Different Shade of Normal: Spy Bride
Chapter 2: The Second Attempt
Syd and Michael's attempt at eloping only served to make the Bristow/Vaughn/Calfo household fill with anxiousness and anxiety. A good two months had passed after their excursion, and their friends were still going on about it like it was high treason committed only the day before. Instead of backing off, Francie only spurred herself onwards, making more lists than ever. She had notified Sydney of the various meetings she had set up with flower shops and dress fittings with tailors. Will was all too cocky for his own good; Michael had admitted to Sydney that he had thought of calling in some of his not-so-nice connections more than once. And Weiss…He just thought this whole situation was the funniest thing in the world. He also didn't mind ensuring that they knew that fact.
Another truly unfortunate byproduct of their jaunt was the "sudden and inexplicable" increase in mission frequency. Sydney was almost positive that her father was responsible. Since the incident, Jack Bristow had taken to sitting beside his daughter at debriefs, hoping to deter Michael from her, and resorted to scowling at him when he realized that Sydney had two sides. During those meetings, the elder Bristow would contradict everything his daughter's fiancé suggested without prejudice, not caring if his accusations were unfounded or not. After those frustrating gatherings, Michael and Sydney would often shuffle over to her desk while he skulked and complained to her about her father's behavior. About the middle of his rant was when Jack would silently appear behind his only child, challenging the younger agent with a look of pure loathing. Then he would commence in wishing Sydney a good night or some similarly bland phrase of parting, and with a lasting glance of sheer despise thrown over his shoulder at Michael, he would leave with his head held high, a good day's work completed.
Needless to say, it was all wearing on Sydney's nerves.
Again.
Now add to that it was late December, and she rarely got home in time to dart to her window and bask in her beloved afternoon light. Instead, she'd had to settle with laying on his side of the bed until she got hungry enough to eat; and then right afterwards she'd plant herself in the same spot, only this time Donovan would follow.
Michael and Donovan had essentially moved in with her. She honestly didn't know why he still kept paying rent for his old apartment; he only kept the largest pieces of furniture there, anyway. At first, Sydney had to adjust to having a dog around; she'd never had any pets during her childhood, and having an animal constantly underfoot was a slight change. But the sweet old dog was a wonderful addition to the household and was truly good company, especially when his male master was away on a "trip" as he was that day.
So she and Donovan were stretched out on Michael's side of the bed, his round belly warming her feet as she read her fiancé's latest entry in their wedding journal. While she had been doing recon in Sydney, Australia (someone had one twisted sense of humour), he'd had a day alone in the apartment with a pen and the journal. Sydney shifted her feet slightly — causing the dog to grumble in his slumber — while she untied the now-fraying red ribbon and turned past the joint entry they had written after their interrupted getaway.
'This isn't fair.
'That's the only way I can describe this.
'I've had to put up with many things — many byproducts of my relationship with her — but this one tops them all. I've had to put aside my feelings toward Irina Derevko (don't worry, Syd, we've already discussed that); the fact that I have sleepless nights of two varieties now (only one of them being good), that the next time I see her it might be in a body bag. I've risked my life on more than one occasion for her, and I've even endured Eric's never-ending taunts, sexual innuendo, and pure crap. All because I love her so much.
'But I don't know if I can take this one.
'I don't know if I can take Jack Bristow glaring at me literally behind Syd's back, or his contradictions to everything I say, even if it's just 'hello.' I don't know if I can handle waiting for Jack Bristow to just step up to my desk one day and shoot me in the face. Or poison my coffee. Or put a bomb in my car.
'The anticipation is just killing me.
'What? How do I know he wants to? Oh, come on. That's the dumbest question I've ever heard me ask myself!
'I see the cogs turning in his brain. It's all written in those tiny black eyes: he wants to beat me to a bloody pulp.
'Do I mind? As long as Sydney doesn't carry the Vaughn-hating gene, I will learn to be content with the world.
'Sydney…Now, I know you wanted to keep all entries impersonal, just as if we were talking to a complete stranger, but I can't. I hardly get to talk to you as it is; when I do, it's mostly me complaining about your father, and seeing as I've already done that…I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm breaking the rules one more time. This has officially turned into a sappy love letter.
'I love you. I just can't say that enough. The possibility that I could say it to you when we wake up in the same bed, when we eat lunch, before we go to sleep…it boggles my mind. Almost every day for two years I though that it could never happen, that it was a meaningless pipe dream doomed to stay that way for eternity. But when we kissed for the first time after the takedown…It was as if I had opened my eyes for the first time only to see Van Gogh's "Starry Night" or I had just regained my hearing in time to listen to Vivaldi's "Four Seasons". Like I had just finished my favourite book only to discover that another chapter had suddenly been tacked on to the end. That's the only way I can describe it.
'And I miss you. I miss waking up at three AM because you've been watching me sleep; I miss hearing you say my name (even if it is Vaughn instead of Michael); and I miss your touch. Your sweet, simple touch, whether it be a hand on my arm, a finger on my cheek, or…in the more intimate sense. To quote that strange Heath Ledger movie you and Francie like so much: "I have seen the new moon but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face…I miss you like the sun misses the flower. Like the sun misses the flower in the depths of winter. Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to." I like directing my light to you, Sydney. It's fun.
'So before this gets too mushy and I give in to the urge to rip this out and burn it, I'll wrap up. I'll close by saying two things:
'One: I love you.
'Two: I can't wait to make you Mrs. Michael Vaughn.'
Oh God.
How was she supposed to respond to that? It was just like his proposal: it took her a Texas minute to unstick her jaw and restring her vocal cords, let alone answer him. Again with the compliments! Why did he have to keep doing that? 'There was a reason we decided on impersonal entries, damn it!' They were going to have to stop if they wanted to look one another in the eyes without blushing ever again. Their choices were: A) learn to live without compliments or b) accept that they were completely in love and not care. Sydney decided on the latter, not really knowing if she could give up his incessant commendations.
But now what? He'd just made this blatant declaration of love and she had no way of responding: he was on a mission (a real one this time) with Dixon in Brazil. The man was completely unreachable, even if she had her father on her side and in a good mood.
Or so she thought.
Phones throughout the apartment began ringing in various pitches at various times, creating a rippling affect that started in the kitchen and ended up in the laundry room. Syd heard them through her closed door, but figured that someone else in the house would pick it up. After three rings, though, she gently removed her feet from under Donovan's belly and padded towards the laundry room. When she was about three feet from the doorway, Francie suddenly darted out of her room and barreled down the hall to Syd's destination, not seeming to see her best friend. She was clad in a fluffy pink bathrobe and her hair was more than slightly disheveled, disinclining Sydney from peeking into her bedroom. As Syd braced herself in the doorway, Francie picked up between the fourth and fifth ring.
"Hello?" Her best friend paused with her back to Sydney, running a hand through her thick black curls. Abruptly her head rolled back, and she faced the doorway to yell, "Syd! It's Michael! Oh!" She caught sight of her friend, not four feet in front of her. "Here ya go."
"How do you know?" She questioned, taking the receiver from her.
"'Joey's Pizza?'" She replied mockingly before stalking back to her bedroom.
Syd laughed heartily before lending her ear to the phone. "¡Hola! ¿Cómo usted es, mi amor?"
A groan met her enthusiastic greeting. "No more Spanish, Syd. I've been listening to it all day. The things people say when they think you can't understand them!"
She stretched the cord over to her bay window and curled up against the cool windows. This alley was one of the few alleys in Los Angeles that didn't have a streetlight at its pinnacle, so it was as dark as black satin compared to the glowing sky. Sighing she asked, "Where the hell are you?"
"About a hundred miles down the Amazon River, trying my best not to reenact a bad scene from 'Anaconda'."
"So what, you've got Jennifer Lopez on a boat with you?"
"Uh, yeah! Don't you have Ben Affleck in bed?"
"No, but I've got an Italian bull named Donovan waiting for me naked in my room."
Michael made a noise that could have been easily mistaken for a sharp melodramatic swear. "I knew I shouldn't have let you stay alone with him! He's seduced every one of my former girlfriends. That guy's gotten more action than I have!"
"Aw, poor baby. Remind me to scratch you behind the ears when you get home." The couple sank into a companionable silence, Syd trying in vain to ignore the ever-present sound of motorists in every colourful mood. A question sprung forth from her lips before she had a chance to sensor it. "Why are you calling? My father will kill you if he finds out that you've been calling his only daughter while on a mission for the CIA."
The sound was faint, but she could hear him shift uncomfortably in his seat and bite down on a chapped lower lip. "I just wanted — I just wanted to know if…If you read the, um, the, uh—"
"Yes," His fiancée replied gently, positive that her smile had been drawn on with permanent marker, "I read your entry, Michael."
"And…W-what did y-you think…?"
"I love you, too, Michael, my guardian angel," She murmured into the phone, wishing it were his ear instead. Before he could reprimand her for using "those words" she added, "And stop stuttering: you wouldn't want Ms. Lopez thinking you were as giddy as a schoolboy, now, would you?"
"Syd…" She could tell that he was trying to be serious, so she sobered up quickly. "I meant everything I wrote. I know I'm not as good with words as you, but—"
"Michael!" She cried, not allowing self-doubt to permeate her love's voice any longer. "Your words were perfect. It was perfect. You are perfect." She could hear the blood rushing to his cheeks, and her dimples turned into canyons. "Is there anything that I can do to…I don't know…make it up to you?"
He replied simply, "When I get home, I better find you naked."
"Well, that's a given. Anything else?"
"Just…" He paused, presumably to find the right words to voice his thoughts. "Be yourself. That's all that I could ask for." Her mouth issued a throaty moan that only he caused, but before she could respond he added quickly, "Syd, I have to go. Hopefully, I'll see you soon. I love you, Sydney."
"More than words can say," She whispered, picturing his form in the corner of a cargo plane, windowless van, or make-shift raft talking on his cell phone and attempting to keep his conversation as private as the space allowed. There was a click as he hung up, and she rose with purpose and crossed the room to do the same.
She'd decided something.
Sydney had gotten the idea into her head that this kind of behavior deserved to be rewarded in some way, shape, or form.
Walking back to her room, she was met at the open door by Donovan, who was undoubtedly confused as to where she'd been for the past half-hour or so. Both of them strolled back to the bed (Sydney on her side and the bulldog on his master's) and settled down to turn in early. Reaching up to switch off the light, she snuggled down into her pillow and hugged the covers to her body.
Tomorrow, she'd call in a favour from Weiss.
* * *
The only reason Sydney Bristow liked the early hours of the morning was the potential possibility of waking up next to Michael. As there were no sultry green orbs boring into her upon regaining consciousness, it wasn't a "good" sunrise. Donovan was already up, and he eagerly swiped a rough tongue over her cheek before she had a chance to push him off the bed. Groaning, she wiped the stinky saliva off her face with the back of her hand and narrowed her eyes at the creature. "Are you channeling Michael or something? Or is it really true that you get more action than him?" His only response was to flop down on the floor belly up, enticing her with his doggy charms to scratch his stomach. She shook her head, bewildered and muttered, "You're incorrigible," before leaving her room to get breakfast.
Trying to make as little noise as possible, Syd poured herself a bowl of cereal, switched on the coffee machine, and took a seat at the dining room table instead of the bar. She kept the heavy hangings tightly drawn, not wishing the glare of the sun off the windows across the street to pervade the room just yet. Donovan, who had given up on the idea that his soon-to-be mistress would return and lavish him with affection, trotted through the kitchen and into the dining room to act as a pair of slippers on her feet again. Tuning out the incessant drip of the coffee, she began idly toying with her spoon, childishly making shapes in the milk with the round o's before gobbling them up.
And she began to think.
If one had asked her what she thought about, though, he or she would have received a lie.
She honestly had no idea what was running through her head. Her attention had divided itself and she was multitasking without even knowing it. While she was going through the motions of eating, one layer of her consciousness was "thinking" about something, and yet another was relaxing or possibly even still sleeping. The latter part of her brain never fully woke up until she had her morning coffee cradled between her palms…or Michael.
Snapping her back to reality, Donovan grunted in his sleep, alerting her to the fact that, yes indeed, the floorboards had shifted; someone else was in the room. Looking up from her half-eaten breakfast, Syd saw a sleepy and bathrobe-clad Weiss stumble into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with the butt of his palm. She watched as he tugged open the refrigerator, grabbed a bagel, and savagely tore into it before even noticing her.
"Happy freakin' Saturday," He mumbled, beginning to bang about in the cupboards for a mug. Finally stumbling upon them, Weiss extracted two and poured coffee into each. He took a long gulp of the steaming liquid and smiled dreamily.
"You have to go in today, don't you?"
The smile disappeared and turned into a scowl as he collapsed in a chair across from his friend, sliding the other mug across the worn surface. "Unfortunately. I'm helping Will process some walk-in's info on some bad guy's evil doings. It's probably just some false lead from a bunch of seventeen-year-olds with nothing to do." He accidentally kicked Donovan under the table, but the dog only grunted and shifted to cover more of Sydney's feet. "You know, I swear that dog likes you more than Mike."
A grin tugged at a corner of her mouth. "Is that so incredibly hard to believe, Weiss? Am I that difficult to get along with?"
"Yes," He answered without hesitation, facial muscles twitching from suppressing a smile. Staring into the depths of his drink, he sobered and quietly said, "You two — or three, whenever Donnie decides to get off his fat ass — are so good together. You fit. Do not think we don't see it, 'cause we do. You're the best thing that's ever happened to him, you know that, right? Well, besides me, of course; that's a given."
Syd laughed shortly before taking a long drag from her own mug of black coffee. "Eric, don't get all sappy on me, now; save some for your Best Man Speech."
"And when exactly will I get to give this speech?" Weiss asked pointedly; he seemed to have woken up in the few short minutes they'd been talking. "Kendall really is starting to feel sorry for you two: he's starting to take longer to process Jack's mission requests for the two of you."
She sighed heavily, letting the air escape from her lungs slowly and meditatively. "I don't know, Eric," Syd replied in muted exasperation, running a hand over her suddenly haggard face. "We hardly ever get to see each other for two minutes, let alone the entire day it takes to get married! And my father's being a stubborn ass about the whole thing—"
"You can say that again."
"I would, but I don't have the energy!"
"Well, if there's anything I can do," Weiss offered generously, "don't even hesitated to ask. I'm rootin' for ya, just like every warm-blooded man, woman, and child out there."
"Come to think of it, there is something." She'd remembered her decision from the night before, the way to repay Michael for everything that he'd done for her. "Marry us."
He gawked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted an extra head and it was singing karaoke. "Rest assured, Sydney Bristow, that although I've had vast sex droughts in the past, I am in no way, shape, or form qualified to perform such a ritual."
Acting like she didn't hear him, she sat up straighter and leaned her elbows on the table, her face positively glowing in excitement. "I wasn't insulting you, Eric. I'm just asking you if you could do this favour for us. It's been well over a year since we first got engaged; I think we've waited — and tortured you — long enough."
Weiss sighed in resignation; she knew he could never refuse her something when it involved his two best friends, a habit he had contracted from Michael for sure. "Fine. What do I have to do?"
Syd smiled triumphantly and settled back into her chair with her hands wrapped tightly around the ceramic mug. "All you have to do is go on-line and get ordained. Or contact a priest through email and get him to marry us over the Internet. People do it all the time on TV."
Frowning at her, he downed the rest of his coffee. "Does Mike know about this crazy scheme of yours?"
"Are you nuts?" She cried. "Why would I tell him a thing like that? Plus, I just thought it up last night. I really want this to be a surprise, Eric. Please don't tell anyone, especially Michael."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," He agreed begrudgingly.
Leaning across the table, Syd planted a kiss on her friend's cheek before clearing the table of her dishes. "You're the best, Eric. Now, Michael gets back on Monday, so I need you ready by then, and I'll get the space booked the nest time I get called in: probably later this afternoon."
"Why? Where's this shindig gonna take place?"
A sly grin laced across her lips like a charm on a necklace chain. "The warehouse, of course. It's only appropriate."
* * *
The first thing Sydney noticed about the warehouse was its smell; it didn't smell as musty and dusty as she remembered. Instead, the entire building was practically light and airy, as if it had been recently cleansed. Its scent belied its appearance, though: the concrete floor was still caked with years of dirt grunge under her feet. The hanging lamps in the rafters revealed the same sight as the first time she saw it, minus the fine layer of dust that had settled in the years past. To be frank, the warehouse had fallen into misuse and had been neglected since the takedown of SD-6; the few other double agents in the LA branch of the agency preferred cleaner places to meet with their handlers.
This thought sent a pang of guilt mixed with pity shooting through Sydney's heart. It had been the only place that she and Michael could interact with each other — actually talk to and look at one another without fear of repercussion — for two entire years. It was the place where the logistics of taking down the international arms- and espionage-dealing corporation were mapped out. It was the place where he declared himself her ally, where she cried on his shoulder, where they shared stolen glances and touches that lasted a fraction of a second longer than they should have. And now…Now it just was.
Syd's shoes clacked dully upon the floor as she made her way to their usual cage. Sliding open the chain-link gate, she saw Weiss resting on a crate, typing away at a laptop that was precariously balanced on his knees. She almost laughed at her friend. His face was screwed up in concentration, and she was ninety-nine point nine percent positive that he was merely playing a game on-line. Clearing her throat from the doorway she greeted, "Hey."
He didn't even look up from the screen, which cast a glow of ever-changing colour and consistency upon his features. "What's up, Bristow? You ready? Where's the future Mr. Vaughn? Wait a second; he's Mr. Vaughn right now; marriage wouldn't change that—"
"Michael's not here yet," She interjected, settling down the familiar duffel bag on the floor next to Weiss's crate. She had booked a room for a Mr. and Mrs. Michael Vaughn for the night at the nearest hotel, and was not about to stop off at the apartment for a change of clothes.
"Well, where is he? He does know what's goin' on, right?" When Syd didn't respond, he looked up from the computer game, causing something fatal to occur and the screen to flash "game over". Sighing, he clicked out of the game, set it aside, and folded his hands in his lap. "You didn't tell him why he's coming here?" He asked incredulously. "Did you entice him with the promise of sex in the warehouse? 'Cause if he strolls in here wearing anything less than a full suit, all bets are off. Especially if there's a shoulder holster involved."
"Can said sex occur after you marry us?"
"You two kids can knock yourselves out."
"Nice." Sitting down next to him on the crate to his right, she stared down at her own hands, running a finger in a circle around a very specific digit. "So, where're the rings?"
"Rings?" Weiss asked hesitantly, peering at her out of the corner of his eye. "I though you were supposed to get them!"
"What!" She exclaimed, jumping back up in front of him. "When did I say that? I told you to get 'em!"
"And when did this 'conversation' take place?"
"How 'bout yesterday at two thirty when you stopped while passing my desk and asked if I had any double-A batteries in my drawers that you could use?"
"Oh, that." Grinning sheepishly, he began ransacking the briefcase at his feet and, when he didn't find what he was looking for, started digging in his pocket. Upon resurfacing, his hand clutched two plastic rings from cheap machines that only kids bothered to donate money to. Offering them to her (along with a large ball of lint) he explained, "There was a little plastic yo-yo that I wanted, but I got these instead, and I only had two quarters with me."
She gingerly extracted them from their fluffy bed and sighed in resignation. "I guess these'll have to do. Although I have no idea how we're going to get them to fit."
"They're adjustable! See!" To prove his point, he took back the lousy excuses for jewelry and pulled apart the plastic, creating a gap between the two ends. "There ya go. Good as new."
"What's good as new?" Michael was standing at the gate, leaning nonchalantly against a metal pole. Sydney immediately perked up, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck with the rings clenched tightly in her fist. "Hey baby," He mumbled into her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. "I though this was going to be just us two. I wore my shoulder holster for you."
Her eyes became smoky and heavy-lidded as she pulled away slightly so that her lips were next to his ear. "Keep it on: you'll need it later."
Separating fully, they both turned back to Weiss, who was clicking away again. "Good. I was afraid I was going to have to pry you two apart. Otherwise, I'd be forced to inform your father that two of the CIA's best agents had defiled a meeting place and that I could never set foot in there without getting a serious case of the heebie-jeebies."
"Wow," Michael chuckled, rewrapping an appendage protectively around Sydney's waist. "How long have you been saving that one up?"
"Oh, I don't know, forever. You guys haven't…you know…in here, have you?"
"Right where you're sitting."
"You or her?"
"Me."
"Ew!" Weiss exclaimed, jumping up with his laptop and sliding over a crate.
"That one two, buddy."
"Gross," Eric mumbled in a tone that indicated he knew his best friend was probably lying, but wasn't willing to risk it. "Supervision. Constant supervision. That's what you two horn balls need." Relocating to yet another crate, Sydney bit down on her lip to keep from telling him the truth about that crate as well. "So, shall we get on with this so I can hurry up and take a bath in acid? My skin's starting to crawl."
"Wait a second," Michael interrupted, dropping his arm and folding his hands in front of him. "Kendall excused me from a meeting with Jack, Marshall, Dixon, and the analysts so that I could 'get done what needs to be done so that everyone doesn't go crazy.' Would someone like to explain to me why Kendall's being downright civil to me? And what exactly needs to get done?"
Sydney and Eric glanced at one another anxiously, wondering which of them should spill their real intentions. After a silent conversation, he pulled Michael to stand next to him as Sydney strolled back to the gate, waiting expectantly in the opening. Abandoning the laptop on the crate, he rose to stand next to his best friend, elbow on his shoulder as he whispered a hurried explanation. Upon finishing, he backed away with an unsure expression lifting one of his eyebrows. Syd responded with raised eyebrows of her own as she waited for Michael's reaction.
When he turned around, Michael's façade had a thoughtful glimmer as he contemplated the change in events. "Syd," He began, meeting her gaze unblinkingly, "why didn't you tell me? I would have liked to be in on this!"
A little taken aback she replied, "Well, I wanted it to be somewhat of a surprise, although we did ask Kendall to get you out of that meeting."
"Why here?" He asked incredulously. "Why not someplace with a heater? Or at least somewhere cleaner?"
"It's not like you two could get hitched in the bullpen at the Ops Centre," Weiss interjected matter-of-factly. "The observatory is closed on Mondays, and the pier would be kinda weird, don't you think? I mean, it being the middle of December and all."
"Good point."
"Plus," Sydney added, resting a temple against the cool metal of the pole, "this place almost belongs to us; it's our warehouse. It was the site of so many happenings during the first two years of our acquaintance. I thought it only fitting that we get married here as well."
"So you weren't planning on having sex with me here tonight?"
"I was hoping that we could wait until after we say 'I do.'"
"I second that motion. And now," Weiss announced, clapping his hands together like an overly-sweet kindergarten teacher, "places ladies and gentlemen, 'cause it's time for the main event!"
No one moved as they were already in their 'places'.
Weiss clicked the mouse on his laptop and a remix of "Canon in D" blared out of the speakers. Sydney began her procession towards the 'alter' (the crate Weiss was standing behind) without wavering her gaze from her fiancé's: they locked eyes and never deviated while she was crossing that five-foot gap. She reached him, and they linked arms while Weiss shut off the music and began scrolling down using the arrows on the keyboard.
"Ladies and gentlemen — scratch that; lady and gentleman — we are gathered here today to join insert names here…Oops, sorry. Auto pilot, guys." Eric smiled sheepishly before continuing on. "We're gathered here to join Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn in not-so-holy matrimony. That is, unless you consider me an actual priest, in which case I'd have to kill you."
"Get on with it, Eric," The couple ordered simultaneously. He raised his hands defensively and continued on.
"If there is anyone present who can give reason as to why these two crazy, crazy, star-crossed people should not be wed, please speak now or forever hold your peace."
"Eric, does it look like there's anyone here to object?" Syd asked, slightly perturbed at his incessant random tangents.
"Speaking of which," Michael interjected pointedly. "Don't you need at least two witnesses for one of these civil union things?"
"Yes," She remembered, turning to glare at Weiss, who had suddenly etiolated. "Did you look into this at all, Eric?"
Michael supplemented their dilemma by adding, "Do you even have the papers from the city so that this can be legal? A 'church' wedding means nothing without the documents to back it up."
"Well, this is what you get when your Master of Ceremonies isn't getting paid."
"Gah!" Sydney exclaimed, throwing up her arms in exasperation. "That's it! This little lame excuse for a ceremony is off!" Michael glared at her in disbelief and she added, "Yes, Michael, we're still engaged. It's just…How many times do we have to try to get married before it actually happens?"
Her fiancé smiled and slung a comforting arm around her shoulders. "As many times as it takes to get it right. Now, Weiss said something about a hotel room nearby?"
"You can go by yourself. I'm not in the mood."
"Oh, come on! We can torture Weiss by calling him right when—"
"I'm right here, man!"
"Fine. Let's go. But it won't be happy sex."
"That's cool. I'll take what I can get."
"Not a very attractive thing to say, Mike."
"Shut up, Eric."
TBC…
