Title: Just Feel

Author: Mango

Rating: G

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: Thanks for the encouraging reviews, please keep it up.

When she pushed the door open and was leaning on the doorframe, he thought he must have turned fifteen shades of red. Having a hushed conversation about his father to his mother, he understood to be an analogy of him and Sydney. But she looked so beautiful standing there, she looked to relaxed, so content to make him want her. Her face exposed, no make up this time. He liked her best like this. When she was Sydney, not Kate Jones or Freelancer.

Looking at her now he could see how she was struggling not to panic. He could tell that it wasn't claustrophobia that had her worried but the proximity. He guessed she had a right to be nervous, after the take down of SD-6 and the incident that followed she had tasted his hunger. It would be enough scare anybody off, he imagined. And after that passion, to have to go back to work day in and day out.

He wished a thousand times over that they had talked about it, eased some of the tension. So he wouldn't have to look into her eyes and see the pain there and not have any way to sooth it. Just then he caught her eye. He tried to hold the gaze, to read her as he once was able to with ease but she looked away too quickly. Her hand reached out with a force she seemed unable to control and snatched the phone.

Holding the receiver to her ear she looked at him puzzled. He couldn't help but smile at the expression on her face. "Protocol." He said and noted how she cringed at the word. "Power outages leave the CIA vulnerable, they have to cut communication from the outside."

She replaced the receiver back on the cradle and folded her hands neatly on her lap. "And what does protocol say to do in the meantime?" Sydney asked with sarcasm. The only real response she got out of him them was a look. One of those "Grow-up, Sydney, welcome to the real world" looks that he had been giving her lately.

He reached over and picked up a book from his shelf and tossed is haphazardly toward her. Her reflexes kicked in and she caught the book with natural efficiency. He smiled because it always came so easy to her. He watched as she read the title and he thought he could see the hostility growing within her. The fact that she had kept her eyes from showing recognition blew him away. Instead her reaction threw him, as usual. "Utopia? You want me to read Thomas More at 9:30 on a Monday morning? Not likely." Her statement just made him laugh, despite the antagonism of it.

"You can read whatever you want, Syd, but in the meantime, I have work to do." He turned back to the work on his desk and he waited to feel the wrath of Sydney come back at him at full force. Instead, she turned to make herself more comfortable in the chair and opened the book. He cringed as he remembered the inscription on the first page. "Who knows, maybe Utopia can exist. Love Syd." He sat, watching her sit, just staring at her words scrawled lazily on the crisp white paper and the memories came flooding back to him.

She had given it to him the day after SD-6 had been destroyed. They had met in the warehouse, more out of habit than for any other reason. She gave it to him and all he could give her was a cold, blank stare. How could she not know? How could she not see that he had to protect her, and this was the only way he knew how?

So he turned of the emotions that had come flooding out the previous day and carried on with life. Carried on day after agonizing day of working hip to hip with the woman he was destined to be with.

He silently kicked himself for giving her that book of all the books he had in his office., but in truth it was his favourite book there. Perhaps he was a bit biased, though, he was sure James Joyce could hold his own. The pain that was written across her face when she studied the page was quickly replaced by indifference as she continued on through the book.

Lines of concern formed on his forehead, CIA had done well with her, to a point where he wondered if she ever allowed herself to feel. He guessed that maybe it was better for her if she didn't allow herself to. But he also guessed that somewhere these emotions had to be let out. He could imagine her, all too easily, that night on the pier holding his hand. He thought of her now, with nobody. She sure as hell wouldn't be calling him up in the middle of the night anymore. And yet every night he refused to turn off his cell and he quietly mourned when it didn't ring.

They carried on that way in a seemingly comfortable silence, but each knew that the other was secretly damning the CIA and their protocol, once again.