w i t h o u t f a i l
by bulletproof (bulletproof_android@yahoo.com)
characters owned by jj abrams.
set in 'Page 47'. just a little pointless fluff fic. nothing to be taken seriously ;)
You get to the warehouse half an hour early, without fail. Call it commitment to the job, punctuality or... eagerness, any way you say it, there is always a buzz that starts in your belly whenever you call her to set up a meet, the sensation growing sharper in intensity, second by second, until it drives you out of the office at exactly forty-five minutes til meeting time.
When you finally get there, you start about setting out the intel that needs to be dealt with, the gadgets and gizmos that need to be transferred, with painstaking care. You wonder, at times, how much of this is about being organised, and how much is worrying about losing your cool around her.
Sometimes you have the audacity to laugh at that thought. After all, what is she to you? Sydney Bristow is your agent, your workmate, an esteemed colleague, not some high school crush...
But then she'll walk in, you'd recognise the beat of her heels anywhere, and she's all sashay of hips and swing of fabric against skin, and you don't feel like laughing anymore.
"Hey," she says, and as always, that first greeting tells you so much about her day. Sydney Bristow, master of deception and disguise, has never hidden herself from you, and if you listen hard enough, she can tell you everything within the breath of her sigh.
Today, however, she smiles for you, and though it is a little subdued, a little weary, it is breathtaking nonetheless.
"Hey," you return, pause a while to linger in the moment, then get down to business, getting it out of the way.
Not to say that you aren't professional. You tell her everything clearly and precisely, because her life depends on it. She is a receptive listener, earnest and sometimes questioning, but you are always ready for it. When it comes to Sydney, you have already thought of every contingency, every single possibility.
The problem is, today, apart from the usual spy gadgets and counter-missions, you have something personal to ask her, and you know she isn't going to like it.
You ask her about Emily, about planting the bug, even though you already know exactly how she's going to react. She fights, as expected, and accuses you of not listening. She's wrong, though. You always listen, you hear every breath, every sigh, every nuance of tone, and because of that, you know exactly what to say to get her to comply.
And then it is over, everything that needed to have been said has been, and a gush of air seems to rush out of the both of you, the tension is diffused, and you slip slightly out of Agent-Handler mode. She smiles, marking the change, she is grateful for it, but the cheerful expression does not reach her eyes.
"So, how are you?" you ask, and you both take seats on two opposite tables, so that now you are eye to eye.
"Good," she says, fooling nobody, and then, "well, the other side of horrible."
You lean forward a little, and your brow starts wrinkling in concern, "What happened?"
She sighs and a grimace twists at her lips, "My friend's fiancé, well, ex-fiancé, is a lying, cheating scumbag... and I was the one to tell her."
"Oh," you remark, "Francie, right? She must be heartbroken."
"Yeah," she drawls slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and the action draws your attention to her naked ring finger, "but it's better that she knows now than if she found out after she married the guy, right?"
"Vaughn?" she suddenly calls your attention, after looking at you expectantly for a few moments, and you realise that you have been staring.
"Huh? Oh, sorry, it's nothing," you reply, and you want to smack yourself for sounding so stupid, but she's still looking at you, waiting for an answer. You sigh. You're powerless to stop the flow of words then comes from your own mouth, "It's just you're not wearing your ring anymore..."
"Yeah," she concurs, looking down at her hand, "I took it off today, with Francie. We took our rings off together."
You nod silently because really, there is no appropriate thing to say. Hell, you left appropriate a few counties ago, but she'd never call you on that.
She smiles and the tiniest of laughs escapes her, her dimples flaring, "You notice everything don't you?"
The comment and the smile floor you, almost, and your next words trip all over each other, "It's my job."
You give a dimpled half-smile of your own, playing at casual, but she sees right through you.
"Right."
You gulp a little at the look in her eyes, half playful, but it still manages to pierce straight through you.
"Are you okay?" you ask, after the butterflies stop causing havoc with your stomach.
"With this?" she clarifies, wriggling the naked finger in question. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, I will always love Danny, and I will never forget what he meant to me... but it's been a while and I feel that it's time to let go. Time to let new things in."
Your gaze is fixed on hers as the revelation sinks in and the entire warehouse is so still, you think you can hear her heart beating.
And then she abruptly gets up, pushing herself away from the table and she is before you in two long strides, her breath mingling with yours before she leans in for a kiss.
Her lips are soft and sweet on yours, like sun shining through summer rain, but all too soon the kiss is over and she is near breathless when she whispers, "Thankyou, for always being there."
"Always," you echo and she bestows one of her full-blown, intensely infectious smiles on you and you can feel one spread in answer across your own lips.
Then, almost shyly, she murmurs, "I should go," and pulls herself away, making her way to the door, leaving you to stare with silent awe in her wake.
And then she is gone, giving you the chance to think and process... you can still feel her on your lips.
You smile, finally, as you get up to pack your things. No matter how much you know about her, how many times you read and re-read her file, Sydney Bristow will never cease to amaze you, without fail.
END
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