July 24, 2010

A/N: Yep, I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! I just came back from camp, and I already miss my friends like crazy. Are you out there, Bostgirl?

I missed my readers (you guys!), too! And I definitely wrote stuff while I was gone, so you guys get a treat.

So here it is... the infamous "Michelle cooking" chapter. Enjoy, and review. Hopefully, you will not separate the two.

I'll shut up now.

You Love it When… She Tries to Cook for You

Tony Almeida tapped his foot impatiently as the elevator slowly climbed up the wires. Fifteen floors to pass by and nothing to do. Well, there was one thing to do… and that was to think about the woman who was flipping him inside out and turning him upside down.

Michelle.

Two weeks ago, the name had been nothing more than a quiet little fantasy. Of course, he hadn't dared go near her, since she could have easily broken his heart, something he wasn't willing to risk.

And now? Now, mornings and evenings weren't the same without her. He spent as much time as humanly possible with her, and he enjoyed every second of it, whether she was laughing up at him, mock-glaring with her trademark bottom-lip pout, or lying softly against his torso while watching a movie on the couch. Every little kiss, every little touch, sent a shiver up his spine. Michelle Dessler had been a blessing in disguise. No, more than that… she had become necessary for his happiness, possibly for his survival. Tony was wholeheartedly addicted to his Michelle.

Unfortunately, love – because that was, honestly, only a matter of time, if it hadn't consumed them already – couldn't quite conquer all. Not where the sporadic and all-too-often Division meetings were concerned. To put it simply, the damn things made him even more pissed off at the world than he was on a day-to-day basis. (That was saying something.) He'd have much rather felt his blood rush through his veins as Michelle kissed his collarbone and the part of his chest that would normally have been covered by the two top buttons of his work shirts, holding her small frame tightly to his body, than pretend to listen to some boring lecture concerning new protocols that were being implemented by bureaucrats who enjoyed watching CTU get slowed down.

Still, he had to go, and though he wished he could play the girlfriend card, he knew it simply wasn't an option. It would kill Michelle – and himself, because any of her pain was his as well – if people thought she was getting her promotion to Chief of Staff because she was having a personal relationship with her boss. More than anything, they were determined to keep things professional.

That was why he was truly looking forward to a calm, stress-free evening with his curly-haired angel. No distractions, no aggravation in the workplace, no nuclear bombs threatening to destroy half of Los Angeles… Tony was simply getting the opportunity to spend some time with his best friend slash girlfriend slash possible soul mate. (Not that he'd ever say that last one out loud…)

As the door to the elevator opened and the government agent stepped out onto the sixteenth floor, he ordered himself to stop thinking about her for more than five seconds.

One. Two…

Nope. Couldn't do it. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was all too possible that he was falling way too fast for her, that he was going to get his heart broken again…

He knocked on the door to Michelle's apartment and ordered his mind to stop being so negative. This was Michelle he was talking about, after all. Kind, considerate, strong Michelle, who would probably find fault with treason, murder, and unceremoniously breaking people's hearts.

A few seconds later, when Michelle hadn't come to the door, Tony knocked tree times. "Michelle? Sweetheart, I'm home."

Shit. What the hell was this, I Love Lucy: Dysfunctional Government Agent Edition? Tony sighed and hit the hammer of his fist against the wall. "Michelle?"

Two minutes of impatient tapping later, Tony fished the key that Michelle had given him for emergency purposes out of his pocket and jammed it into the lock. He turned it clumsily and nearly stumbled into the apartment. "Damn it," he mumbled as the smoke began to clog his throat. He dropped to the floor and yelled, "Michelle!".

He hacked out an agonizing cough, waiting, hoping, for an answer. The silence that followed terrified him. If something happened to Michelle… he would never be able to forgive himself. On all fours, he slumped to the ground and pulled himself toward the kitchen. As he worked his way closer, he saw a medium sized frame scurrying back and forth.

"Damn it!" she barked. "Where the hell did I put that towel?" She continued to mutter expletives under her breath as she coughed and sputtered, fighting against the building column of smoke.

Tony couldn't bear the idea of Michelle getting hurt. He reached out, grabbed her forearm, and pulled her down to the floor.

"Tony?" she cough-gasped, kissing his face heatedly.

"Sweetheart," he said, cradling her soft body, "how the hell did this happen?"

As buckets of rain from the sprinklers above began to rain down on them, she panted, "Explain… later. Just… find the towel, and stop the fire."

Tony moved forward and felt around for a kitchen towel. How on earth did Michelle manage to find anything in this hurricane, this disaster?

"Got it!" he shouted as his fingers closed around a soft piece of fabric. He poured the remnants of a nearby water bottle onto it and subsequently threw the towel over what he'd estimated (and hoped) to be the source of the fire.

After a few seconds, the flames died down, and though smoke still remained in the air, the sprinklers had shut off. As he panted, taking big gulps of air, he felt a pair of skinny arms wrap themselves around his waist. He tilted up Michelle's face and kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, the tip of her nose…he simply became lost in her, in everything she was. She rewrapped her arms around his neck, and he carried her like a child to the couch in the den, both of them still sopping wet.

They lay in each other's arms for some time, and then Tony raised his eyebrows, a question brewing in his eyes.

"Well," she said, flustered, "you were at Division… and I figured you'd be coming home later… and I thought that you might want something for dinner other than the usual takeout. Never thought I'd manage to burn chicken."

His jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Not sure whether he should be laughing or crying, he whispered softly, "You nearly killed yourself – and the rest of the complex – attempting to cook one of the easiest dishes in the world?"

She pouted halfheartedly and kissed his chest softly. "I told you I was a horrible cook."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean I should expect you to set your apartment on fire."

She glared at him, and though still in his arms, she turned to face away from him.

"Sweetheart," he whispered, his voice cracking, "do you have any idea how much it'd kill me if something happened to you?"

She turned back around to face him and lay her head on his shoulder, and as they locked eyes, Tony knew he could have proposed right then and there. After a few minutes of listening to the rhythm of each other's breathing, Michelle said, "I'll go order us some pizza," kissing him softly but deeply.

"Okay," he whispered, kissing her hair, as she climbed off him and started to look for a cordless phone.

"Well," Tony thought to himself. "Quiet night, huh?"

A/N: So... whaddaya think? R/R, don't forget. There's a button right at the bottom... Your reviews really help me, including constructive criticism, so keep 'em coming!