Title: Just Feel Chapter 4.

Author: Mango

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: Still G.

Watching Sydney Bristow was probably one of the most enjoyable things to do, but at that moment it was different. It was like a silent agreement that allowed them to forget about the events that had just past and try to make the best out of a complicated, yet dumbly simple, situation.

He took a mental note to thank his mother, and tried to stay quiet, to keep that calm and relaxed Sydney with him. Lately, it had been easier and easier to make her irate and he found this disturbing. Perhaps she was getting over him. He scorned himself for caring, after all he was the one to push her away. He was well aware that when he did push her away on the day of Utopia, as he had nicknamed it, it would be for the last time. He said his silent good-byes to her and tried to move on.

Moving on from somebody as perfect as Sydney had proven to be more difficult than he had imagined. Alice was fed up with his distant attitude, his nasty habit of leaving in the middle of the night and waking up in cold sweats with the name "Sydney" on his lips. So he moved onto more options. First there was Marie, ah Marie, nice hair but she chewed her nails which quite honestly was disgusting. Then, there was Rachel, nice hands but she did this weird thing with her legs when she sat, totally a turn off. Then, of course, we have Cheryl great legs but there was something about her hair, too puffy or something. Then again, there was something about all of them that had annoyed him, something beyond hair or legs. The simple fact was, he was annoyed that they weren't Sydney.

And how could anybody blame him? Looking at her now, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Blowing the steam off of her coffee and trying to sip it without scalding her tongue. In defeat she put it down and sat back. When she finally caught on to his staring her honey-amber eyes looked up at him with this look of such innocence nobody would have even guessed that she had killed how many agents and detained how many more? "What?" She asked, genuinely interested in what he was thinking.

"Nothing." He said shortly before quickly adding, "I mean, why did you assume this was Alice?" He asked gesturing with his hands toward the steaming mugs. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath in anticipation of her answer.

"I don't know." She said, pausing to pick her mug up and holding it gingerly in her hands. "I guess she was the last girl you spoke of, so I assumed …" When he didn't jump in then she started blushing. "Maybe I shouldn't have, I'm sorry …"

He smiled, secretly happy that she still cared. "No, don't worry about it. I mean, I know I haven't said anything recently."

She stood from her chair, to avoid awkwardness he supposed, and went to examine a hanging on the office wall. "This is really beautiful." She said. He loved the way she said it. No confusion, no explanation, just a statement that she believed genuinely to be true.

"Thank you." He said, glad that she chose that particular piece to compliment. It was his favourite, as well, with the thick dark swipes of paint outlining the exquisite form of a woman who remained faceless standing with a martini glass in her right hand and a French cigarette in her left. When he was a child he always imagined he'd marry her, the mysterious woman with the floor length gown. "That was one of my father's earliest pieces." He said, shadowing her earlier simplicity.

Again, he took that opportunity to look at her, gage her reaction. She turned toward him and simply stared back. After a moment that he found to be intriguing but he was sure she found to be uncomfortable she broke the silence. "A man with many talents." She made her way back to her chair and he was sure that the ambiguity of the statement was intentional. "He captures her beautifully. Who was she?" She asked, in what he thought both genuine curiosity and a gentle prying.

"Apparently, she was my mother at 21." He said with a smile. "Thirty-five years later I might beg to differ, but even the day before he died he swore she looked the same." The memory made his heart ache, but with bittersweetness. He was so happy to have even known him but even more happy he had made his mother so happy, so much so that she hasn't looked at another since.

He could see the sadness creep into her eyes and silently cursed himself. How could he have been so insensitive? "Syd, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said …"

"You know, it's funny how much I don't know about you because you're scared you're going to hurt me." She said, taking him by surprise and leaving his jaw hanging open in shock. "We … work closely with each other. I hate the way that you know everything about me and I hardly even know you. You're so scared you're going to hurt me that you don't give any of yourself away."

He stared at her, astounded at her accuracy. And all he could think was "Dear god, please don't let her read into that anymore than she already has." But he could have sworn he could see the wheels turning in her mind and feel her growing more introspective.