A/N: For disclaimers please see chapter 1.

Chapter II: The Blue Lagoon

The barman gazed over his domain; the small room was quietly humming away as per normal, although he swore to himself that he felt that familiar warmth in the buzz. Around thirty elegant couples beautifully dressed in expensive dresses and sharp suits sat in the small pools of soft golden light that highlighted the sofas lining the perimeter; colourful drinks presented on the low tables in front of them. The dance floor was set a small step down from the rest of the room. It was still relatively empty; the polished wood happily caught the blue and white lights, reflecting the soft movements of the band like a pine-tinted lake. Despite the post show rush, the "Blue Lagoon" always managed to keep its air of serenity. The modern chrome banister that ran down the grand stairs in the far corner of the room glowed blue from the soft lighting that washed lightly over the pianist and his small band on their stage. The air was smoke free, clean and cool. It really was a haven he liked to believe, and exactly how a fashionable, exclusive bar should be.

Jimmy and the boys let the melodies flow; they brought the essence of beauty out of wood and brass, strings and the very breath of life. Their music thickened the thin air; their loving expression of the melancholy blues melted the heart of the people, and their upbeat swing stirred happiness in every soul.

The buzz had picked up, it had hit 11pm, by that time, the awkwardness has gone away and the conversation flows easily. Grant was good at sensing it – young love: he loved that sound. So often was the way after a big play night, the big first date, and the favour from the guy who knows a guy to get you a piece of this manufactured New York paradise.

Looking up as he pummelled fresh mint for a Mojito, blue light catching in the silver hair of a tall man in a tuxedo caught his eye. In his quick assessment of him, the barman decided that he must have been in his late forties at least, his handsome features and easy expression justifying in Grant's mind the presence of the beautiful woman on his arm. She was the epitome of city class, she looked confident and vital: in none less than a black Vera Wang, which she modelled so gracefully. The couple laughed freely, their eyes only for one another as they floated down the grand staircase. Grant loved that his job let him live the high life, even from a distance for the hours of the New York night. This couple looked so good on one another, they looked the way Grant would look when he found the one; they gave the air of owning the world.

Blindly continuing the preparation of the cocktail, the barman watched the man sit his date down in one of the only spots left open; at the back, in the corner under the grand stairs. It dawned on him that she might look familiar to him; but sat in the half shadow of the staircase lighting, he couldn't put his finger on it. The lightest touches between them fed the electric atmosphere, their radiant smiles lit up the room. Standing behind the bar, he decided that tonight, he would be a witness to something special.

"Now you're a free lady, what can I get you to drink? They do some fancy cocktails, or…" She cut in:

"Or you could surprise me." Oh my God, he thought – his breath caught in his chest. The worst thing a date can ask for is a surprise. It's a test. Simon felt quite sick, it was as if all the times he had denied fear a place in his body as he looked death plain straight in the face had all come to him now. He was bewildered and utterly terrified of disappointing her, lost for an immediate response. The change in beat from the band lifted him out of his fearful rut.

"Yeah, OK, a surprise it is then!" The unease written in his furrowed brow didn't filter into his voice; the duty tone took over instead and he even managed a strangled smile. CJ sat back, missing his discomfort as she reeled in his presence, her thumping heart slowed and comforted by the very same beat of the blues.

The silver haired fellow wondered up to the bar, his date sat with her eyes flicking between the musicians and her man. Grant floated gracefully down the bar, tilting his head slightly as he asked what he could get sir. The man took a deep breath.

"What's good?" he blurted out. The barman knew immediately what had happened. Usually the cocktail list would have been the object of conversation between couples for a good fifteen minutes, or a bottle of bubbly would be requested straight off. She'd asked him to surprise her.

"If you will excuse my impertinence sir, is the lady a plain but classy Champagne lady, or does she like something a little more exciting?"

"She's a very exciting lady!" Donovan you sound like an utter fool. The barman smiled and produced a list of cocktails.

"There are plenty of cocktails that include our finest bubbly." Simon was sold.

The barman put on a show as he quickly, but carefully prepared the drinks, yet the ever-vigilant eyes of the Secret Service agent kept snapping over to the other side of the room. He got a hold of himself and turned toward the bar, concentrating on the peaches whizzing round in the blender. Somehow he just felt if he turned and saw her looking at him, he might collapse in a dizzy heap without paying the tab. The rich, deep pink-orange cocktails sat beautifully in champagne flutes garnished with a peach ball split on the rim of each glass. Reflecting on the beauty of the Bellinis as he handed the barman a crisp bill, he wondered if CJ liked peaches; his gut twisted and he looked to the heavens in silent prayer.

Walking back to their little private sofa was one of the longest walks he'd ever taken. Her eyes caught him as he was half way there, and neither her eyes nor beaming smile moved an inch.

"Wow, Simon, what are these?" The ecstasy in her voice was very apparent, even if she didn't like peaches, that sound was worth his efforts.

"These are Bellinis, Ms Cregg, invented in Venice, the original Bellinis come from Harry's bar." Simon was thanking the barman for that little touch of history. CJ cooed with interest, turning in the sofa, encouraging him to take his seat next to her. She loved the drink, and wondered how she had missed it all these years, the relief that washed over Simon's face when she approved touched him deeply.

Placing her glass back on the table with his, she tentatively and softly laid her hand over his on his knee. Her touch was warm, and he caught the fire in her eyes as she spoke.

"Thank you for my surprise Simon."

"And you said I was no fun!"

"Oh come on, you weren't big on fun!"

"No, no – you're not pinning this on me, I just wasn't allowed to be fun!"

"So you'll be fun from now on then, Agent Sunshine?"

"I'm a really Special Agent, Ms Cregg, I think I can manage fun."

He squeezed her hand and cradled it in his two. "I think I can do that for you."

CJ was stunned by the sincerity of his words, how could a man be so right? Usually it would be some cheap line, but this flirtation ran deeper than the surface. She leaned into his shoulder and nuzzled her face against his cheek. Simon inhaled deeply; her perfume was as intoxicating to him as their first encounter in her office. He shuddered involuntarily as her free hand came to rest on his tense neck, and her thumb caressed his ear lobe. Soft movement of lips against lips and tongues exploring, took them out of the bar to somewhere far, far away. The sweet melody of the band carried them deep inside themselves. It was as tender as the pianist's fingers gliding over the smooth ivory; it was as passionate as the trumpet player who shut his eyes and keeps nothing back as he puts his whole heart into the song. CJ wondered why other men had not been as gentle, why other men had not known how to express passion without lust. It was so new, so much, and so wonderful: she felt like putty in his hands.

Her friends would never believe that she would be this easily won over, they mostly accepted that she was too fiercely independent and career driven to lay herself open to anyone. Milo, the most perceptive of her friends had once told her that one day love would come up and smack her in the face and there would be nothing even she could do about it, and not to give up hope. She had laughed it off, it didn't bother her, she was fine alone, look at her: she was good by herself. Milo had just looked at her and pouted his biggest campiest pout, swatting the air with a limp hand and exclaiming "What-ever darling, but you know, and I'm gonna say I told you so, you're not immune, you're just chicken." He was right. The past held memories of deep-seated hurt that only now served to nurture her instinct to bolt: to run away and pass over even good things in the name of self-preservation.

CJ was determined not to be chicken now. She truly let herself go in his arms; she let herself feel every movement. Every step of their tongues' dance was elegantly placed, they waltzed to the blues; they lost themselves completely, only yielding to stop when the soft applause for the musicians brought them back to reality.

The woman he wanted so badly sat in his arms, smiling bashfully with unbounded joy in her eyes. There was nothing more in the world he could have possibly wanted, it was as if his life had been fulfilled, he felt new. For so many years there had been nothing, only aching and regret, only meaningless episodes of carnal instinct: pitiful attempts at finding something this right. Simon felt something that he had never even thought possible, and his smile: it was not his Aimee smile. This was a whole new thing. This, for sure, was his CJ smile.

TBC-