Title: Captured Moments: Quintessence

Author: Kira [kira at sd-1 dot com]

Genre: S/V Fluff

Rating: PG

Summary: Captured moments from daily life.

Timeline: Between Phase One and The Telling, just randomly in there, as we didn't see every moment of their short time together.

Author's Note: These started as small drabbles to keep my fans happy while I finished my longer fic, Chronic Vertigo and grew into Fluff Pills to be read post-episode to cope with the triangle. It's a series, each one short and stand-alone.



"It's a VCR, Vaughn," she sighed, flipping a page in her magazine, "how hard can it be?"

Michael Vaughn, who was hunched over in front of the TV, sighed and fell back to the ground, laying his hands on his knees. He glared at the offending electronic and started experimenting with the remote and his finger, trying to see how long he could balance it there. Green eyes still focused on his new task, he raised and eyebrow and said:

"Have you ever tried to program this thing?"

Sydney Bristow scoffed and finally looked up from her magazine, giving a half-grin as she tried to figure out exactly *what* he was doing. "What are you doing with that?"

He glanced up at her, surprised, the remote falling from his outstretched finger to the floor. "Oh, what? Nothing."

"Listen, you've defused C4 though a laser grid, decoded access codes, and you can't program my VCR?" she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the couch so as to face him, the magazine discarded atop a newspaper and novel sitting on the unoccupied end of the overstuffed piece of furniture.

"Have you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side and raising an eyebrow. He looked so serious and confused she burst out laughing, slipping off the couch to the floor, her back leaning against it. "That's not fair!" he almost yelled, desperately trying to keep a serious mask upon his cracking face.

She kept laughing.

"What are you trying to record, anyway?" she asked of him, her giggles finally subsiding. His face immediately reddened and he turned away, tucking his chin to his chest. Sydney sobered up, confused, and crawled across the floor to close the distance between them. Her hand came up to touch his back, laying flat upon it, giving every impression of a comforting thought or work behind it.

He mumbled something downward, his head still hidden from view.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Sydney rounded him, sitting cross-legged next to him, a hand coming up to ruffle his hair. He looked so incredibly adorable, sitting with his knees pulled up, hands resting lazily across them.

Still, she wanted to know what he was attempting to record.

"Fine. I'll program it. Give me the TV Guide," she sighed, leaning back. His head shot up, concerned.

"No! No, it's fine. I'll figure it out. I can program mine at home, this one's just a bit more … foreign," he replied, grabbing the control from the floor before she could grab it.

"Foreign? My VCR is foreign? What about India? China? Taiwan? Those….aren't?"

"Well, I've been there and conquered. This, this contraption will not listen."

"Conquered?" she asked, holding back giggles threatening to break out. "Conquered?" she asked again, her voice rising in pitch.

"Maybe that was a poor choice of wording," he reflected, rubbing his forehead. "Figured out, perhaps?"

"Vaughn, you can't 'figure out' and entire country by going there for 36 hours. Trust me, I should know," Sydney retorted, putting a hand on his knee. He grabbed her hand with his; interlacing his fingers as if it were a normal process he performed. There was no thought, just the instant warmth she felt as he held her hand, his thumb occasionally brushing against her skin.

"I was in India for more than 36 hours, my dear," he commented, finally turning to face her. His face had returned to its normal color, causing her to pout.

Was she ever going to find out why he was attempting to figure out her recorder?

"Please tell me," she pouted, jutting out her lower lip. Vaughn grinned, the sight of her sitting there so innocently and curious taking his heart. He sighed – trying to recover lost breath at the almost urethral sight of her under the shaded glow of lamplight, her hair pulled messily back into a ponytail, a few strands of hair escaping the rubber band. He grinned and leaned closer to her, placing a perfectly innocent and light kiss upon her lips only to pull away too soon (in her mind), giving her a tap on the nose.

"Or what?" he asked, interested. She huffed and put her hands on her hips.

"I won't show you how to program it," she retorted, sure she had a winning threat. He only gave her a roll of her eyes and steadied a hand on the ground beside him, pushing to get up.

"Well, I have some time before we're supposed to be in," he commented, looking at his watch. "I can stop home."

"Wait!" she called, pulling down on his shirt as he rose like a small child, un-tucking the pressed dress shirt. "I'll show you, I'll show you, just don't go." She was pleading, letting show her insecurity, her inability to let him out of her sight for even a moment, afraid she would blink and suddenly, he would not be there. A dream is a dream, she thought, and while she was settled in bliss, she had that constant and nagging fear that one day she would wake up and find out she was dreaming it all. That the good things in her life would disappear, leaving her with the sadness and solitude she had felt before.

Silly, unrealistic, but real nonetheless.

"You really want to know, don't you?"

"Dying to know, here," she replied quickly.

"Alright," he finally said, leaning down to look her in the eyes. "You said yesterday that you were upset because you were going to miss some program on A&E today," he explained. She nodded, remembering her commented made offhand the day before after hearing a radio commercial on the way to work. Just because she had finally graduated from school did not mean her passion for literature was gone, in fact, it was held close to her heart. So when she heard about an A&E spotlight on American literature of the first half of the century, jumped at the opportunity only to learn she would be out of the country at it's broadcast time. Sydney looked up into her boyfriend's eyes, flabbergasted.

"I, I didn't think you heard," she whispered, stunned. He laughed.

"Of course I did," he answered her, "I hear everything you say."

"And you've been sitting here for the past 25 minutes trying to figure that out," she paused, her eyes starting to tear, "so you could record that for me instead of reading your paper?"

"I did."

"And you really love your paper," she continued as if he hadn't replied.

"I really do," he supplemented.

"Your way to relax – always get mad when I interrupt you," her small voice went on, hands fisting around the handful of shirt still held in her right hand. He reached down and pulled her up, standing her in front of him.

"I'd do anything for you," he said slowly, voice low and passionate. She smirked.

"Just keep me safe and sweet, that's all I ask."

"All that and more," he smiled, kissing her forehead. "Now, can you show me how to work this thing? I swear, the manual's in a foreign language."