TITLE: Steamy Conversation
AUTHOR: Em Meredith (emily@healthyinterest.net)
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Syd/Weiss UST. There's a bathtub.
SPOILERS: General season 3, through Reunion.
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to JJ, ABC, Touchstone, and many people who aren't me.
DISTRIBUTION: My website (http://www.healthyinterest.net/emily). Cover Me is welcome to it, once the site's running again. All others please ask first.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to misskatherine, on whom I blame this. Also thanks as always to Macha for putting up with the whining and to kate and Philateley, who were also in on the beta party.
Steamy Conversation
By Em Meredith (emily@healthyinterest.net)
"Syd?" Weiss calls, struggling to open the door without dropping his keys or the box he's balancing. "You here? I brought you those tools you wanted to borrow."
"I'm in here," she calls from somewhere in the depths of her apartment. "Just put it on the table, if you don't mind."
"Sure thing." He notices a half empty bottle of wine on the counter and wonders how often she's been drinking alone. He quickly follows that up by wondering when Sydney's mental health became his responsibility.
"I'll catch you later, okay?"
"Wait!" Sydney yells. "C'mere for a minute."
He dutifully throws his keys on the table next to the box of tools and follows her voice down the hall. He stops short when he realizes that she's not in her bedroom like he'd expected-- it's the bathroom door that's slightly ajar.
"Uh, Syd? I know we've become really close now that we're neighbors, but I think there's a place where we need to draw the line."
Her answering giggle floats out into the hallway and he smiles in response. He's always considered himself a funny guy, but now every smile and every laugh is a triumph -- anything to erase the worry from her eyes.
"Very funny. I'm in the bathtub. Don't worry, the curtain's drawn. I won't offend your delicate sensibilities."
He has to chuckle at that notion, but tries to ignore the knot of dread forming in his stomach at the thought of being in a confined space while Sydney's wet and naked. He carefully unclenches his fists and presses his palms against his thighs as he orders himself to relax.
And to stop imagining what she looks like in the tub.
He pushes the door open and finds that, true to her word, the curtain is drawn. Her robe lies in a puddle next to the tub, and his only clue that she is, in fact, in the room are the soft splashes of water as she moves.
He walks past the tub, taking care not to step on her robe. The room is lit with an alarming number of tiny candles. She's placed them on what seems like every available flat surface in the room, including the ledge of the tub, which is casting the softest of silhouettes on the shower curtain. If Weiss tries, he can just make out the shape of her head and shoulders from the vague shadows.
He perches carefully atop her toilet seat and tries his hardest not to picture her stretching out her long legs in the hot water.
"Okay, what's up?" he asks.
"I shouldn't hate her, I know, but I don't think I like her."
It's one of *these* days, apparently. Lately Sydney has two kinds of days: days where she refuses to talk about Vaughn or even acknowledge their situation and days where all she seems to do is talk about it and analyze it to death.
Needless to say, Weiss prefers the former.
He ignores this uncharitable thought and settles into the familiar role of Supportive Friend.
"You've spent maybe an hour with her in the entire four days you've known her. Have you given her a chance?"
"Yes!" Sydney exclaims, her voice more than a little petulant. "It's just-- It's not only because of Vaughn, really it's not."
She must sense his skeptical look in the pause that follows, because she amends her statement. "Alright, so part of it is because of Vaughn."
"Syd, just remember that it can't be easy for her either. Lauren's spent a year trying to help Vaughn get over his dead girlfriend, and just when that ghost isn't competition anymore, you rematerialize in all your tall, leggy glory."
"But does she have to be so..."
"So what?"
"So *annoying,*" she huffs.
He tries not to laugh -- out loud anyway -- because quite frankly he's always thought that Lauren was kind of annoying. But she made Vaughn happy, so who was Weiss to argue if Lauren wasn't the kind of person he'd invite over to drink tequila?
"We've got to work with her now -- now that *you* chased Lindsey out of town. But, hey, look at it this way: At least Lauren's not chasing some sixteenth century nutcase while she plots the downfall of the US government."
He hears her laugh softly behind the shower curtain.
"You've gotta admit that I'm right on that one," he grins.
"Yeah, that's true. I guess I can try harder and give Lauren another chance," Sydney sighs. "But I still hate her eyebrows."
Now he does laugh, because even Marshall's commented on Lauren's eyebrows.
"So, you're okay?" Weiss asks.
She sighs in reply. "I'm okay. Or getting there."
"Good," he smiles. "I'm gonna let you finish your bath while I order us up a pizza. Unless," he lets his voice get humorously lecherous, "you need me to wash your back for you."
As her laughter echoes off the walls, he wishes that she hadn't found that quite so humorous.
"That's okay," she tells him. "I think I can handle it myself, thanks."
"Alright. Lemme know if you change your mind."
He gets up and crosses to the door. He's almost there when she pushes the curtain aside enough and her wet arm snakes out and grabs his hand. He tells himself to ignore the feel of her damp skin on his. He certainly doesn't let himself watch the bubbles that slide down her arm and fall onto the floor. But more than anything he wills himself to focus on her flushed face -- and *not* the pale skin he can just barely see below the water. He reminds himself to breathe, because he seems to have forgotten how.
"Seriously, Weiss," she says, her voice taking on that urgent tone it gets when she wants to make sure she's getting her point across. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You're a great friend."
"Right," he reminds himself. "a great friend."
Her forehead wrinkles in confusion and he's suddenly afraid that she's figured him out, so he goes with the humor to throw her off the trail.
"I *am* a great friend. But don't think you're getting out of buying the pizza that easy."
He lets go of her hand and walks out of the bathroom, her laughter trailing after him even after he's shut the door. He stops in the hallway and leans against the wall, catching his breath. He's never understood the allure of bubblebaths. He certainly can't understand how she can sit so long in a hot bathtub.
He has, however, come to appreciate cold showers.
END.
--------------------------------
Feedback gratefully received at emily@healthyinterest.net.
AUTHOR: Em Meredith (emily@healthyinterest.net)
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Syd/Weiss UST. There's a bathtub.
SPOILERS: General season 3, through Reunion.
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to JJ, ABC, Touchstone, and many people who aren't me.
DISTRIBUTION: My website (http://www.healthyinterest.net/emily). Cover Me is welcome to it, once the site's running again. All others please ask first.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to misskatherine, on whom I blame this. Also thanks as always to Macha for putting up with the whining and to kate and Philateley, who were also in on the beta party.
Steamy Conversation
By Em Meredith (emily@healthyinterest.net)
"Syd?" Weiss calls, struggling to open the door without dropping his keys or the box he's balancing. "You here? I brought you those tools you wanted to borrow."
"I'm in here," she calls from somewhere in the depths of her apartment. "Just put it on the table, if you don't mind."
"Sure thing." He notices a half empty bottle of wine on the counter and wonders how often she's been drinking alone. He quickly follows that up by wondering when Sydney's mental health became his responsibility.
"I'll catch you later, okay?"
"Wait!" Sydney yells. "C'mere for a minute."
He dutifully throws his keys on the table next to the box of tools and follows her voice down the hall. He stops short when he realizes that she's not in her bedroom like he'd expected-- it's the bathroom door that's slightly ajar.
"Uh, Syd? I know we've become really close now that we're neighbors, but I think there's a place where we need to draw the line."
Her answering giggle floats out into the hallway and he smiles in response. He's always considered himself a funny guy, but now every smile and every laugh is a triumph -- anything to erase the worry from her eyes.
"Very funny. I'm in the bathtub. Don't worry, the curtain's drawn. I won't offend your delicate sensibilities."
He has to chuckle at that notion, but tries to ignore the knot of dread forming in his stomach at the thought of being in a confined space while Sydney's wet and naked. He carefully unclenches his fists and presses his palms against his thighs as he orders himself to relax.
And to stop imagining what she looks like in the tub.
He pushes the door open and finds that, true to her word, the curtain is drawn. Her robe lies in a puddle next to the tub, and his only clue that she is, in fact, in the room are the soft splashes of water as she moves.
He walks past the tub, taking care not to step on her robe. The room is lit with an alarming number of tiny candles. She's placed them on what seems like every available flat surface in the room, including the ledge of the tub, which is casting the softest of silhouettes on the shower curtain. If Weiss tries, he can just make out the shape of her head and shoulders from the vague shadows.
He perches carefully atop her toilet seat and tries his hardest not to picture her stretching out her long legs in the hot water.
"Okay, what's up?" he asks.
"I shouldn't hate her, I know, but I don't think I like her."
It's one of *these* days, apparently. Lately Sydney has two kinds of days: days where she refuses to talk about Vaughn or even acknowledge their situation and days where all she seems to do is talk about it and analyze it to death.
Needless to say, Weiss prefers the former.
He ignores this uncharitable thought and settles into the familiar role of Supportive Friend.
"You've spent maybe an hour with her in the entire four days you've known her. Have you given her a chance?"
"Yes!" Sydney exclaims, her voice more than a little petulant. "It's just-- It's not only because of Vaughn, really it's not."
She must sense his skeptical look in the pause that follows, because she amends her statement. "Alright, so part of it is because of Vaughn."
"Syd, just remember that it can't be easy for her either. Lauren's spent a year trying to help Vaughn get over his dead girlfriend, and just when that ghost isn't competition anymore, you rematerialize in all your tall, leggy glory."
"But does she have to be so..."
"So what?"
"So *annoying,*" she huffs.
He tries not to laugh -- out loud anyway -- because quite frankly he's always thought that Lauren was kind of annoying. But she made Vaughn happy, so who was Weiss to argue if Lauren wasn't the kind of person he'd invite over to drink tequila?
"We've got to work with her now -- now that *you* chased Lindsey out of town. But, hey, look at it this way: At least Lauren's not chasing some sixteenth century nutcase while she plots the downfall of the US government."
He hears her laugh softly behind the shower curtain.
"You've gotta admit that I'm right on that one," he grins.
"Yeah, that's true. I guess I can try harder and give Lauren another chance," Sydney sighs. "But I still hate her eyebrows."
Now he does laugh, because even Marshall's commented on Lauren's eyebrows.
"So, you're okay?" Weiss asks.
She sighs in reply. "I'm okay. Or getting there."
"Good," he smiles. "I'm gonna let you finish your bath while I order us up a pizza. Unless," he lets his voice get humorously lecherous, "you need me to wash your back for you."
As her laughter echoes off the walls, he wishes that she hadn't found that quite so humorous.
"That's okay," she tells him. "I think I can handle it myself, thanks."
"Alright. Lemme know if you change your mind."
He gets up and crosses to the door. He's almost there when she pushes the curtain aside enough and her wet arm snakes out and grabs his hand. He tells himself to ignore the feel of her damp skin on his. He certainly doesn't let himself watch the bubbles that slide down her arm and fall onto the floor. But more than anything he wills himself to focus on her flushed face -- and *not* the pale skin he can just barely see below the water. He reminds himself to breathe, because he seems to have forgotten how.
"Seriously, Weiss," she says, her voice taking on that urgent tone it gets when she wants to make sure she's getting her point across. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You're a great friend."
"Right," he reminds himself. "a great friend."
Her forehead wrinkles in confusion and he's suddenly afraid that she's figured him out, so he goes with the humor to throw her off the trail.
"I *am* a great friend. But don't think you're getting out of buying the pizza that easy."
He lets go of her hand and walks out of the bathroom, her laughter trailing after him even after he's shut the door. He stops in the hallway and leans against the wall, catching his breath. He's never understood the allure of bubblebaths. He certainly can't understand how she can sit so long in a hot bathtub.
He has, however, come to appreciate cold showers.
END.
--------------------------------
Feedback gratefully received at emily@healthyinterest.net.