For once: a love story *sighs*

Part one of two from "Why me?" Actually it is older than the "Chaperone" story, but we decided half-way to change the tempus, so Vapor had many proof-reading to do ^_^

Part 2 should be around in a few days.

Why me?

Why me? That is what I always ask myself. I am new to the KSA, but I already have a bad reputation for being too hot-headed for my own good. I know, too, that my latest partner got fed up with me and asked for a replacement. He couldn't handle my stubbornness and my sudden outbursts any more than my previous partners. Why does this always happen to me? But I know the answer. It's because of me.

I walk into the office in order to meet my new partner, and he is already standing there. He is composed and calm, and a slight smile lights his face when he sees me. I don't like him. Smiles never last, and his will fade, too, once he gets to know me. I face forward, concentrating on my boss rather than my new partner. The man beside me will be like everyone else. He won't be able to stand working with me for long. There is no reason to go through this again, and I am about to tell my boss that I want to be an independent agent, that I want to work alone, when the man steps forward before I have a chance to speak.

"Nice to meet you. I am An Sangeen, and I'm looking forward to working with you." I look at his outstretched hand and then at his still smiling face before I demonstratively cross my arms. For an instant, his smile falters, but it is back in place as he retracts his hand. I hear my boss sigh and turn back to him.

"Sangeen, are you sure you want to work with her? You're a good agent and-"

And of course my boss would side with Sangeen. It was the same with my previous partner. I am at fault no matter how venomously I protest. My reputation always precedes me. I turn on my heels and storm out of the office before I have the chance to hear whatever my boss may say. Sangeen is a saint in his eyes. Oh, yes, Sangeen's reputation precedes him as well. The sinner and the saint. What a pair we will make.

I hear steps behind me. He sounds like he is running, but I refuse to change my pace. I may have walked out of the meeting, but I am not running from him. I have more pride than that. If he tries to catch me, I swear I'll punch him, but he doesn't try to stop me. Sangeen only falls in line beside me. He says nothing. What is he waiting for? Instead, I stop on my own, and I glare as he turns to face me. "What do you want?"

He isn't intimidated by my hostility or annoyed by my harsh words. Maybe he's just good at covering it up. His face doesn't betray his opinion about me. "I thought it would be a good idea to get to know each other."

I don't want to get to know him. Why talk to someone who will stab me in the back a few months later by asking for another partner? It seems like my face isn't hiding my feelings as well as his because he speaks before I can tell him exactly what I think about him.

"If you want to ask for a new partner, I understand."

His words are so unexpected that I can't think of anything to say. He is the one that will betray me. How can he tell me something like that? For the first time, I wonder what he must think. He hasn't done anything. He's a saint. And me? I've already betrayed him. I really am a sinner.

[-] [-] [-]

It takes me exactly three days to notice that Sangeen is different than my last partner. As I haphazardly chase a thug down a side street, he follows me. Yes, I expect that much. He is a man of honor after all. But after handing the thug over to the police, I expect him to yell at me for my carelessness. They always do when I behave recklessly.

He doesn't say anything. I watch him as we walk back toward the car. His expression is so calm that I can't read it, and I have to wonder whether he truly doesn't mind or if he's hiding his thoughts from me. His brow knots ever so slightly, and I brace myself. It's coming. Whatever words he has been holding back, he is going to unleash them now. I press my lips, preparing my own fiery defense. Then, his eyes glance over to me. His face is blank for a moment, and then his lips curl up into a grin. And he's laughing. He's actually laughing. There must be something wrong with him. Finally, he quiets down enough to speak. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Because you're different than I expected," I say without thinking it through, and my words leave him stunned. Now he is the one that stares at me.

After a few seconds, he catches himself, and he nods as we reach the car. "You're different than the rumors say, too. Maybe you're a bit too direct in your approach, but that's refreshing."

I'm dumbfounded by what he said. I don't know what to say. I can't tell. I'm not sure, but did he just give me his approval? I watch the street signs flash by as he pulls onto the highway. My thoughts are so confused that I don't see anything. It all seems blurred. And I can't look back at him. I can't meet his eyes. Why do I feel so nervous? None of my other partners ever made me feel like this. I wish I could take back what I had said. The words were so vulnerable. But his words are racing through my head. I can't stop thinking about them, and I find myself smiling. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm never like this, and just when I think I'm starting to get a grip, I realize that I want him to approve of me. How desperately I want this.

[-] [-] [-]

I see his lips move as if he's speaking, and I strain to hear what he says over the music. Is he muttering to himself? Finally fed up with my behavior? Then, it dawns on me. He's singing. He's singing softly so that I won't notice. I hit the volume on the stereo, hoping that he will sputter out a few words before he can stop himself, but he doesn't stop himself. He keeps singing as if nothing happened. When the song ends, he starts a new one. I turn the music back on in defeat. No matter what I do, I haven't found a way to rile him. There has to be an end to his patience.

And you can't say that I didn't try to rile him up. It wasn't even intentional, at least not everything. Somehow small things happened I didn't intend to. I'm not a morning person. I snapped at him when he tried to have a conversation too early in the morning. But Sangeen wasn't bothered by my behavior, and he learned pretty quickly to give me some space.

It's things like this that catch my attention. No matter what, he's so collected. I thought I would get to him after a while, but it has been three weeks. He hasn't yelled at me once. I don't know what to do with myself. I've never had a partner that hasn't lost his temper with me, and I have no idea what to do with someone that I can't argue with. Holding a normal conversation isn't very natural for me, and I find myself railing against injustices just to fill the silence. He seems comfortable no matter what I do, and he looks at me with those gray eyes as if he's actually listening.

[-] [-] [-]

I sigh as I notice that my thoughts run around him again. They do it more than I would wish for. I'm always thinking of him. I can't help it. He's impossible to figure out, and it's giving me a headache. I sigh again.

"Everything's all right?"

My head jerks up, and I look straight into his face so close to mine. I hadn't noticed him enter the conference room. Maybe I imagine it, but I think he looks worried. But I can't be sure. The calmness never leaves his face, and I wish he would have a change in expression so that I could see what is on his mind for once.

"It's just that I've never seen you so quiet." He pulls out a chair and slides into the seat next to me. His hands are folded on the tabletop, and I find myself staring at them. We're the only two in the room. I'm always early for meetings, and no one wants to sit alone with me. Except him. He's never bothered by me. His hands move, drawing his fingers together and snapping them in front of my eyes. I finch. His expression is more concerned than before. "Are you sure you're alright? Your face is flushed."

"I feel great," I say and wonder how my voice managed to become this weak and pathetic. It's not at all convincing, and I don't have to look into his concerned grey eyes to prove it. Instead, I glace down on the table.

"You aren't sick, are you?" His hand presses against my forehead, and I close my eyes for half a second before I remember to swat it away.

"What are you doing?" I sound hostile, and if my face was flushed before, it must be a burning red now. His hand is still in the air, and for the first time, I see a change of expression cross his face.

He looks so surprised. Whether it is because I swatted his hand away or because he touched my face to begin with, I can't tell. But there's something different, too. The hurt is well concealed, but I see it flicker in his eyes. Did I hurt his feelings? To my own surprise, I feel bad. I wished for another reaction to cross his face, and now that I get one, I wish I could see him smile again instead.

I try to think of something-anything-to say, and as the seconds pass, I'm growing more desperate. I'm not good with normal conversations. I have no idea how to apologize, and he's expecting me to say something. I stumble through half a sentence before I give up and offer him a weak smile, the same smile he always gives to me, and I try to think of something witty. Something that would roll over the tension, but I don't need to. He's already smiling back at me.

[-] [-] [-]

"Here, drink this." He hands me a can of juice, and I simply stare at the picture on the bottle. I've always hated this flavor, but he wouldn't know that. I don't want to drink it, but we have worked together for two months now. I've never been on good terms with a partner for this long before. I don't want to jeopardize this by offending him, but I really do hate this flavor. He seems to sense my hesitation and offers me an explanation. "I know this is a little late, but our first introduction didn't turn out so well. I wanted to do this properly. I hope we can continue to work well together."

"Then we shouldn't lie to each other." His expression becomes a bit anxious, and I wonder what he is expecting me to say. I hurry before I lose my confidence. "I don't like this flavor. It's gross." To accentuate my words, I hold out the juice bottle out to him. He just stares for a moment, but then he breaks out into laughter that makes my heart skip a beat.

He takes his drink and trades it for mine. I cup it between my hands as my mind wanders. He was just holding this. My fingers are where his fingers were, and my lips touch what his lips almost- I choke. The drink falls and spills to the ground. I can't believe I just thought that. I can't stop coughing. He offers me his drink, and I take it without thinking. I down half of it before the flavor hits me, and I realize that it was already open. His lips really were- I'm choking again. Worse this time. I shove the drink into his hands again and try to catch my breath.

He's looking at the can. His fingers are where my fingers were, and he seems lost in thought. He raises it to his lips and takes another sip. "The flavor isn't that bad."

"It is," I manage to spit out between my decreasing coughs, and he laughs again in a good mannered way. His right hand is holding the bottle while his other hand now lies on my back, softly patting the area between my shoulder blades. He wouldn't have done it in the beginning of working together. He was never anything than professional, but recently he shows these signs of thoughtfulness towards me. I can't say that I don't like it.

"I've been thinking," he says. His voice is more quiet than usual, and he draws his hand back. I look over at him, but his eyes evade me. He grabs my dropped can from the ground and throws both of ours away. When he returns, the mood has changed, and I will never hear whatever he had wanted to say. Instead, he moves towards the car and climbs into the driver's seat. "We should get back to work."