Author's Note: umm…I'm attempting some more romance…and I can't think of anything else to say right now, so I'll just get on with the story.

I can't believe I said that. It just popped out before I could stop it. I mean, she was sitting there, looking miserable and I couldn't help myself. What makes it worse- I said it loud enough for the microphone to pick it up. Idiot, Michael, what are you? So much for the 'not emotionally attached' pretence. I could just kiss it all goodbye.

I hate this so much. I love her, I love everything about her. The way she stays positive despite almost insurmountable odds. The way she gets can get some of the hardest jobs done, and still manage to stay herself. I love the way she talks, I love the way she smiles and I love the way she answers the phone. Yeah, I know, it's sad but true. I can deny it to everyone else but myself- I am in love with this woman.

But that's not why I hate this. I even love the fact that I can love Sydney. The reasons I hate this is because I'm not supposed to be in love with her. It goes against almost every regulation in the book- fraternisation, emotional attachment between handler and double agent, etc.

And I can understand why- I feel extremely protective of her. I could barely control myself when that prick hit her. I actually lost control for a second there, became way more violent than I usually am, knocking him out using the most brutal means necessary: smashing his head repeatedly against the desk. Thank god Sydney didn't see that, I cant begin to imagine what she would have thought if she did. Fortunately I regained my senses enough to hide the man before running to Syd. At least I did that much, but if I'd done my job better and watched for guards then we wouldn't have had any problems. Sydney's been hurt- and worse yet, potentially compromised- and it's entirely my fault. My most fervent hope is that the man that caught us wont remember enough to identify us.

However, the reason I hate this situation the most is this: everyone knows that I love her…except her.

So I sit in the backseat of a limo with the woman I love and I stare out the window. I think she wants to talk, but I cant just yet. I don't know what to say. So I ignore her. I hope she understands. The silence in the car is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Someone or something needs to break the silence. I was trying to think of something to say to Sydney, but Weiss turned on the radio, saving me from potential embarrassment. Thank god, no matter what I say I'd probably put my foot in it. I mean, who knows what goes on behind those chocolate brown eyes of hers?

I realise I've been staring at her, though I don't think she noticed. I turn back to the window and watch the world go by. The traffic was shocking. The Italians have this thing called 'bella figura', which translated literally means 'good figure.' It basically means that you can do pretty much anything you want as long as you do it with style, with savoir-faire. So if you feel like parking your car on a roundabout, you do it. If you want to double park, go ahead. As you can probably imagine, the traffic is something to behold. I watched, amused, as a smart car (a tiny car that you see a lot in Italy) stopped in the middle of the road and the driver just got out and went shopping, leaving it in the road.

The collar and tie of my suit is bugging me, and I run a finger around my collar to loosen it. I know I can undo the knot now, but a small part of me doesn't want to. Sydney tied this knot for me, her slender fingers managing what Weiss and I could not. So if I try to undo it, I'll probably just tighten it even further, asphyxiate and die. I think this may a job for the professionals…or perhaps scissors. I briefly debated which one would be more fun- I enjoyed Sydney tying it a bit more than I should, but who wouldn't enjoy hacking up an Armani tie with a pair of scissors? It's a close call, so I'll decide later.

A song comes on the radio. I recognise it from somewhere…it's a Roxette song. I actually like some of their stuff, but I never want Weiss to find out or I'll never hear the end of it. It's an older song, early nineties if I had to make a guess, but I still remember the name. 'Fading like a Flower (every time you leave).' The irony of the lyrics strikes me- it sums up my relationship with Sydney perfectly. I look over to her, and she's sleeping peacefully.

I love the way she sleeps.

Author's Note: Ha! Bet you weren't expecting that!! A VAUGHN chapter…though shorter than usual. There's a limit to how much prose I can write without beginning to repeat myself. So, I'll never know what you think of my romance unless…you guessed it, FEEDBACK. If you've gone to all the effort of reading my story, surely you can spare some time and write just a little bit of feedback J