Last Time on "Hot Ice"
'Run or pizza? Run? Pizza? Run? Pizza?' . . .
"I think it's time, once and for all, to find out how large you really are."
He didn't understand. Why was there a very, very stereotypical gay guy living in Sydney's house? Vaughn glanced down at the address written on his slightly-sweaty palm and then back at the house. This was it. Sydney wasn't there. He sank into the soft sands of the beach. 'Fuck.' What was he going to do now?
And Now Back to Our Program…
A creamy napkin stained with the tell-tale signs of pizza consumption was crushed in Eric Weiss' large hand. He leaned back into the cool leather fabric of his couch and turned on the TV. Flipping through the stations with the intensity of an award winning couch potato, the field ranked CIA agent finally decided on a Martha Stewart re-running about how to make the perfect fondue.
Just as she was delving into the importance of presentation as the main focus of a meal, Weiss started having pains. With a hand on his chest he stumbled out the door.
A block away from the CIA hospital, the pain became so intense Weiss couldn't even breath. He used his cell to call them, uttering only the corner at which he could be found and "hurry".
Paramedics arrived seconds later to find Agent Eric Weiss passed out in the drivers seat with his hand near a piece of paper on which was written, "Syd and Vaughn: Karate always takes you away. Just act crazy 'kay?"
-
She rolled out of bed with the biggest hangover of her life. Drinking to forget was bad enough, but drinking to forget to remember was the worst. Sydney lurched into the bathroom and grimaced at her appearance. Mascara lingered under her eyes from the day before. Her bangs were flipped every which way, causing her to look as if she were a wanna-be-trying-hard Farrah Facet imitator, a far cry from the noble profession of Elvis impersonations not to mention the pay sucks ass.
Sydney stumbled downstairs, each step jarring her head in numerous and extremely painful ways. A wave of nausea commandeered control of her stomach when the smell of cooking omelets hit her nose.
"What the hell are you doing, John? It's like," Syd sneaked a glance at her watch, "eleven o'clock." She finished in a small voice.
"Don't you mean eleven hundred hours?"
Sydney discontinued her eye roll mid-eye discovering that moving any part of her head brought huge amounts of great pain reminiscent to the time creepy paralyzed dude who hadn't been paralyzed yet was pulling her teeth out. "You were fine with it yesterday. What changed?"
"Realizing that my best friend has been lying to me ever since I first met her isn't exactly optimum, but . . ." his voice trailed off.
"Shit, John. You know it's not like that. It's not like I had a choice. I don't want to lie to my friends. I have no desire to betray all of the people I care about. You have no idea how hard it is not letting people get close enough to find out more about me. Not to mention lying to people I've just met. Every phone call, every time I have to leave in the middle of an outing, every time I have to defend my job at the "bank" or the "state office"." Sydney's voice caught in her throat. "It's horrible. Everywhere I go there's another lie, another web of deceit that I have to pick my way through without hanging myself in the threads."
The silence dragged on painfully long before John stood up.
"I guess you'll be needing some help so your head's clear enough to keep your covers." Sydney glanced up in surprise only find her nose touching a cold glass of reddish liquid.
"Do I want to ask?"
John grinned wickedly. "Just plug your nose and throw it down the back. Kind of like you were doing with the whiskey yesterday after the martinis were gone."
Sydney was saved from replying to his oh-so-subtle jibes by grimacing at the odd tonic she was swallowing.
"Mmm. Tasty." Syd declared in a monotone.
"Yes, well I figured it would be perfect to offset the tomato, spinach, and mushroom omelets we would be enjoying this bright, beautiful morning."
Sydney lurched to her feet and to the bathroom where she bowed to the porcelain god. A voice floated, gloatingly, over the sounds of her retching. "I take it that means that I'll be eating alone? Ah, well, more for me."
Sydney glared at the point from which the voice must be coming from and rolled her eyes. She brushed her teeth and threw on some clothes.
Holding her breath carefully, she snuck past the kitchen and out to the back porch, managing to unclog her nose long enough to throw a careless "going running" over her shoulder before stepping into the bright light. Even through the sunglasses that Sydney had chosen with care to block the most outer influences from her sensitive senses, the sun was brilliantly bright.
"Oh, fuck," she murmured as a wave of pain rocked her once again. Sydney was secretly proud of herself for cussing as much as she had been recently. She was a closet potty-mouth. All through grade school and high school she had desperately wanted to fit in and use the language that all the other girls spoke with such fluency.
Somehow, spoken by the right person, words like fuck, shit, bastard, asshole, and numerous others became poetry that could rival Frost, Tennyson, and not to mention the women poets. Harsh language described as "dirty" by so many generations of mothers and grandmothers, suddenly became as flowing as the lyrics to a tragic seventies ballad. Unfortunately, Sydney Ann Bristow, with her extensive resume and history of discovering unique talents just in time to save herself from certain death, had seemed to be missing several nucleotide bases when it came to the cursing fluency part of her genome. Until this instant, that is.
Sydney sighed regretfully at not having discovered the secret to cussing before this hung-over moment and started off at a jogging pace. She breathed the salty sea air in deeply, a smell that cleared her mind and comforted her. She tried to forget everything that had occurred in the past fifteen hours. Sydney focused on the long stride of her legs and the feel of her muscles alternatingly contracting and relaxing.
She closed her eyes against the wind.
"Umph", and she abruptly fell over a large object in her pathway.
Pushing herself into the "plank pose" from her yoga for beginners book, Sydney looked down at the form she was sprawled over. She gasped at his haggard appearance. Michael's normally clean-shaven face showed a sexy, but rough growth of beard, his eyes were framed by a dark shadow, and his white shirt was wrinkled. To top the whole picture off, sand was littered everywhere and Vaughn was missing a shoe.
"Practicing for boot camp?" Sydney's heart melted at the sound of Vaughn's voice slightly roughened after sleeping.
"I should ask you the same question. Why are you sleeping on the beach? And what happened to your shoe?" Sydney prepared herself to roll off of him, but his strong hand grabbed her arm in a silent request for her to stay where she was. Sydney lowered her head gently down onto his strong chest, relaxing to the smooth sound of his heartbeat.
"I came to see you. I really need to talk to you. We really need to talk." Sydney pushed back up off of Vaughn at the indirect reference to Lauren. This time he didn't stop her.
"This is neither the time nor the place." Sydney's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did you stay out here all night in hopes of catching me unawares?"
Vaughn considered his options. "No."
"No what?" Sydney practically shouted.
"No, I did not wait for you. No, I did not sleep outside for you. And, no, I do not feel the unsuperiority that the rest of the male race succumbs to that would cause me to wish to find you "unawares"."
A pregnant pause ensued Vaughn's speech at the end of which Sydney's face softened.
"I'm sorry. I'm being suspicious and stupid. I knew - I know better than to underestimate you."
"Don't apologize to me, Sydney. I'm the one who needs to be sorry. I've been so -" Sydney tried to shush him, but he continued, "no - I need to say this. I've been so dumb, stupid, retarded, hell, you're the lit major, you tell me what other synonyms I've been."
Sydney gave him a shy smile and replied, "injudicious."
"Exactly. I've been an asshole. You were - are - just such a part of my life that I couldn't - I still can't - imagine losing you. Then you left. I didn't know what to think. I thought you were gone for good. I was lost. Then Lauren showed up and used me and my grief over you to manipulate me. I know I didn't love her. There was nothing like the way I felt - still feel - whenever you're around. I knew that I could never replace you or my feelings for you, but, in some sick convoluted way, I thought I could grow to really care about Lauren. We got married. Things weren't bad. Life seemed like it would just flow along. Then you came back."
Sydney moved to protest again, but Vaughn, again, stopped her. "It wasn't a bad thing. You opened my eyes to what I had been faking with Lauren all along. How shitty our life really was. You have no idea how hard it was to see you and want you and to have her instead."
"Don't patronize me, Michael. I know. I know how horrible it was for me to come home to a cold bed and cold ice cream instead of your warm arms. I know what it's like to work until midnight just so I'll be so exhausted I won't have time to reminisce and think of what you were doing with your wife right then. At least you had someone. I never pretended I didn't love you or that I don't still love you, but I can't put myself through that again."
"Sydney, please just hear me out. I know I hurt you. I know I did stupid things. You came to me that she was a spy and I blew up at you. I couldn't stand to think that the one thing standing in my way to being with you was fake. I told you we would get coffee, and I turned around and comforted her. I told you I still loved you, and then I went back to her. I did all of these things thinking that I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences, but then when it came to, I didn't want to hurt her either. After all, I thought she was just an innocent. I know I hurt you with all of my stupid thoughtless actions. I know I did really really dumb things. But I can't let the past get in the way of the future. You're my future. You always have been. You're my past. Please, I'm just asking you to become my present."
"Michael, you're still married. I can't." Vaughn looked down at his vacant ring finger. He looked back at Sydney.
"I'm only married in name. Believe me, that will be remedied soon enough as it is, but I can't stand to be without you. I love you."
Sydney looked into his eyes and felt her heart break. "Je t'aime?"
"Non. Je t'adore."
"Do you know what I heard about the French the other day?" Sydney asked teasingly.
"What's that?"
"The term "french kiss" didn't originate in France! Isn't that horribly misleading? All of my life I just assumed that Frenchmen were naturally better at the afore stated method of snogging, but it's not to be assumed!"
"I don't know. I'm sure that Frenchmen are better just because they have their reputation at stake."
"Wanna bet?" Sydney offered with a gleam in her eye.
"Pardon?"
"If you, a Frenchman, can prove that the French are better kissers, well . . . we'll see what the wager ends up being." Vaughn's grin rivaled the sun in voltage as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips slowly met hers, sparking a forest fire inside Sydney. His tongue probed her lips until she allowed him entrance.
His hands roamed her body slowly like a blind man regaining his sight. Sydney returned the favor, ripping off Vaughn's jacket and shirt so she could caress his chest and body. Vaughn rolled them over so they were sitting and Sydney was straddling his waist. She giggled as a vibration touched her leg.
"Michael! Sex toys?"
He dragged his mouth away from the slow exploration of her body in order to respond.
"No, Cell phone." He used her surprised "oh" as a means to gain entrance back into her mouth. Seconds later her cell vibrated also.
"Oh, Shit," she muttered as she tossed the offending object to the side. She leaned back towards Vaughn. "Now where were we?" But her sentence was cut off by the insistent vibrating, this time of both phones.
"Perhaps we should answer it, baby?"
"Fine." Sydney climbed off of Vaughn and snapped open her cell.
"What!"
"Agent Eric Weiss is in the hospital. He keeps muttering your name. We thought it best to inform you."
"I'll be there."
Sydney turned back to Vaughn who was also hanging up.
"Your car or mine?"
-
-
-
-
Sorry for the insane update wait. Finals were the devil, but studying pulled off. I took the SAT II in Bio, and I just got my first job. So it suffices to say that I haven't had a lot of time to write. My apologies.
'Run or pizza? Run? Pizza? Run? Pizza?' . . .
"I think it's time, once and for all, to find out how large you really are."
He didn't understand. Why was there a very, very stereotypical gay guy living in Sydney's house? Vaughn glanced down at the address written on his slightly-sweaty palm and then back at the house. This was it. Sydney wasn't there. He sank into the soft sands of the beach. 'Fuck.' What was he going to do now?
And Now Back to Our Program…
A creamy napkin stained with the tell-tale signs of pizza consumption was crushed in Eric Weiss' large hand. He leaned back into the cool leather fabric of his couch and turned on the TV. Flipping through the stations with the intensity of an award winning couch potato, the field ranked CIA agent finally decided on a Martha Stewart re-running about how to make the perfect fondue.
Just as she was delving into the importance of presentation as the main focus of a meal, Weiss started having pains. With a hand on his chest he stumbled out the door.
A block away from the CIA hospital, the pain became so intense Weiss couldn't even breath. He used his cell to call them, uttering only the corner at which he could be found and "hurry".
Paramedics arrived seconds later to find Agent Eric Weiss passed out in the drivers seat with his hand near a piece of paper on which was written, "Syd and Vaughn: Karate always takes you away. Just act crazy 'kay?"
-
She rolled out of bed with the biggest hangover of her life. Drinking to forget was bad enough, but drinking to forget to remember was the worst. Sydney lurched into the bathroom and grimaced at her appearance. Mascara lingered under her eyes from the day before. Her bangs were flipped every which way, causing her to look as if she were a wanna-be-trying-hard Farrah Facet imitator, a far cry from the noble profession of Elvis impersonations not to mention the pay sucks ass.
Sydney stumbled downstairs, each step jarring her head in numerous and extremely painful ways. A wave of nausea commandeered control of her stomach when the smell of cooking omelets hit her nose.
"What the hell are you doing, John? It's like," Syd sneaked a glance at her watch, "eleven o'clock." She finished in a small voice.
"Don't you mean eleven hundred hours?"
Sydney discontinued her eye roll mid-eye discovering that moving any part of her head brought huge amounts of great pain reminiscent to the time creepy paralyzed dude who hadn't been paralyzed yet was pulling her teeth out. "You were fine with it yesterday. What changed?"
"Realizing that my best friend has been lying to me ever since I first met her isn't exactly optimum, but . . ." his voice trailed off.
"Shit, John. You know it's not like that. It's not like I had a choice. I don't want to lie to my friends. I have no desire to betray all of the people I care about. You have no idea how hard it is not letting people get close enough to find out more about me. Not to mention lying to people I've just met. Every phone call, every time I have to leave in the middle of an outing, every time I have to defend my job at the "bank" or the "state office"." Sydney's voice caught in her throat. "It's horrible. Everywhere I go there's another lie, another web of deceit that I have to pick my way through without hanging myself in the threads."
The silence dragged on painfully long before John stood up.
"I guess you'll be needing some help so your head's clear enough to keep your covers." Sydney glanced up in surprise only find her nose touching a cold glass of reddish liquid.
"Do I want to ask?"
John grinned wickedly. "Just plug your nose and throw it down the back. Kind of like you were doing with the whiskey yesterday after the martinis were gone."
Sydney was saved from replying to his oh-so-subtle jibes by grimacing at the odd tonic she was swallowing.
"Mmm. Tasty." Syd declared in a monotone.
"Yes, well I figured it would be perfect to offset the tomato, spinach, and mushroom omelets we would be enjoying this bright, beautiful morning."
Sydney lurched to her feet and to the bathroom where she bowed to the porcelain god. A voice floated, gloatingly, over the sounds of her retching. "I take it that means that I'll be eating alone? Ah, well, more for me."
Sydney glared at the point from which the voice must be coming from and rolled her eyes. She brushed her teeth and threw on some clothes.
Holding her breath carefully, she snuck past the kitchen and out to the back porch, managing to unclog her nose long enough to throw a careless "going running" over her shoulder before stepping into the bright light. Even through the sunglasses that Sydney had chosen with care to block the most outer influences from her sensitive senses, the sun was brilliantly bright.
"Oh, fuck," she murmured as a wave of pain rocked her once again. Sydney was secretly proud of herself for cussing as much as she had been recently. She was a closet potty-mouth. All through grade school and high school she had desperately wanted to fit in and use the language that all the other girls spoke with such fluency.
Somehow, spoken by the right person, words like fuck, shit, bastard, asshole, and numerous others became poetry that could rival Frost, Tennyson, and not to mention the women poets. Harsh language described as "dirty" by so many generations of mothers and grandmothers, suddenly became as flowing as the lyrics to a tragic seventies ballad. Unfortunately, Sydney Ann Bristow, with her extensive resume and history of discovering unique talents just in time to save herself from certain death, had seemed to be missing several nucleotide bases when it came to the cursing fluency part of her genome. Until this instant, that is.
Sydney sighed regretfully at not having discovered the secret to cussing before this hung-over moment and started off at a jogging pace. She breathed the salty sea air in deeply, a smell that cleared her mind and comforted her. She tried to forget everything that had occurred in the past fifteen hours. Sydney focused on the long stride of her legs and the feel of her muscles alternatingly contracting and relaxing.
She closed her eyes against the wind.
"Umph", and she abruptly fell over a large object in her pathway.
Pushing herself into the "plank pose" from her yoga for beginners book, Sydney looked down at the form she was sprawled over. She gasped at his haggard appearance. Michael's normally clean-shaven face showed a sexy, but rough growth of beard, his eyes were framed by a dark shadow, and his white shirt was wrinkled. To top the whole picture off, sand was littered everywhere and Vaughn was missing a shoe.
"Practicing for boot camp?" Sydney's heart melted at the sound of Vaughn's voice slightly roughened after sleeping.
"I should ask you the same question. Why are you sleeping on the beach? And what happened to your shoe?" Sydney prepared herself to roll off of him, but his strong hand grabbed her arm in a silent request for her to stay where she was. Sydney lowered her head gently down onto his strong chest, relaxing to the smooth sound of his heartbeat.
"I came to see you. I really need to talk to you. We really need to talk." Sydney pushed back up off of Vaughn at the indirect reference to Lauren. This time he didn't stop her.
"This is neither the time nor the place." Sydney's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Did you stay out here all night in hopes of catching me unawares?"
Vaughn considered his options. "No."
"No what?" Sydney practically shouted.
"No, I did not wait for you. No, I did not sleep outside for you. And, no, I do not feel the unsuperiority that the rest of the male race succumbs to that would cause me to wish to find you "unawares"."
A pregnant pause ensued Vaughn's speech at the end of which Sydney's face softened.
"I'm sorry. I'm being suspicious and stupid. I knew - I know better than to underestimate you."
"Don't apologize to me, Sydney. I'm the one who needs to be sorry. I've been so -" Sydney tried to shush him, but he continued, "no - I need to say this. I've been so dumb, stupid, retarded, hell, you're the lit major, you tell me what other synonyms I've been."
Sydney gave him a shy smile and replied, "injudicious."
"Exactly. I've been an asshole. You were - are - just such a part of my life that I couldn't - I still can't - imagine losing you. Then you left. I didn't know what to think. I thought you were gone for good. I was lost. Then Lauren showed up and used me and my grief over you to manipulate me. I know I didn't love her. There was nothing like the way I felt - still feel - whenever you're around. I knew that I could never replace you or my feelings for you, but, in some sick convoluted way, I thought I could grow to really care about Lauren. We got married. Things weren't bad. Life seemed like it would just flow along. Then you came back."
Sydney moved to protest again, but Vaughn, again, stopped her. "It wasn't a bad thing. You opened my eyes to what I had been faking with Lauren all along. How shitty our life really was. You have no idea how hard it was to see you and want you and to have her instead."
"Don't patronize me, Michael. I know. I know how horrible it was for me to come home to a cold bed and cold ice cream instead of your warm arms. I know what it's like to work until midnight just so I'll be so exhausted I won't have time to reminisce and think of what you were doing with your wife right then. At least you had someone. I never pretended I didn't love you or that I don't still love you, but I can't put myself through that again."
"Sydney, please just hear me out. I know I hurt you. I know I did stupid things. You came to me that she was a spy and I blew up at you. I couldn't stand to think that the one thing standing in my way to being with you was fake. I told you we would get coffee, and I turned around and comforted her. I told you I still loved you, and then I went back to her. I did all of these things thinking that I wouldn't have to deal with the consequences, but then when it came to, I didn't want to hurt her either. After all, I thought she was just an innocent. I know I hurt you with all of my stupid thoughtless actions. I know I did really really dumb things. But I can't let the past get in the way of the future. You're my future. You always have been. You're my past. Please, I'm just asking you to become my present."
"Michael, you're still married. I can't." Vaughn looked down at his vacant ring finger. He looked back at Sydney.
"I'm only married in name. Believe me, that will be remedied soon enough as it is, but I can't stand to be without you. I love you."
Sydney looked into his eyes and felt her heart break. "Je t'aime?"
"Non. Je t'adore."
"Do you know what I heard about the French the other day?" Sydney asked teasingly.
"What's that?"
"The term "french kiss" didn't originate in France! Isn't that horribly misleading? All of my life I just assumed that Frenchmen were naturally better at the afore stated method of snogging, but it's not to be assumed!"
"I don't know. I'm sure that Frenchmen are better just because they have their reputation at stake."
"Wanna bet?" Sydney offered with a gleam in her eye.
"Pardon?"
"If you, a Frenchman, can prove that the French are better kissers, well . . . we'll see what the wager ends up being." Vaughn's grin rivaled the sun in voltage as he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips slowly met hers, sparking a forest fire inside Sydney. His tongue probed her lips until she allowed him entrance.
His hands roamed her body slowly like a blind man regaining his sight. Sydney returned the favor, ripping off Vaughn's jacket and shirt so she could caress his chest and body. Vaughn rolled them over so they were sitting and Sydney was straddling his waist. She giggled as a vibration touched her leg.
"Michael! Sex toys?"
He dragged his mouth away from the slow exploration of her body in order to respond.
"No, Cell phone." He used her surprised "oh" as a means to gain entrance back into her mouth. Seconds later her cell vibrated also.
"Oh, Shit," she muttered as she tossed the offending object to the side. She leaned back towards Vaughn. "Now where were we?" But her sentence was cut off by the insistent vibrating, this time of both phones.
"Perhaps we should answer it, baby?"
"Fine." Sydney climbed off of Vaughn and snapped open her cell.
"What!"
"Agent Eric Weiss is in the hospital. He keeps muttering your name. We thought it best to inform you."
"I'll be there."
Sydney turned back to Vaughn who was also hanging up.
"Your car or mine?"
-
-
-
-
Sorry for the insane update wait. Finals were the devil, but studying pulled off. I took the SAT II in Bio, and I just got my first job. So it suffices to say that I haven't had a lot of time to write. My apologies.