Hey everyone. Here's chapter 7. Short, but sweet. And just a warning, there probably won't be an update for a few days. My best friend is getting married, and there are all kinds of festivities to attend to! Please read and review, and I'll write again as soon as I get a chance!!!
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Chapter 7
I arrived home exhausted. It had been five days of Hell. First, a twenty hour flight to Australia. Then, a lot of fighting and getting shot at, and a short stay at a run-down safe house, just in case. Then, another twenty hour flight back to LA, this time with about eighteen sore muscles, a four inch gash along the side of my forearm, and a splitting headache.
As missions go, it hadn't been too bad, really. Limited injuries, very little emotional trauma, all things considered, and both SD-6 and CIA missions completed without a hitch.
I was exhausted, and as I stumbled through the front door of my house, I could barely keep my eyes open. For a moment, I wondered how I had managed to deal with the constant jet lag. Normal people could not fly from LA to Australia one day, Paris to Kandahar the next. It just wasn't humanly possible. As I collapsed on the couch, I realized that I hadn't really dealt with the jet lag. I would just keep getting more and more exhausted, until one day I just stopped functioning.
Which didn't sound too bad at the moment. I sighed. At least I got to keep the frequent flyer miles. I chuckled at the thought, wondering when, in between the traveling I did for work, I would find the time or the desire to travel for pleasure.
I groaned, stretching, and slowly realizing that I hadn't eaten yet. I slowly hauled myself off of the couch, making my way to the kitchen.
I paused at the counter, my eyes falling on a small bouquet of eleven roses. Francie's latest date, no doubt. Another winner…who obviously wasn't quite smart enough to count to twelve. I smiled, returning my attention to the fridge.
Pulling out a can of pop and some leftover Chinese, I sat down at the counter, admiring the roses. It was then that I noticed a note from Francie, lying next to the vase. I picked it up curiously.
'Welcome back, Sweetie. These came for you the other day. I'll be back late tonight. And you're going to tell me everything about this secret admirer of yours. –Fran'
I smiled, realizing then who the flowers were from. Reaching up, I grabbed the card buried among the leaves of the roses.
'Hope you made it back safe. I missed you. It's not a full dozen, so you'll have to collect on number twelve in person. Wish I could be there. –V'
I grinned, feeling like a teenager who had just been asked to the prom. Carrying the card with me as I moved back into my living room, I found myself getting excited about going to the work—excited for the first time in months. Not because I liked my job. But because I loved Michael Vaughn. And as much as I wished he were here tonight, to massage my sore back, or to kiss the gash on my arm and make the sting go away, or to hug me and tell me he'd always be there, I understood that it wasn't possible now.
But someday.
Someday we would have all of those things.
And until then, I would see him at work and pretend that nothing was going on, except in those stolen moments, when we could really be ourselves.
When I could say that I loved him.
I sighed happily, curling up on the couch, and only half-heartedly fighting off the exhaustion that began to overtake me. In moments, I was fast asleep, Vaughn's note still clasped in my hand.
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Chapter 7
I arrived home exhausted. It had been five days of Hell. First, a twenty hour flight to Australia. Then, a lot of fighting and getting shot at, and a short stay at a run-down safe house, just in case. Then, another twenty hour flight back to LA, this time with about eighteen sore muscles, a four inch gash along the side of my forearm, and a splitting headache.
As missions go, it hadn't been too bad, really. Limited injuries, very little emotional trauma, all things considered, and both SD-6 and CIA missions completed without a hitch.
I was exhausted, and as I stumbled through the front door of my house, I could barely keep my eyes open. For a moment, I wondered how I had managed to deal with the constant jet lag. Normal people could not fly from LA to Australia one day, Paris to Kandahar the next. It just wasn't humanly possible. As I collapsed on the couch, I realized that I hadn't really dealt with the jet lag. I would just keep getting more and more exhausted, until one day I just stopped functioning.
Which didn't sound too bad at the moment. I sighed. At least I got to keep the frequent flyer miles. I chuckled at the thought, wondering when, in between the traveling I did for work, I would find the time or the desire to travel for pleasure.
I groaned, stretching, and slowly realizing that I hadn't eaten yet. I slowly hauled myself off of the couch, making my way to the kitchen.
I paused at the counter, my eyes falling on a small bouquet of eleven roses. Francie's latest date, no doubt. Another winner…who obviously wasn't quite smart enough to count to twelve. I smiled, returning my attention to the fridge.
Pulling out a can of pop and some leftover Chinese, I sat down at the counter, admiring the roses. It was then that I noticed a note from Francie, lying next to the vase. I picked it up curiously.
'Welcome back, Sweetie. These came for you the other day. I'll be back late tonight. And you're going to tell me everything about this secret admirer of yours. –Fran'
I smiled, realizing then who the flowers were from. Reaching up, I grabbed the card buried among the leaves of the roses.
'Hope you made it back safe. I missed you. It's not a full dozen, so you'll have to collect on number twelve in person. Wish I could be there. –V'
I grinned, feeling like a teenager who had just been asked to the prom. Carrying the card with me as I moved back into my living room, I found myself getting excited about going to the work—excited for the first time in months. Not because I liked my job. But because I loved Michael Vaughn. And as much as I wished he were here tonight, to massage my sore back, or to kiss the gash on my arm and make the sting go away, or to hug me and tell me he'd always be there, I understood that it wasn't possible now.
But someday.
Someday we would have all of those things.
And until then, I would see him at work and pretend that nothing was going on, except in those stolen moments, when we could really be ourselves.
When I could say that I loved him.
I sighed happily, curling up on the couch, and only half-heartedly fighting off the exhaustion that began to overtake me. In moments, I was fast asleep, Vaughn's note still clasped in my hand.