Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds
SIXTEEN – A New Foe, A New Face
Rating: PG/PG-13
Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe
Characters: Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Aiden Ivanov (James Franco or Hugh Dancy), Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Sark, Eric Weiss, Moonbeam (Drew Barrymore), Lisa Owen (Gretchen Mol), Allison Doren, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Christine Esperanza (Mila Jovovich), McKenas Cole, Michael Vaughn, Lauren Reed mentioned Sydney Bristow
Length: 6,556 Words
He unlocks the door to his apartment. And he then reaches into his suit jacket; drawing the gun he always keeps in his holster (which he opts not to wear at work), and then opens the door. He uses his left hand to reach in and flip the light switch, and then he enters the apartment slowly with his weapon drawn. He does this every single time he comes home, because he is living as Will Tippin. He is using his real name. And in spite of the fact that deep down he knows no one will be waiting inside, ready to kill him, he can't help but be concerned. Will has lived a hard life, and the bottom line is that it has had a major affect on him. Once inside he locks the door behind him, and proceeds to search through every single room. God, he thinks to himself as he enters the kitchen, placing his gun on the counter, this is just pathetic.
He takes his suit jacket off, shoulder holster as well, and walks to the refrigerator. He pulls a Heineken from the case, and then searches through a drawer for a moment for the bottle opener. And he opens the freezer, taking a long drink of his beer, trying to decide which frozen TV dinner to make - Yankee Pot Roast or Chicken and mashed potatoes? Neither look at all appetizing, he shuts the freezer and just stands in the kitchen for a moment, leaning against his kitchen counter. With a sigh he reaches for the black cordless phone, and reaches in to a different drawer, pulling out the small stack of order-out menus. He thinks for a moment, trying to decide between pizza and this new seafood place. Who is he kidding? He's a bachelor in his early thirties. Pizza it is. He dials the number, taking another drink of his beer, and waits for an answer.
"Umm, hello, can I get a..." He thinks for a moment, trying to decide what sounds good. "A medium three topping pizza?" He waits while the person on the other end speaks, telling him about specials. And he rolls his eyes. "No, the medium three topping will be just fine." A pause as the man asks what he wants on it. "Pepperoni, sausage-" He stops, waits a beat, thinking. "No, scratch the sausage. Just make it pepperoni, green peppers and-" Another beat. "Okay and sausage. Pepperoni, green peppers and sausage." I'm so weak, Will thinks to himself about the diet he's been trying to implement. He then tells the man his address, and gets off the phone, hanging it up. He walks into the living room and sits down on the couch, searching for the television remote. A smile as he remembers how Sydney used to yell at him about how he would constantly lose it.
His apartment isn't exactly furnished as well as it should be, or could be. He's been back in LA for only a couple of months, and has yet to decorate a damn thing. Not that decorating was really his thing anyway. But he's kept the walls bare, the whole decor to a minimum, a sort of 'only the necessities' thing. He looks over at the end table, spotting the remote control and reaches over, stretching out as he grabs it. He's about to turn the television on when he hears his cell phone ringing. Instantly he's up off of the tan suede couch, literally jumping over the back of it, and runs to the bar between the kitchen and living room that the phone sits on. "Hello?" He asks, just after turning it on.
"Will?" It's an unfamiliar voice. Or then again maybe it isn't. "I mean, Mr. Tippin." Elle. He finds himself smiling, and maybe his heart is beating a little faster as he walks back around the couch and sits down. He shrugs off the heart rate, grabbing the remote control, saying it had to do with his sudden burst of cardiovascular energy.
"Hi Elle." He states in response. He turns the TV on, flipping through the channels, trying to decide on something to watch. He thinks for a moment that he should sound like he's... smart. He turns the TV to Fox News and lets the volume get a little louder. Maybe she can hear. "What's up?"
There's a pause on her end, and he sits up, turning the volume back down. Instantly his mind starts racing, thinking of all the reasons why she could be calling. Maybe she's discovered something. Maybe she's found something out. Maybe something has happened to her. He stops breathing for a moment at the last thought, not knowing where it came from. And he shrugs it off, hoping she hasn't sensed a change in him. "I need to ask you something." Why are his palms sweating?
"Yeah, what's that?" And Will hates that he suddenly feels like he's in high school again, trying to talk to some girl.
"Well, I normally wouldn't do this... but considering that I've been put on this new task force and what not," She hesitates. He listens intently. "I just - I just need to maybe ask you if it's alright that I set up a meeting with a contact of mine."
Will can feel the frown threatening to spread on his lips. No. He's her superior still, and she's just calling about work. A deep breath, and he starts channel surfing once more. Law & Order. He lets the breath out slowly, and then prepares to speak. "Umm, yeah that's fine Elle." He nods reassuringly, knowing that she can't see him.
"That is... great." He pictures her smile. There's an awkward pause between the two of them on the line. And he wonders what exactly this is going to turn into. He can hear her take a deep breath. "So, what are your plans for this evening?" She questions. He can hear as a fork makes a slight clicking noise in her mouth. She's eating. And he smiles at the casualties.
"Well, I haven't exactly found anything interesting to watch on TV yet, but my pizza is due in-" He checks his watch. "Fifteen minutes."
"Oh pizza sounds so good right now! I'm just eating some left over Chinese take out from the other night... I kinda wonder how old it is actually. Thinking about it is actually making me a little sick to my stomach." Will laughs in response to her words. And she doesn't. "No, Will, actually I think this might be bad..." He loves that she's making him smile. He can hear as her sink is running. "I am so putting this in the garbage disposal right now."
Will hesitates a moment, trying to of how to word this next statement. "Well this might be a little forward of me, but you're welcome to come over here and have some pizza - Lord knows I don't need to eat a whole pizza."
"What's on it?" She asks. She's sincere and actually considering this. Immediately Will is up, rushing around his apartment and picking up the random pieces of clothing and other cluttered messes. On top of not decorating, he hasn't really cleaned either. Yes, that's right. He hasn't cleaned since he moved in, save for the occasional making a pile of something, or washing his clothes that don't go to the dry cleaner when they're beginning to really need it.
"Umm," Will walks to his bedroom, noting the complete disarray of blankets on his bed. God, he's such a slob. "Green peppers, pepperoni and sausage." He opens his closet door and starts tossing things in his dirty-clothes hamper. A silent groan as he realizes he probably has three times the amount of clothes on the floor, than will actually fit in the hamper. He feels like he's in a cartoon as he's hurriedly cleaning things up.
"Hrmm." He can almost hear as she's wrinkling her nose. He loves how she makes the 'hmm' noise with an 'r' sound in it. He can picture as she moistens her lips, probably idly wrapping some stray strands of hair around her finger. "Can I get a rain-check?" She asks. Will drops his clothes to the floor at the same rate as his jaw drops from his mouth.
Will takes a deep breath, nodding, again knowing that she can't see him. "Yeah... sure." His words are slow. He doesn't want to sound like he's disappointed, but on the other hand he is. Maybe if she does know that he's upset she'll change her mind... No. Will doesn't want pity. Sydney suddenly springs to mind. No. He definitely does not want pity. Warsaw. And it all lead to nothing - to him going back to Wisconsin and her going back to pining after Vaughn, as always. A sigh. He curses himself for letting her hear it.
"All right, well... I'll see you tomorrow morning, Will." Elle's words are soft. He knows she heard his sigh. He hangs his phone up, and just sits there, on his couch, thinking.
He has an altogether different scent from any other in her candles or memories. He is mint. Mint and tobacco. A smile - and the curtain around this bathtub has been open for the past fifteen minutes or so. She relaxes into their comfortable familiarity, soothing over her frayed nerves like slow honey. The sweetest balm for her bittersweet and salt-filled aching wounds. Sark. She doesn't want to think about the man, not now. Abs blows a few bubbles off her hand in his direction, headed toward his face, playfully. And he pretends to recoil in mock horror. The bubbles fall through the air gently, missing him by inches as the land on the tiled floor. The both look down. Silence. And a deep breath. She looks up first, awaiting his gaze, and then smiles into his soft chocolate eyes. Breathing, and hearts beating.
He watches, his breath catching in his throat as she turns from facing him, so that she's sitting facing her out stretched legs. And she slides down, scooting along the bottom of the tub until her knees surface and her entire head submerges, wetting her long brown hair. And when she brings her head back out of the water, she reaches behind and pulls the ponytail out of her hair. He suddenly has to re-wet the inside of his mouth as he watches her, letting his hand linger on the edge of the tub. Suddenly her hand is on his, a smile, and their eyes meet. "I'm getting out - I'm all pruney." And a laugh. His. Her weird slang still amuses him. She used that word - pruney - the first time they worked together. Alone together. He does not particularly like prunes - he likes her.
Instantly Aiden is up out of the chair, reaching for the soft light sea-foam green towel that sits on the counter. He hears her stand in the water, but does not look. Aiden opens the towel, holding it out as a wall between the two of them. And she slowly turns toward him in the tub, he steps back as she steps out, his eyes never wavering from hers. Hazel light glowing in candles flickering their heady scents around them. If he were someone different, he would have already stolen a glance, or six, by now. But he isn't someone else, and his arms encircle her body as she draws into the towel's dry green embrace. He stills. There. With her breath heating the small spot on his chest. She looks up, and he ties the towel into a Gordian knot. Self control. Self-control.
Abs smiles, wet hair framing her face into an image of latent innocence, her nose nudging his. And she breathes heavily. Forget control. His lips brush hers, his decision alone. And maybe one of the best he thinks he's ever made, and maybe hers. Lips pressing close together. But he pulls away, just as she does, the fibers of sparks lighting across smooth skin. They both know that this isn't what should be going on right now. Not. Yet. And he wonders if he should pull his arms away. She won't let him. Her hand is cupping his cheek and his eyes show pleasant surprise. "Thank you." Not so much a whisper, but soft just the same. They slip through the bathroom door, a smooth stop, and no sign of faltering as they see Sark, just coming in the door, his arrogant demeanor pleased. Until he sees them.
"I thought I told you to leave?" She murmurs coolly, "and weren't you with Steph anyhow?" She ignores Aiden's hand clenching at her waist. No. She wants this argument. She wants this fight with Sark, so she can get it over and done with. She turns to the man at her side and gives him a soft and at the same time warn-ful look. Aiden resists the urge to smile and anger Sark more. But he cannot resist leaning in and kissing Abs on the forehead. Sark watches the way her stance completely relaxes, losing the tensed feel she always has with him, and accepts the tiny gesture. Her eyes close only briefly before she smiles at Aiden's departing figure.
"Did you have him in the tub then?" He asks as the door clicks shut and her stance is tense again, her eyes slanting slightly downward. She knows exactly what Sark is implying, and truly does not appreciate this. The bastard.
She looks back up at him, a glare painted across her face, so perfectly planned and beautifully executed like a classic Monet. "For someone of your supposedly superior capabilities, you should have made the observation that his clothes are indeed still on, Sark." A smirk. A smirk not coming from him, but directed at him. "And dry," She adds, dripping everything with sarcasm. "Jealousy doesn't become you, Sark." She taunts so cattily, and he wonders when she was like this with him, power exuding from her body, naked as she is under a sea green towel. The Abs he knows would... he is not even sure anymore.
Instantly he pulls back from his thoughts, the residue of a happy feeling washed away in the wake of her wet angry body dripping before him. "And whoring certainly does not become you," he retorts. This time the smirk is on his face and directed at her. As it always should, he thinks.
She begins to squeeze the water out of her hair. A trickling laugh as she looks at him. "I am not the whore between the two of us, Sark," she muses softly, only a warning. He clenches his jaw to keep from reacting. Control. It is always about control.
"The problem with you, Abigail, is that you never stop thinking," A sarcastic tone, trying to match her.
"The problem with you Julian," She says the name, covering it in disdain and hatred. "Daahhhhhhrling," A mockery of his British accent, because she knows that calling him Julian is only minor when it comes to insulting the man. She executes the tone so perfectly. "Is that you are never satisfied." She mocks him airily, flipping her hair over shoulder in one fluid motion. Water. The water splatters on his Armani suit, darker spots on an already dark material. And she, at least this stays the same, looks at this with willful approval at the brilliant insult. "I guess I just ruined, yet another, of your suits," she says so clearly, with no hint of an apology. He never gets one. He never deserves one.
To say that Sark is displeased would be so much of an understatement. A beat. "Yes, and it will be the last," he mutters as he uses a handkerchief to blot the material. He pauses yet again, waits to see her reaction; tears, shock, anger, anything at all. And she simply stares forward, her mouth curved upward.
"Then I get the car, it's only fair." Is she playing with him? Is she trying to continue with this charade and take him to bed? He can only imagine, and at the same time is quite certain that she is doing so. Her audacity surprises him, even though she does not notice it from the way his eyes blink only momentarily before the mask shifts right back into place.
He smiles. "Only if I get your dagger collection," he replies smoothly, "darling." And he tucks the handkerchief away.
She's smiling back, because this is always so very tactical - always such a damn power play and a game between them. "Oh touché, touché. A proper hit there! Do you imagine this hurts...Sark?" She tilts her head to the side, raising her eyebrows in a display of arrogance only he could conjure.
"I imagine a lot of things, love. Your pain is certainly on the list," he mocks deridingly of her emotional scenes. He detests them so. And he realizes that maybe she is in control. He reaches forward, a fake pout on his lips, and brushes some of the hair out of her eyes. A flash and his head is turned to the right side from her quicksilver slap, leaving a hot bright red stinging mark on his pale face. He turns back slowly. "And I imagine you think I deserved that."
A glare. Lips pressed together and eyes dark. "I imagine, that it does not matter either way because you are incapable of feeling anything." She raises her eyebrows at him, her mouth open slightly. And she then shuts it again, brushing past the man and heading toward the closet. She turns, glancing back over her shoulder at him. He's watching her. It's just like him to watch her. "And to answer your previous assessment: No Sark, you deserve much worse."
He watches as the towel slips down only slightly, and she catches it, looking through her clothes. She's taunting and teasing him. And she finally lets the cloth slip all the way to the floor, for she does not care that he sees. She knows there is nothing he could do. He has been banished and is no longer allowed to call her Abigail, no longer allowed to touch her. And it's the slope of her neck, the vertebrae he has kissed in reverence that catches his eye. They were always so kind in bed. The slip of a gray silk nightgown over her head, and maybe a moment of regret. She turns her eyes, flashing angrily. No. No regret. Sark takes a deep breath, and walks to the doors to exit the room.
Eric Weiss wants to die. He wants to be put out of his misery. First of all he does not want to be here - in this gaudy restaurant. But of course he promised his mother last week that 'no matter what', he wouldn't make an excuse to not see the girl her friend wanted to set up him up with. That's the first problem. He couldn't exactly call his mom up and say 'an agent was kidnapped on the mission I was just on, Ma. I don't much feel like going out.' No. He couldn't do that. Not to his Jewish mother. She probably wouldn't ever stop guilting him. Eric was raised in a Jewish household, so he is well aware of the way a Jewish mother acts. But, he doesn't much care of his faith either way, because in the world of espionage what one believes as far as the spiritual world comes quite secondary.
Now, the other reason he wants to die, and be put out of his misery is the very woman sitting across from him. The woman that his mother's friend thought it would be rather beneficial to set him up with. Why? Why would those women ever think that he would want to be set up with this kind of earth muffin sitting across from him? Muffin is not a term of endearment in this situation. Not at all. He watches as she nibbles on a carrot, reminding him unpleasantly of an obnoxious cartoon rabbit that used to bother him so much growing up. How he wants to be Elmer Fudd. How he so desperately wants to finally kill that damn rabbit. Weiss is not quite so lucky. She's speaking again.
"And all of the cosmos are so out of balance right now," she sighs, her eyes looking so heavy, as though the world rests on her shoulders. Right. "That is why America will always have someone like Daniel P. Ellis and his entire staff in the white house! People are wrecking their eternal karma on these bumbling idiots! Daniel Ellis will ruin this country." Ok. Breathe. Weiss stares at her, raises his eyebrows as she continues to speak and he tunes her out. Do not panic. Do not get angry. Weiss is a Republican - though with the approval President Ellis has, it wouldn't matter. Ellis is former CIA. Weiss knows he is a smart man. And this girl probably doesn't even know how this government works. Listen lady, this country was not built on flowers and Yoga instructors. This country was built on blood, sweat and tears. He thinks he sounds cliché... but damn it, it's the truth. If she only knew a single ounce of the patriotism he possesses and the things he sees... No. He wouldn't want to wreck her whole system of ideals.
Wait. Yes he does. It's his mother that's stopping him. And Weiss is a Mama's boy, through and through. If only he could come up with a way, or an excuse to leave this God-forsaken table, dinner date. Maybe he can call his own cell phone. Does he have his pager in his pocket too? Maybe a different tactic. "Umm, Moonbeam, you've got a little... carrot gunk in your teeth..." She looks up, and rubs her teeth, then smiles. The girl continues to nibble, dressed in a light colored peasant top, dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders. He wonders when she last washed it. And he can't believe she actually wore sandals in this restaurant. Sometimes...his mother. God how he feels over dressed in a suit and tie.
"I'm going to..." He trails for a moment, watching the way she looks up. She continually looks enchanted, and he wonders what drugs are doing it. "I'm going to go get a drink at the bar, is that okay?"
She looks up at him, pulling her legs up to her chest in the seat. He can't believe he thought the girl he met at work today was flaky. He takes it back. He takes it all back. "I am not in control of your bodily vessel." What the hell does that even mean?
"So, I'm going to take that as a yes..." Weiss trails, standing from the table. He places his napkin next to his plane and quickly retreats, glad that the bar is behind a half wall, plants obscuring the line of vision. He needs a drink - something to take his mind off of this horrible date. "Can I get a Long Island iced tea?" He asks. So maybe it's not too hard, but just the same. He sits at the bar, reaching up and rubbing his eyes.
"Eric?" He turns, quickly at the sound of the female voice. And his eyes meet with semi-familiar pale green eyes with light gold flecks. He smiles.
"Lisa!" He stands, watching as the woman approaches. And they quickly embrace. She takes a step back, "Sit down." She slips into the seat next to him, a smile spread across her face. And she moves some of her wildly curly shoulder length blonde hair away from her face. It's sort of a dark golden blonde with accents of light platinum blonde. And she wears red heels, white pants and a red halter-top. She has wire framed glasses, that he knows she doesn't need, remembering a conversation they had a few weeks prior.
Lisa. Lisa is a woman who he met through Sydney. Actually, Lisa went to college with Sydney and Will. She moved away after college, got married and started a career as an ER nurse. And three years later, she was divorced, living back in LA, working as the nurse for a family practice doctor. And yes, she did go to medical school with Danny. She ran into Sydney the week following the encounter in Warsaw with Will. Ever since then she and Sydney have been good friends, getting to know one another again. She's talked to Weiss quite a few times actually, when he has come over to Sydney's apartment randomly. And he knows that Sydney has been considering hooking her up with Will, especially since they used to have classes together. "So, why are you here?" She asks, taking a slow sip on her Cosmopolitan.
"Well," Weiss starts, and he looks over his shoulder back at the table he was sitting it. She's still there. "See that girl alone at that table in the middle - the one who looks like she came in off the street?" He questions. And Lisa swiftly moves, her blonde hair shifting around. She stands up off of the bar stool to try to see. She's only about five feet six inches when she doesn't have her heels on. She moves her head around trying to see between the plants and people. Weiss smiles when she finally does see the girl. She turns back, eyes raised, and sits on the chair.
A swift sip of her drink again and she's comfortable. "Yes," she answers. Weiss nods, and he accepts his drink from the bar tender, quickly paying the man. "What about her?"
"Her name is 'Moonbeam' - though I was told her name is Colleen, she believes that this country would be better if we all had gotten our eternal karma's to vote for Ralph Nader two years ago, she only eats carrots and she didn't wear real shoes in here." He pauses. Lisa watches with a raised eyebrow. Weiss sighs. "My mom's friend set her up on a date with me."
Lisa looks down, then back up, a brilliant white smile spread across her face. "Oh, Eric... I am so sorry." But she can't help but laugh. In fact she's not hiding it at all. Weiss nods, feeling the laughter burning within him and joins her. And then he stops, they both stop. There's a kind of awkward silence and pause. She sips her drink, then places the glass on the counter. Weiss just thinks. "So," a deep breath from her right after the word. "So I was supposed to have a 'girl's night out' with a hand full of my friends. But Diana decided she'd rather spend the evening with a boy. Mia got sick, and Sydney... I haven't been able to get in touch with Sydney."
Weiss knows his heart is beating faster than usual. "She got hung up at work, actually - said she tried to call you." He hates lying to anyone. But sometimes he knows he has to. He knows he has to lie to Lisa, because otherwise she'd never understand what the truth really is.
"Well, no that's fine. Anyway so I was supposed to go out with them and instead here I am... alone." She shrugs her shoulders. "It's not good to drink alone."
Weiss smiles at her. "I'm here with you, so it's not alone."
"Don't you have your... date?" She slowly questions. Weiss quickly turns, the same rate as Lisa, and they both idly watch the woman eat the carrots.
"I have this feeling she forgot we were even on a date."
Three sets of female eyes - piercing female eyes - look up and fall upon the person entering the room. No. It isn't Sark they're sending these Catty glares at, for once. All lips pressed together in not so impressed smirks. Sark lets his eyes land on these women and finds it hard to decipher them. There's Allison - his friend. Abigail - his enemy? And Steph - his partner, maybe. She hasn't exactly given him an answer yet. He sits in a chair in the corner, Aiden feet from him. That's a dynamic right there, he thinks. Himself and Aiden - two man who are so similar and so different. God how they hate and at the same time understand one another. Histories and pasts mending and melding together. Sark knows his story and Aiden knows Sark's.
His eyes land on Simon Walker who sits further way from the two men, the wooden crutches he's been using resting on the wall behind him. They're in a different room this time - one they have yet to use. This is the nice living room. This is the room with extravagant high ceilings, expensive furniture, beautiful crystal chandeliers. He likes the room. And he continues to watch Simon. He hasn't figured Mr. Walker out yet. Why is he here on this operation? Of course there is the matter of Sydney Bristow vs. Julia Thorne. But, for some reason Sark doesn't think that's what it's about. He has a feeling that it's something else. Of course Simon will say it's revenge against Jack Bristow - of course. But maybe it isn't. He figures he'll need to keep his eye out for that man.
He doesn't take the time to pick apart Cole's reasoning for being here. He already knows those reasons. And his eyes land, slowly, on the woman who has just entered the room. "Ahh, the elusive Celestine Carmen Esperanza Rosalyn Diego Fernandez." Sark stands, walking over to the woman. And there are unanimous scoffs coming from the direction of the three women. Sark smiles at Christine, his blue eyes piercing her green ones. He reaches down and kisses the top of her hand and she raises an eye brow, waiting for him to stand up straight.
"The elusive Mr. Sark," her words are slow, and she simply smiles at him. "The stories I have heard..." She trails for a moment, and withdraws her hand from his grasp. And her face goes from a smile to a stern glare. "Diega."
"What?" Sark asks, confused.
"Celestine Carmen Esperanza Rosalyn Diega Fernandez." Her words are pronounced perfectly with the roll of the tongue and the seductive anticipation between sounds. "I am a woman - Diega not Diego." She waits for a moment, watching Sark nod in response. And she takes a breath, bored, red lips parted slightly. She moves some of her red hair away from her face, then holds her hand back up to Sark. "Sit back down," She moves her hand slightly, shoo-ing him away. "I don't need your drooling on me." A smile spreads across Allison's face. Maybe Christine is not all that bad. Sark retreats and sits down, continuing to stare at this woman. "Which one of you is..." she trails for a moment, conjuring the name, "Stephania?"
Steph quickly stands and walks over, heels clicking on the floor loudly. And she's taller than the red head, a figure that can steal the attention from Christine to herself. "Steph," she states. And Christine nods, slowly. "I guess we're going to be working together."
"I guess," Christine's response is given with a smile. And Steph nods, the same fake gesture spread across her lips. "Alright, I'm going to go back to my room - I need you to meet with me within the next few minutes, promptly to tell me what happened at this interrogation."
"Well I can tell you now-" Steph stops at the sight of Christine's palm.
"No, you can't tell me now," she turns and exits leaving the room and heading down the hall. Steph turns back to the two women sitting on the couch. Abs gives a little scoff, and she sits back down between them, all with their legs crossed.
Whispers start between the three women, Aiden smiles. "What the hell is with her damn hair?" The first jab is from Abs, who has pulled her newly dried long brown hair up into a messy bun. She wears all black now - pants and a tank top.
"Ehh, probably has some Irish in her, but I guarantee she dyes it." Steph whispers back. The second jab. She shakes her head, a smile on Allison's face. "She's probably a damn mutt though."
Allison laughs. Abs' eyes widen quickly. "Steph! I'm a mutt!" She scoffs in response. Aiden loves how these three women can turn into children so quickly.
And the scoff is a slight hissing noise from Allison's mouth. "Yeah but you wear it well." Aiden feels his cell phone vibrating in his pocket and frowns as he stands, pulling it from his pants. Damn it. He doesn't want to leave this display of childishness. How entertaining these three women can be. And he hits the talk button, exiting the room, mumbling a hello. A smile. His mom.
His heart is beating faster than normal. He loves this. He loves racing his wife home from work, taking different routes, to see who can get back to the apartment faster. "Son of a bitch!" He curses loudly when he gets into traffic. He closes his eyes as his car comes to a slow crawl. No. He can't let her win - even though she will. And he sits there, waiting, rubbing his eyes. He can't believe it has actually been twenty minutes when he finally gets through the traffic. He wonders for a moment if Lauren planned this - she was the one to suggest they race. She was the one to tell him the route to go home... Maybe she's waiting for him back at their apartment right now. A smile spreads across his face, because he doesn't think he can wait any longer.
Home. Finally. He shuts the black Chrysler off, getting out and heading up the walkway to the front of the condo. He pulls for his keys, but is suddenly greeted as the door opens and he finds Lauren standing there in a black dress. A smile is spread across her red lips; her hair is down, resting on her shoulders in a seductive manner. And Vaughn doesn't hesitate to lean in, letting his lips meet with those of his wife. A smile while they kiss, him pushing her backward into the apartment, kicking their front door shut with this foot. He pulls away, slowly, as the sweet smells fill his senses. And he finally lets his eyes leave her face, seeing the dining room set for dinner for two. "You planned this, didn't you?"
"Yes." A sly grin. She pulls him into their dining room, the table dressed in a rich red tablecloth, and tall gold taper candles. And there are two places set, at either end of the small table. "I picked this up from your favorite restaurant." His eyes dance across the table and he suddenly knows exactly what it is. They speak at the same time. "Shrimp and angel hair pasta." She leans in; kissing him once more, and then finally flees, walking to the table where a bottle of white wine has been chilling. She's already corked it, and takes a slow sniff of its scent, just before she pours two glasses. "I knew you would run into that traffic - which gave me just enough time to set everything up." She then walks back over to him and hands him a glass of the wine. "Here you are darling."
Vaughn graciously accepts the glass of wine, and then leans in, kissing his wife once more. "You are amazing," he states, running his hand along her face. And she smiles at him, looking down to the floor and then back up. She is amazing. She sets her glass of wine down and slowly works his suit jacket off of him. He reaches to take his shoulder holster off, and she shakes her head, indicating that she wants him to leave it on. She's feeling frisky tonight, isn't she? She places his jacket in the coat closet and then walks back to her glass of wine, then sits at one end of the table him at the other. "Lauren, this looks delicious."
"It's not like I made it, Michael." She laughs a little, retrieving her salad fork. She waits for him to start eating, and then follows suit. God how she loves to please her husband. But tonight... tonight she's to see what kind of information she can get out of him. Vaughn doesn't take a long time to finish his salad, and then starts in on the main course. This is his favorite meal. She knew it wouldn't take much to get him to eat it all. And so what if she has added a little bit of Sodium Pentothal to his meal - a form of truth serum. She remembers exactly how she did it actually.
Lauren was to the apartment first - carrying the take out with Vaughn's favorite meal inside it. She rushed into the kitchen and quickly pulled a small clear plastic tube from her pocket. Sodium Pentothal. She grabbed a small cup filling it only slightly with boiling hot water. She took one of the yellow crystals out of the tube and dissolved it in the water. Instantly a garlic-like odor began to fill her senses. She then began to prepare the meals, putting the pasta on separate places, and poured the small amount of dissolved barbiturate over his. And she then rushed into the dining room, setting the plates down at their respective places and lit the candles. She went back into the kitchen and took the tube with her. She changed her clothes and hid the Sodium Pentothal in her jewelry box. She showed up in the living room, just as Vaughn pulled up. A smile.
"Well?" She asks of him, as he sits, eating the food. He looks up, smiling. She knows that the affects are only a few moments away. She just has to wait. His heart rate is going to slow down, and he's going to simply feel relaxed - just as she wants him to be. The look on his face starts to suggest that he's nearly there. His facial features are smoothing out, and he continues to eat.
"Ya know, Lauren, I think I'm more tired than I thought I was." She smiles in response. This is it. He's nearly there. And so she takes a slow drink of her wine, and then stands, walking to his side of the table.
She runs her hand through his hair. "Do you want to go to bed?" Her words are so suggestive, and he looks up at her, smiling. A mumbled yes, he stands and suddenly they're rushing back to the bedroom, leaving the dining room as a mess. "Michael," She gasps, feeling as he's kissing her neck. "What did Sark say on the phone?"
"I don't know," his words are muffled into her skin. "He talked to Jack." She frowns.
"Have you been briefed on the Intel this new analyst has?" She asks, as he pulls down the zipper on the back of her dress. She runs her hands through his hair, loving it as he slips her dress off.
"A little bit," He answers. Lauren smiles.