Fond Memories

(A/N:  WHAT THE FUCK!  This is supposed to be a NEW ONE!!  What is WRONG with these people?!  I don't want to watch the stupid season premiere again!  This is making me SO MAD!  It's like thinking your boyfriend is going to propose, and then he dumps you!  Someone tell me, is it only Worcester Country that's fucked up?  If it is, someone please tell me.  God, I HATE these stupid lying sons of bitches.  So, this tale as nothing to do with anything.  R/R/E.)

Disclaimer:  None of these characters belong to me.  You know what?  The situation might not even belong to me.  I've read so many fanfics by now…if it doesn't, I apologize to the owner of this plot.  No plagiarism was intended, things have just started to melt in my mind and everything's all muddled between my ideas and other people's ideas.

It was a seedy nightclub.  Sydney entered it with hidden distaste, wishing someone else had been sent on this mission.  She had on a leather midriff and leather short-skirt.  The wig she was wearing had short hair gelled up in pink spikes, almost like a guy, and she had fake piercings everywhere.  She was here to pick up a briefcase.  What would be in it, she didn't know.  But she had to get it to her CIA 'partner' so he could open it, and copy whatever was in it, then send her on her way to SD-6.
            The music pounded in her ears as she opened the door and slunk in, walking gracefully as a cat.  The only good thing about being here was that she had time to 'hang out' between the time they copied and the time they gave it back to her.  She wasn't quite sure what she was going to do in the time between when she handed off the briefcase and the agent radioed her to meet him to give it back, but it sure as hell would be something fun.
            She sat on a grungy bar stool, and ordered a margarita.  It sucked, probably the worst one she had ever tasted.  The deliveryman sat down next to her and ordered a shot.  He set his briefcase - people would assume he was a drug dealer - between his stool and hers.  He tossed back the shot and left, leaving money on the counter.  Sydney kept an eye on the briefcase, making sure no one tried to steal it, thinking it was filled with crack, or some other drug.  The CIA agent sat in the vacated stool ten or so minutes later.
            "You have to stay in the club," he muttered to her as he picked up the briefcase and left.
            Wonderful.  There went her fun time.  She would be stuck here for hours, knowing them.  Why did God hate her so much?  She drained her horrible margarita and wished she could get another.  But, no, she had to stay sober.  They must love making her miserable.  She had a feeling all the higher authorities of the Universe were laughing at her now.  Sydney sighed.  If she had to stay here, she might as well get up and dance.  Maybe she could sweat off her aggression.
            Sydney gyrated to the loud music with all the other punks and Goths.  Except, she wasn't really one of them.  She fought the urge to pull away when someone came up behind her and began to grind his (or her, Sydney thought wryly) pelvis into Sydney's ass.  She did manage to turn herself around with the music so she could see whom she was dancing with.  She was startled to see Vaughn's knowing eyes smiling back at her.  He, too, was undercover, apparently.  The only thing she recognized about him was his eyes.  They did to need to speak; they both knew what this meant.
            Sydney smiled.  Suddenly, her day was looking up.  Very up.  And she now had something - ahem, someone to entertain her until the briefcase returned.  She began to dance in earnest, her heart suddenly in it.  Vaughn let himself go, too.  Weiss had found out for him that this was where Sydney had been going.  He had spotted her from across the room, having watched for her in this seedy club where people who were obvious prostitutes mingled among the dancers, and drug dealers lurked in the corners.
            Sydney ran her hands provocatively over her body, through her short wig.  She was just begging to be touched, to be caressed.  Vaughn gave into the temptation, reaching out to run his hands over her body, to caress her leather covered skin.  She moved closer to him, gyrating her pelvis into his.  He reached to grab her ass, but she backed away teasingly.  When he tried to follow her, she wagged one finger slowly back and forth (no, no, bad boy - don't come any closer).  He stopped, waiting to see what she would do, even though he ached to touch her.
            To Sydney, only she and Vaughn existed, nobody else in the room did.  TO everyone else in the room, the two of them didn't exist.  As the rhythm of the music pounded through her head, and the strobe lights flashed across her brain, she ran her hands over her own body, down her breasts, across her bare belly, and around her legs.  She turned around and bent over, giving Vaughn a nice view of her white panties and tight ass.  He moved forward, unable to resist the taunting lure.  She straightened up and turned around to face him, backing away slowly, moving her body in a 'come hither' dance.
            Vaughn followed her until she stopped.  He didn't try to get closer, but she did, dancing right up to him so every line of their bodies were touching.  She ran her hands down his chest, to his waist, as he caressed her leather-clad body.
            Now that he was in control, he backed her up against the wall, his lips crushing hers.  Sydney returned the frantic kiss eagerly, running her tongue into and around his mouth.  Their tongues dueled for control, only breaking apart fort he barest instant to breathe.
            Sydney could have screamed in frustration when she heard the receiver in her ear.  "I'm almost back in.  Hope you're waiting."
            Vaughn was close enough to hear what was being said.  They had time for one more frantic kiss, needing it to last a lifetime.
            I love you Sydney, Vaughn mouthed.
            I love you too, Sydney returned, watching with sad eyes as Vaughn melted into the crowd.
            Sydney made her way back to the bar, sliding into the same stool and ordering another margarita to nurse while she waited.  Luckily, it wasn't long.
            Weiss slid onto the stool next top her, putting the briefcase on the floor.  Breaking protocol, he turned to her, taking in her flushed face and smeared lipstick.
            "Did I give him enough time to find you?" he queried above the music.
            Sydney turned to him in surprise.  She smiled brightly when she saw that he was serious.  Weiss had arranged the entire thing for them.
            "Thank you," she said.  Then, she picked up the briefcase and walked out the door - the place still made her skin crawl, even after her encounter with Vaughn, and the blaring music and flashing lights were beginning to give her a headache.  Still, this would be a memory she would hold close to her heart until the day she died.  Just one more fond memory.

*Fin*

(A/N:  Look!  I'm doing an endnote!  I never do these!  Anyways, as I was writing this dumb little fic, I was watching TV.  The IFC channel, to be exact (that is the BEST channel on TV).  What was this psycho chica watching? you ask.  Do we even care?  most are saying.  Guess what?  You don't, but you get to find out anyway!  Point being, I just watched 'Cube'.  That is one of the best movies I have ever seen.  And it says a lot about society and shit.  I can see why Katie told me to watch this.  Anyone who wants to discuss this movie, my lines are always open… Damn, Canadian film (and television and comedy) has got to be the best out of all.  They've got 'Cube', 'Forever Knight', and 'Kids in the Hall'…)