard her say sotto voce.
Her remark caused him to grin and he looked at her. "You know, that might not be such a bad idea."
"What?" Brian (who hadn't heard her) sounded confused.
"That's a sneaky way of finding out my name." She remarked airily.
"Huh?" Brian wrinkled his forehead.
"Hey, it was your idea." He pointed out.
"What are you guys talking about?" Brian whined. This kid had to get lost, he decided.
"Look, Brian," She grabbed his elbow before he could make a move and started scuttling him along. "Everyone's fine, no one was hurt and we're not going to sue your store, okay?" She gave him a little push. "You can go now."
Brian looked at her as if she were nuts, but he did as he was told.
"So where were we?" She turned back to him and he found himself staring into those warm brown eyes.
"You were just about to tell me your name." He reminded her.
"Oh, right." She nodded. "It's Sydney. Sydney Bristow."
Sydney Bristow…He tried the name out in his head. He liked the way it sounded. "Nice to meet you, Sydney." He smiled. "My name is Michael Vaughn."
She smiled back at him. "So do you live around here?" She asked.
"Actually, I just moved into a new place not too far from here about two weeks ago." He told her. "How about you?"
"I'm pretty close, but I've only been living in the area for a few months myself." She replied.
"Excuse me?" Damn, it was that kid again! He turned around to glower at him and felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw the kid holding a bouquet of pink and red tulips. He cut his eyes to his cart and saw that his flowers were no longer there. His gaze traveled to the floor, where his bouquet lay in a trampled heap.
"Your flowers fell out of the basket when she hit you and you crushed them when the cart ran over them." Brian was saying to him.
Vaughn closed his eyes in frustration. Couldn't anything go right today? He pulled the kid over to the side away from Sydney.
"Look, I'll pay you for both bouquets, but you have to do me a favor." He said in a low voice.
"What?" The kid looked skeptical.
After a few minutes of negotiation (and a ten dollar "delivery" fee), Vaughn's plans were in place. The kid left them alone and Vaughn turned back to Sydney, who looked as if she were far away with her thoughts.
"Sydney?" Vaughn said her name, liking the way it flowed from his lips. She looked at him.
"I'm sorry about your flowers." She said quietly. "Would you let me pay for them?"
He was startled by her gesture and more than a little confused at her sudden attitude change. "No, I—that's not necessary." He stumbled over his words. "Brian is letting me have them free of charge."
"Oh," She said tersely. "Well, again, I apologize for running into you. I guess I just have a lot on my mind."
Vaughn opened his mouth to say something, but then changed his mind. It was clear that she was shutting him off at the pass. "That happens." He mumbled.
"It was nice to meet you." She said politely and bid a hasty retreat.
Vaughn was downcast as he made his way over to the check-out. For a moment there, it looked as if he had had a chance, but then something unexplainable had happened and the opportunity was gone.
He thought about canceling his deal with Brian, but then figured he was never going to see those ten dollars again, so why not get what he paid for? As he passed by Brian in his little Store Manager's cubicle, they made eye contact and Brian nodded at him.
Vaughn unloaded his groceries into the trunk of his car and then got into the driver's seat, but didn't start the car. He was far enough away from the entrance of the store that he wouldn't be seen and even then, she didn't know which car was his, anyway.
He opened his glove compartment and pulled out a pair of small but powerful binoculars. One of the perks of working for the CIA were the cool gadgets, he had to admit. He brought the glasses up to his eyes and focused them on the entrance to the store.
Vaughn had specifically told Brian that he was to give the flowers to Sydney outside of the store. He wanted to see her reaction. If she looked pleased, then he would still have a glimmer of hope. But if she wasn't…well, then he'd just have to find another place to shop because he couldn't handle another chance run-in with her.
The automatic sliding doors were opening and his heart jumped into his throat as Sydney walked out, the late afternoon sun glinting off the rich brown hair. Where the hell was Brian?
"Miss, Miss!" He heard Brian calling after her. Sydney turned and he couldn't hear any more of their conversation after that. He watched as Brian gave her the flowers (or did she grab them out of his hand?) and then he handed her the little card.
Sydney turned away from the store as she held the bouquet in one hand and the card in the other. She was in his perfect line of sight and he watched as she touched a finger to one of the fragile blooms. Her small gesture touched him. Then she gathered the bouquet to her chest as she opened the card. His heart was racing and he wondered what she was thinking.
And then he saw her smile.
THE END (for real this time)